The Eggwife

Chapter Nineteen

2008-09-18T08:29:00.000-07:00

The three companions grumbled as they were escorted to the chamber where they were to be house for their stay. The door clanged heavily after they entered, followed by the audible clack of a stout lock. Their meeting had been dramatically interrupted, and they were hustled away without another word.

Staring at the locked door, Brayden sat down on the bed, sinking into the down pallet. The enfolding softness of the thick mattress seemed lost on him as he scratched his stubble covered chin.

“Hmm, what can this rogue want?” he thought aloud.

“Power,” Sethyr hissed in response.

“I agree, but to what end?”

“It could be plain cussedness,” Vijhan added.

Brayden and Sethyr turned toward the Canid wearing looks of surprise.

“What in the blazes do you mean?” Brayden asked.

“Well, sometimes a lion will horde a kill, even if it has already eaten its fill. It just wants to keep the meat from the other lions. It’s just simple contrariness.”

“I see his point,” Sethyr agreed. “Maquin knows that his rival wants us. Perhaps he doesn’t care why…just that he can deny his enemy something they want. I think that Vijhan understands you Humans better than I do.”

“I didn’t say I understood them…I just recognize a hunter when I see one. Something in his eyes says we are just meat to him.”

“Be that as it may be, we have little choice but to accept his hospitality…for now,” Brayden said.

“Aye, that is true. But, we should be ready to escape if we get the chance.” Vijhan added.

“Where can we run from him?” Sethyr asked. “It seems that we have two choices…Maquin or this other criminal. At least Maquin seems to have some manners.”

Brayden and Vijhan stared at Sethyr. The mage’s normal reticence seemed to be absent.

“What are you two gawking for?”

Brayden smiled, “oh, nothing. It’s just that you normally aren’t so…trusting.”

“I never said I trusted the rogue, but as long as he minds his manners, perhaps he can be of use to us.”

The three watched each other for a moment, Sethyr meeting Brayden and Vijhan’s gazes with a cold, reptilian stare. Unspoken agreement passed between the companions and the tension drained from the small room.

“If we stay here with Maquin we will be drawn into any conflict on his side. I suppose at this point we do not have much choice in the matter.” Sethyr said.

Brayden nodded. “I agree, but we must remain vigilant. I he is truly a villain then we must break with him, no matter the cost.”

Vijhan responded with a quick nod while Sethyr rolled her eyes.

“Now that our consciences have been slaked, why don’t we try to do the same for our hunger,” Sethyr said.

Brayden nodded, and emptiness suddenly pinching his belly. He and the others had been so engrossed with their flight to find Maquin’s sanctuary; hunger had slipped away, forgotten.

Vijhan licked his chops, eyeing his companions self consciously as the though of food made him begin salivating.

Once again it struck Brayden how close his friend was to his animal nature. The common wisdom held that the Canids remained a young race, emerging from the wilds of the north only a few centuries before. Some rumored their creation dated to the wars of magic fought in the lost northern empire at nearly the same time.

If true, Brayden pitied the Canids, orphans left to fend for themselves with the passing of their sorcerous parentage. He suspected that this only served to strengthen their reliance on the pack. Now, Vijhan did not even have that. He and Sethyr were all that the Canid had left.

Sighing, Sethyr buckled her pack closed and tossed it under the bed.

“Now that we have settled that argument, I believe that I’d like to see if our hosts can provide me with a warm bath and the food we discussed,” Sethyr said.

***

Nothing but Sethyr's eyes and nostrils peeked above the steaming bathwater. She floated just under the surface, arms and legs splayed at her sides absorbing the pleasant heat of the bath. While drawing the bath a plump servitor had asked Sethyr if she would like some aromatic oils added to the water, but the mage politely declined. The water was enough to sooth her scales.

Weeks in the wilderness did nothing for the condition of her normally lustrous skin. Sethyr almost imagined the flecks of grime falling away as she slowly undulated her body, letting the water work its way between her scales. She imagined hearing the dry scales drinking in the welcome moisture of the bath. Sethyr’s people believed that they had come from water and rarely strayed far from it. Her adventurous ways, however, often precluded such luxuries. When the opportunity afforded itself, Sethyr used the embrace of the water to support her physical form and free her mind, letting her thoughts nibble around the edges of any problems currently vexing her. At the moment her ruminations landed squarely on Maquin, their eager host.

A low, thrum reverberated through the bathwater, tickling Sethyr’s tympanic membranes. Her let her eyes crack open in irritation at the disturbance. A second thrum quickly followed the first. A third followed, but stronger as dust wafted from the stone roof.

“Danger,” the feral part of Sethyr’s brain screamed, prodding her survival instincts into responding. The ghosts of her ancestors seemed to whisper in her ear; unconsciously sending her head under water, blurring her vision for a moment as nictitating membranes slid into place over her eyes, slowing her heartbeat to conserve the air in her lungs.

The bathwater carried the thrumming even more intensely than the air above, nearly deafening Sethyr. Yet it also carried the sound of running feet and muffled screams. The sharp clang of an alarm bell soon followed. The cacophony assaulted her ears, driving her back above the water.

“Sethyr!” A voice shouted from beyond the door. An insistent rapping followed.

She recognized Brayden’s earthy brogue. “Let us in, ye damned lizard.”

Rising gracefully from the tub and padding to the door, Sethyr slid back the bolt. Pushed from the other side, the door swung open, giving her barely enough time to avoid a collision with a nimble hop.

Brayden rushed into the chamber, his pack and Sethyr’s hanging from his shoulder. As he spun to locate his companion, his foot slid in a puddle left from the mage’s exit from the bath. With an oath of consternation, the paladin went down in a heap.

Vijhan, close on Brayden’s heels, had to leap over him. This, the Canid achieved easily, but a bit too powerfully. His leap took him over the fallen paladin, but also over the lip of the tub. Vijhan landed in the steaming water with a splash.

Surfacing with a choked growl, Vijhan sprayed water everywhere in the small room. With an adroit hop, the Canid left the tub, immediately dropping to one knee next to Brayden.

“Sir, are you well?” he asked.

Brayden grimaced, holding his right ankle. “I’ll be fine…if I don’t have to run anywhere.”

Emerging from behind the door, Sethyr hissed a laugh. “My comrades to the rescue. How wonderfully courageous, but I’m afraid that running may be required sooner than later.”

“Yes,” Vijhan added, “the mage is right. I can hear evil voices in the tunnels.”

Brayden looked at Vijhan with his eyebrow crooked quizzically. “Evil voices? What do you mean.”

“Harsh and evil, and I have heard them before.” A low growl slipped from Vijhan’s throat. “The Jurouk have come.”

“Blazes!” Brayden cursed. “We must flee.”

“Flee? I never thought I’d see the mighty Brayden flee from anything.” Sethyr eyed the paladin suspiciously.

“We have no time for this. The Jurouk are savage beyond nightmare. I’ll be damned if I let them capture me.”

Sethyr retrieved her red robes a nearby table, dressing quickly. “My old master once said that if I ever saw a lion running in terror I should try to keep up. I’d rather not face these Jurouk.”

Vijhan nodded, his normally lank hair bristling, flinging even more water around the room.

Sethyr and Vijhan helped Brayden to his feet, brushing dust from his surcoat.

Vijhan peered out the door and his companions gathered their belongings.

“We must go quickly. They have not reached this far.”

Sethyr and Brayden followed as Vijhan crept into the corridor. Sniffing the air and perking his ears, the Canid searched for signs of approaching Jurouk.

“It is clear, for now, but I hear faint screams from above.”

Brayden shook his head, “If they are above, we have no choice but to go down…wherever that may lead.”

Chapter Eighteen

2008-04-04T05:46:00.000-07:00

Sethyr’s eyes did not need much time to adjust to the blackness inside the tenement. Her reptilian eyes picked up more than the eyes of a Human. She spied the wisps of heat coming from the breath of the men hidden inside the room as if they were standing in pale moonlight on a cold night.

“Follow me,” the man by the door ordered in a gruff voice.

“And how do we do that in this murk?” Sethyr replied.

The brute stopped and puzzled for a moment. He turned toward the trio, a glint of eyeshine betraying a heritage sprinkled with a bit of the night dwelling Basha.

“Take my hand until your eyes come right. Make a chain and I’ll lead you along.” He put out his hand, but none of the trio made a move to grasp it. The man grunted, harrumphing loudly to show his displeasure. He reached out and clutched Brayden’s wrist. The Protector startled at the unexpected contact.

Sethyr saw Brayden grope more than reach for Vijhan’s hand, guessing where the Canid was. He managed to find Vijhan’s arm and then they joined hands. With a sigh Sethyr made a show of fumbling for Vijhan’s other hand.

“I believe the links are complete,” Sethyr said after taking hold of Vijhan’s tail through his cloak. The Canid gave a startled yip, relaxing only after realizing it was Sethyr who held his tail. “You may proceed.”

The hulking guard gave a satisfied grunt and then led them deeper into the abandoned building. An obvious path had been cleared through the refuse littering most of the floor. As he led them through, the guard kicked aside a few piles that had slumped back into the path.

Sethyr heard Vijhan begin to whine and she gave his tail a friendly squeeze.

“Don’t panic, boy. I am sure we’ll be there in no time,” Sethyr said in a valiant attempt at a soothing voice. The words came out closer to a sly hiss, but Sethyr felt some of the tension in Vijhan’s tail subside.

The guard stopped, putting a hand on Brayden’s shoulder to bring the others to a halt. Vijhan halted as Brayden did, but Sethyr stumbled into the Canid, pretending to be fumbling in the dark.

Turning toward a large crate stored next to the nearby wall, the guard knocked on the crate and then pulled it away from the wall. The flickering light of a torch poured in through a passage revealed behind the crate.

“Pass through here and follow the torches. Don’t stray from the path or you’re libel to get eaten. Nasty things live down there…but not as nasty as the magnate.” The guard chuckled, giving them a casual salute as he stepped aside for them to enter.

Sethyr followed as Brayden and Vijhan passed into the stone corridor. Once through, the crate slid back into place, leaving them standing alone in the low ceilinged corridor.

“You can let go of my tail now,” Vijhan said with a barking laugh.

Sethyr released the Canid’s tail, glaring at him.

Brayden stifled a laugh, also earning a glare from Sethyr.

“Shall we proceed? Or do you have more useless mockery for me?” Sethyr tried to keep the irritation from her voice but failed.

Brayden nodded, turning toward the line of torches secured in sconces set in regular intervals along the wall. The floor sloped downward, making it a ramp down into the city’s underside.

Before the Protector took a step down the corridor Vijhan held up his hand.

“What is it?” Sethyr asked.

“Sweet,” Vijhan answered.

“What are you saying?”

“The smoke is sweet.”

“What..” Sethyr began to ask but was interrupted by Brayden.

“How can that be?”

“Use your noses,” Vijhan said. “There is almost no smoke coming from the torches and what there is smells sweet.”

Sethyr strode over to the nearest torch and drew in a nose full of air.

“The dog’s snout does not lie. He is right, I smell it too” the mage said as the delicate scent of fine perfume wafted from the smoke.

“This is all very strange,” Brayden shook his head.

Sethyr’s head swung slowly to regard the Protector. “Yes, very strange indeed. But what hasn’t been strange since Hedgewise?”

Brayden gave Sethyr a strange look. “I’ll admit, it has been unusual…but what are you trying to say?”

“When so many strange happenings occur, it excites my natural skepticism. Some might call me paranoid, but I feel manipulated.”

“I don’t feel that,” Brayden said, a question in his voice.

“I can understand that…but you always see the better half of folk,” Sethyr hissed vehemently. ”That’s a mistake now. I just feel like a storm is gathering and we are at the center.”

“So what do you propose we do?” Brayden asked.

“I do not know,” Sethyr answered.

They stood there, silently regarding each other when Vijhan interjected. “When hunting dangerous prey, you must know the danger is there, be wary, but still move forward with the hunt. If the hunt were safe, everyone would be a wolf.”

Sethyr and Brayden both turned to stare at the Canid. Normally taciturn, he had summed up their only option in a few words.

“So I suppose we leap into our mysterious benefactor’s lair?” Sethyr asked.

“Yes…and snarl often,” Vijhan said. “It makes them think twice.”

“We have little choice now,” Brayden added. “So let’s go meet this magnate that helpful fellow mentioned.”

Sethyr allowed Vijhan and Brayden to lead the way before following them down the corridor. Not a few times, Sethyr glanced back suspiciously, anticipating something. It never came.

The corridor ran straight for some time before turning sharply. Continuing its downward slope, the corridor began to turn inward upon itself turning left at decreasing intervals. As they descended the air grew damp and cool, almost like a natural cave. A throbbing in Sethyr’s sensitive tympanic membranes marked their descent as significant.

The trio encountered several dark corridors branching off perpendicularly, but heeded their earlier advice and ignored these. The last was the easiest to quell curiosity about because of the charnel smell of an abattoir issuing from its dark reaches.

Sethyr chuffed in annoyance. “Is there and end to this infernal drain? It would be quicker if I climbed in a barrel and rolled down to the bottom.”

“I’d wager you’d be much the worse for wear if you tried that,” Brayden answered.

“I suppose, and more than just my feet would be sore.”

Sethyr heard Brayden chuckle. “I’m sure we’ll soon arrive, or we’re likely to be knocking on the demon’s door if we go much deeper.”

The trio’s laughter rang in the confines of the corridor, but the tone lacked its usual easy confidence.

A deep guffaw answered their own levity, startling the trio. The throaty laugh resounded louder than their own. The laughter surrounded them.

A protection spell sprang unconsciously to Sethyr’s lips while Brayden and Vijhan dropped into fighting stances, weapons draw. They scanned the area to determine which the laugh came from, but the resounding echoes made it impossible for them to discern. As if on cue, the flames of the torches flickered in tempo with the laugh.

“Have no fear, be welcome in the down below.” a voice filled the corridor.

Already watchful, Sethyr clearly knew the voice came from up ahead. “It would seem that our host is here to greet us.”

“Well, at least he sounds friendly,” Vijhan added.

Sethyr saw the Canid’s hackles rise, his muscles flexing under his skin, his eyes becoming wide, taking in all of his surroundings. Not for the first time, she admitted to herself, it was nice to have Vijhan with her.

“Of course I’m friendly, my good Canid friend,” the voice boomed. “You are my guests, after all.”

Vijhan wore a look of awe. He relaxed his fighting stance, mesmerized by the voice. There was a hypnotic quality to it that Sethyr took to be not quite genuine. Brayden remained in his ready stance.

“Don’t be so gullible,” Sethyr sneered between clenched teeth. “Of course he knows all about us. Whoever he is, he has been watching us ever since we entered the city. Even before that if you remember how we got the key to the swineherd’s gate.”

Brayden nodded. “Sethyr is correct. Whoever this fellow is, we are in his power at the moment and it would be wise to accept his hospitality. We have little choice.”

“Of course you have a choice, good sir,” the voice interrupted. “As I said, you are my guests and may leave whenever you wish…although I am eager to spend some time with you.”

Sethyr and Vijhan peered at Brayden, the same question etched on their faces.

Once again Brayden nodded and then took a deep breath. He removed his hand from his sword hilt and started down the corridor, addressing their host. “We humbly accept your generosity and hospitality.”

Sethyr eyed Brayden suspiciously as Vijhan followed him and then also followed. “Like femra to the slaughter,” the mage mumbled.

The trio emerged from the corridor into a large, circular chamber, lit brightly by a glowing white globe hung from the ceiling. The room was bare with the exception of a humble, wooden chair in the center. A handsome man lounged in the chair. He wore simple clothes that were obviously of fine quality.

Well, at least he has taste, Sethyr thought.

As the trio entered, the man smiled, straitening up in the chair. Pain showed on his face as he stood up and approached them, favoring his right leg. “Greetings, my new friends.”

Sethyr watched as Brayden and Vijhan executed slight bows. The mage hissed in aggravation at their show of deference.

The man’s smile widened when he saw Sethyr’s reaction. He chuckled softly.

Brayden turned to glare at the mage but remained silent. His eyes said everything Sethyr needed to know. Sethyr met the Protector’s stare and did not flinch.

“And you must be Sethyr,” the man said.

Sethyr managed to keep her face neutral. “And you are?”

Brayden put up his hand. “Forgive our companion’s rudeness…”

“Not at all,” the man interrupted. He placed his hands together in a prayer-like gesture and nodded once to Sethyr. “It is a wise fellow who does not sell his trust cheaply.”

Sethyr’s eyes narrowed at the man’s comment.

The main straightened and turned toward Brayden. “I am the one who has been rude. I have not even introduced myself.” The man gave the trio an expansive bow. “I am called Maquin, Immunda Maquin. My followers have named me the Magnate of the Down Below.” He waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Yes, I know it sounds a bit fancy, but they insist.”

“My thanks for your welcome, Lord Maquin,” Brayden said.

“Just Maquin,” he interjected.

Sethyr stepped forward, “So Maquin, what in the nine hells do you want from us?”

Brayden reached out, laying a hand on Sethyr’s arm.

“A fair question, even if asked with all the subtlety of a smithy’s hammer,” Maquin said. He walked around the chair, trying to hide his limp as best as possible. Sethyr had to marvel at the man’s trust when he turned his back to them. But, then again, the three of them were at his mercy. He obviously knew this and, thus, could safely offer his back.

“That is not an answer,” Sethyr replied.

“If you insist, let me try to explain. Let me think of where to start,” Maquin tapped his chin, thinking.

“Perhaps you could begin with your plans for us,” Sethyr said. “Why did you bring us here?”

“That would be too confusing, so I shall start with some background,” Maquin folded his hands at his waist and began to pace slowly, maintaining eye contact with Sethyr.

“I am a son of Kath. I was born here, as was my father and his before that. I love Kath and I wish to se it preserved.”

“How altruistic.”

“Not just altruism, my reptilian friend. I also have considerable business interests here and chaos in the city hurts those interests. As Kath’s fortunes run, so do mine.”

“And what concern is that of ours?” Sethyr asked.

Sethyr saw the slight upturn of Maquin’s mouth as he tried to stifle a grin.

“Well, I have heard that we may share a common interest. I have a rival that has recently come to the city and he doesn’t share my concern for its welfare. I believe that you have encountered this villain’s machinations as well.”

“And how do you know this?” Brayden asked, suspicion creeping into his voice. He shot a glance at Sethyr and something passed between them. Vijhan’s whiskers pricked up at the comment.

Maquin’s pacing stopped and he turned to face the Protector. “He treats his hirelings poorly and I treat mine well. Some in his employ have sought to curry favor with me with an eye to switching allegiance. A certain number of them have let me know of that three travelers were making their way to my city. I wanted to discover who you were. Their information has proved invaluable.”

Sethyr grinned, allowing most of her pointed teeth to be seen. “You have yet to answer my question.”

Maquin turned back to Sethyr, frowning at having lost just a bit of control. “I was just getting to that.” He took a deep breath. “I have also been told that my rival wants to get his hands on you. I am not sure of the reason, but, having become acquainted with his tactics, I am sure it wouldn’t be pleasant.”

“I am sure that telling us all this is simply more altruism,” Sethyr said.

“No, it is practical. My assumption is that if I can deny him in anything, it will be to my benefit. You and yours are simply the targets of a happy coincidence.”

“So we are allies of coincidence. I can accept that,” Sethyr quipped.

Chapter Seventeen

2008-04-02T07:33:00.000-07:00

Skitnik curled up for a nap on a pile of full sacks of oats in one of the less traveled storerooms in the Master’s hidden lair. The warren of dank tunnels and chambers lay deep beneath the streets of Kath. The residents above were ignorant of their existence and probably preferred it that way. Skitnik knew that he preferred it that way, so he could not fathom why any thinking creature could disagree.

Most Human folk saw his kind as pests, at best, or as a menace, at worst. They had a habit of killing Goblins at their whim. Skitnik felt much safer with tons of stone and earth between himself and the city dwellers above. Not that he felt all that safe here in the warrens. The Master and his Jurouk minions held no more love for Skitnik and his Goblin brethren than the Humans did, but he they killed them there would be no one else there to see to the drudgery, so they mostly let the Goblins be.

Skitnik scratched at a nit biting at the back of his knee, shifting slightly to find a more comfortable position atop the sacks of grain. The nit did not bother him again, but another itch pestered him, the itch of hunger. Skitnik elbowed his makeshift bed of oats in frustration. He shared the same curse as all Goblins; of being devout carnivores. If something had not once crawled, hopped, swam, or flew, a Goblin took his chances if he ate it. If Skitnik ate the grain that provided such a fine bed for him, his bowels would erupt in a terrible flux. The ingestion of fruit proved different, but equally uncomfortable for his kind.

No, it had to be meat or nothing. Skitnik sat up, letting out a plaintive squeak. Hunger pecked at his stomach again. He supposed he could go hunting for rats, but held little hope of success there. When he and his brethren arrived the shows ran thick with juicy rats, but over the years the Hungry goblins proved better as hunters than the rats as hiders. The few rats remaining tended toward smart and lean, providing little reward for greater effort.

Skitnik rejected the idea of prowling the cave where the refuse and nightsoil were dumped. There dwelled rats aplenty, as well as tempting cave crickets, but the Master forbade any gathering there. It made no sense to Skitnik or the other Goblins, but three of their fellows dead at the Master’s hands for ignoring the decree were enough for even the densest of them to learn that the price was too high.

Skitnik supposed he could wait until the marrow, but the hunger bit again just as he tried to decide.

“Snog it!” he said to nobody in particular.

“I’ve got to get me some bit of flesh or my belly’ll devour me alive.”

Skitnik hopped off the sacks and paced a square around the small storeroom. His nails clicked on the stone floor, echoing down the bare store tunnel leading back to the main warren.

“I wants the food, but cants get it. Who can get it?” Skitnik asked aloud.

“The Jurouk can,” he answered aloud.

“So hows do I get them to give it to me?”

“They’ll kills ya if ya ask,” Skitnik continued his one sided conversation.

“They’ll gives me some tomorrow…feeding day…best day of the week.”

“Cants wait that long or I’ll be a husk.”

“Steal it!” Skitnik shout and then slapped his clawed hands tightly over his snout.

“Nots gonna steal it. May as well piddle in the Master’s ale. I’d sure end up dead.”

“So shuts your yap, unless ya got another inkling.”

He put one hand on his hip, still pacing, and scratched his head theatrically. The pacing continued for several minutes.

Skitnik froze, one foot still lifted in the air and on finger scratching his head. His eyebrows furrowed as he slowly lowered his foot. Clapping his hands to his muzzle, he let out a yip.

“Eck! By the Firbolg’s fuzzies, I’m thinkin’ I got me the answer!”

Skitnik capered around the storeroom, whistling and snapping his fingers.

“It’s not to steal if it’s not wanted no more. Alls I do is get the Master’s scraps before they go to the heap, and the kitchen’s always wantin’ help gathering the dishes. Sure as I’m a bright one, I’ll clean the Master’s dishes with the scraps in my belly. No need to bother the heap with it.”

Whining in excitement, Skitnik dashed out of the room headed for the kitchens. If his memory of the warren’s routine served, the Master’s last meal had been served not long ago.

If he could get to the kitchen at an opportune time, there was a good possibility the Jorouk cooks would assign him the task of retrieving the dirty dishes.

***

Skitnik peered into the Master’s chamber from the shadows of the hall. As he had predicted, he had arrived at just the right time for the Talonus, the chief Jurouk cook, to order him to perform the unfortunate task of gathering the Master’s dishes.

Skitnik made a proper show of whining and complaining about the task until Talonus threw a heavy ladle at him. Convinced that the cooks had not guessed his true intent, Skitnik hurried to the chamber, his mouth water the whole way.

From his hiding place, Skitnik listened to the sounds of eating. Whoever the Master really was, they were a very robust eater. The sounds of slurping and chewing and obvious culinary enjoyment emerged from behind the curtains of the large bed that the Master rarely left.

Occasionally a scrap of bread or a fowl bone bereft of flesh flew from behind the curtains, discarded casually for the servants to clear away later.

“Enjoying your dinner?” a basso voice said from within the curtained bed.

“I enjoyed the company,” answered a woman’s breathy contralto.

Skitnik stifled a squeak of alarm. The Master rarely entertained guests, and when he did they normally screamed instead of dined.

“I’m so pleased. My staff takes pride in their…hospitality.”

“Oh, you cad. You don’t have to remind me of that. I have been a guest before.”

“I am so forgetful. I feel lost when I am with you,” the Master said.

“You flatter me. You can have me visit any time you wish. You know that,” the woman answered.

“Unfortunately, I summoned you for you insight rather than you company.”

“Oh really? It has been ages since you asked for my opinion on anything.”

“Yes, I know. But, the situation I find myself in is better suited to you particular stripe of…wickedness.”

“Wickedness? You are one to accuse me of that. You might hurt my feelings...and I might be forced to put and withhold my help.”

“Whithold?” The Master’s voice turned to iron. “I say what you do and do not do. Never forget that, woman.”

“No need to snap. I merely jest. What choice do I have, anyway?”

“Never forget that I hold you in my hand. Your fate rests on my sufferance.”

“Of course, my Master.”

The voices were quiet for quite some time. Skitnik thought of slipping out to retrieve the dirty crockery he had spied on a low table near the foot of the bed. The plates still held many succulent scraps that seemed to beckon Skitnik to nibble them into nonexistence.

With a careful look around the room, the goblin stepped out of the shadows, placing his foot carefully to make sure his long nails did not tick against the floor. As he began to lift the other foot to take another step into the room, the whiskers on his snout began to quiver. This only happened when doom loomed near. Ducking back into the shadows, Skitnik covered his eyes, silently beseeching his ancestors for luck and whatever protection they could provide.

“Are you still angry with me?” The woman asked.

“Angry? No, simply perturbed. Why you insist on this behavior is beyond me. I provide you with everything you ever wanted and still you defied me. I thought that my lesson had demonstrated that my will is not to be trifled with.”

“The lesson was well taught, and learned. I suppose it is just my nature to test those around me,” the woman answered.

“Well, as that may be, I have need of your unique perspective. Will you give it, or must I teach you another lesson”

“There is no need for that. I am eager to hear what you have to say. These little talks are all I have to ward off the boredom.”

Skitnik huddled in the shadows, listening to the two banter back and forth, afraid to move, even breath. His whiskers twitched uncontrollably. If the master discovered him here, eavesdropping he was sure to kill the goblin. Unfortunately for Skitnik, if he tried to slip away, the Master just might hear him, which again led to an unpleasant death. The only other choice that came to mind was to wait for an opportune time to collect the dishes and then run like the reaper was at his heels.

Skitnik decided on the last course of action. Taking a few careful, quiet breaths, the goblin focused on controlling his shaking limbs. He filled his head with idyllic images like long naps with a full belly and nestling with his siblings when he was a pup back in the mountain cave where he had been whelped.

The image helped calm him and his breathing eased. He stopped trembling and his whiskers returned to their normal droopy posture.

Skitnik jumped when the conversation from the chamber renewed.

“My apologies, dear,” the Master said. “I so rarely have company that I am sometimes lacking the courtesies required.” The master nearly spat the word.

“I forgive you, darling, but please go on. I want to hear everything about this delicious plan of yours.” The woman answered, her voice tinged with humor.

“The details are not important. It suffices to say that I have grown tired of the status quo. I plan to slake my boredom with a bit of conspiracy. There are forces in motion that wish to unseat the regent, who has been my pawn. I have not decided if I shall let that happen. He is a buffoon and I grow tired of his incompetence. I have also learned that our plans in Hedgewise have gone awry, but this simply serves to spice our little pot of intrigue. If my new plan succeeds I will be rid of the Regent and those rebels that opposed him to top it off. I shall be the only power is Kath.”

“You are wicked…in all the best ways,” she purred.

“Don’t be impertinent. I didn’t invite you here to be a hussy,” the master responded.

“Than what did you invite me here for? You certainly are not looking for my approval. That time passed ages ago. No, I think it was something else.”

“Watch your tongue, witch,” the Master said, his voice booming in the chamber.

“Or what?” she answered, with a giggle. “What else can you do to me?”

“Silence or I’ll drop you in the privy and where would that leave you?”

“In the privy, I suppose,” she laughed.

The feminine laughter rang out unnaturally in the corridors, but was suddenly cut short by the sound of a hand slapping stone. A solid thunk of stone impacting stone followed quickly.

Skitnik watched in fear as a sphere of some sort rolled out of the chamber toward his hiding place in the shadows of the corridor. The sphere rolled smoothly, loosing little of its momentum as it grew closer to the goblin. Skitnik leapt away, avoiding the sphere just before it struck the wall and bounced back a few handspans back out of the shadows.

Now that it had stopped rolling, Skitnik took a moment to look at the sphere. His whiskered stood on end once again as he stared into the eyes of a beautiful woman. The eyes belong to the head encased in the transparent crystal sphere. Whoever she was, she wore a look of surprise and sadness. Something told Skitnik she knew her fate when she was killed.

“Slave!” The Master’s harsh voice jolted Skitnik out of his shock.

The Goblin stared up, realizing that his escape from the sphere’s kiss had taken him out of the shadows. He stared up into the eyes of the Master and the Master stared back.

This was the first time Skitnik had even gotten a clear look at the Master he had feared for so long. It was not a moment he would ever recall with any kind of fondness. The Master’s brawny form nearly filled the wide doorway. His build reminded Skitnik of a gladiator who had once been a guest of the Master before being killed for sport by the Jurouk guards at the Master’s behest. He wore only a loincloth and his body was all hard planes of muscles.

Despite the physical presence of the Master’s perfect physique, the thing Skitnik most remembered was the eyes. The Master’s eye blazed with fury. Elemental anger poured from his visage with nearly physical force.

“You shall die, spy!” The Master bellowed, lifting his hand and pointing a finger at the Goblin.

A vile green bolt of magic flew from his fingertip toward the stunned Goblin.

Only generations of vermin reflexes saved Skitnik as he ducked underneath the bolt and scampered off down the corridor. The Goblin moved so fast he never even saw the hole the bolt burned into the wall where he had been standing mere moments before.

Skitnik could hear the Master pursuing him, his bare feet slapping on the bare stone floor. Even with his head start, he knew from the sounds that death was gaining on him.

Frightened, but still cagey, Skitnik began taking every turn he could. The Master was fast, but he was quicker and each turn helped the Goblin pull away from his pursuer.

Unfortunately, Skitnik knew he was running out of time to escape. He would soon come to the more populated part of the warren and a fleeing Goblin was sure to draw the notice of any nearby Jurouk, and fro a Goblin drawing a Jurouk’s interest was almost always fatal.

Just then he turned another corner and nearly collided with another Goblin. The other Goblin hopped out of his way, but fell down in the attempt. Skitnik recognized the other as Rattik the Lesser, a particularly spotty customer who’s job it was to bring new Goblin slaves to the warren on a regular basis.

Skitnik did not bother to apologize or offer any assistance to the cursing Rattik. He was too occupied with saving his own skin and would worry about catching a beating from the other if he survived the Master’s wrath.

Skitnik changed a glance over his shoulder just in time to see a bolt of green energy streak from the corridor he had just fled and strike Rattik. The Goblin howled in agony as green fire engulfed his small body, sparks popping from the tips of his hair and whiskers.

Ducking around another corner, Skitnik lost sight of Rattik. The corner led him into another storeroom filled with various casks and barrels. Scanning the room quickly, he spied one with its lid ajar and leapt into it. He landed waist deep in brandy and quickly slid the lid of the barrel closed from inside.

Even with the lid closed he heard the Master voice from the other room.

“Look upon this Goblin. Such is the fate of all who spy on me!”

In a flash Skitnik realized that Rattik had paid for his transgression.

With a sigh and a silent thank you to his ancestors’ spirits, he squatted down in the barrel until the brandy reached up to his chin. Skitnik took a deep, deep drink and began to wonder just how in the nine hells he could get out of this with his skin intact.

Chapter Sixteen

2008-03-31T06:48:00.000-07:00

Tralingua’s eyelids fluttered in the early evening darkness. It was soon enough after nightfall that people were still about. Without this distraction Tralingua would surely have already fallen asleep. As it was, she fought the day’s fatigue valiantly. Unfortunately, a long day of begging in the religious quarter of Kath left her with little extra vigor for the task Maquin had set for her.

“It’s simple,” he had explained. “Just wait at the spot I tell you until some folk show themselves.”

“What folk,” she had asked.

“A man, a lizard, and a dog, my darling Tralingua” he had answered, adding feigned sweetness when he said her name.

After that Maquin dismissed Tralingua from his meeting room and she had gone back to her begging. She fumed the rest of the day thinking about how the boss had said her name. She may have been an indigent widow with no trade other than begging, but she recognized contempt when she heard it. She heard it often enough in the mumbled curses of her customers.

The sneer in Maquin’s voice assured her that he felt she did not deserve such a grand name. Most folk felt the same way. How could her mother have been so daft as to name her after perhaps the greatest beauty in the old stories? And a Princess, no less. To avoid the smarmy comments and teasing, she simply called herself Trali; a name she felt was more fitting for her humble job and her spotty looks.

Trali tromped back to her assigned begging territory. She cursed the fates that conspired to leave her with no option other than begging for a living. At the same time she secretly admitted to owning much of the blame for her situation. While being reared as the only daughter of a mildly successful merchant, Trali received better than average schooling, especially when compared to most women in Kath. Her first husband was affable but often described her as a challenge, but they were happy enough. Happy until the day the constables brought poor Ulrik’s bloody purse to her. They offered their condolences for the unfortunate loss of her husband. A nobleman had been in a hurry and had simply not seen Ulrik crossing the Temple Square before running him down with his new stallion. Her parents long since dead and having no siblings or children, Trali found herself alone in the world. She soon decided that being alone was not a state she wished to live in for long. Her second husband could most easily have been described as a necessary evil and he often described Trali as a shrew. A bitter end to that union was inescapable. That was how Trali found herself here in her current situation; waiting for an outlandish sounding group to enter the city through a forgotten gate, after her long day of begging to survive.

Looking more like a heap of rags rather than a once proud woman nearing old age, Trali lounged in a corner created where two of the more robust buildings in the poor quarter came together. From her vantage, she kept watch on the grime covered door once used by pig farmers to slop their hogs at the city midden. By the looks of the door, it had not budged in several score years, but she knew better. Although long forgotten by the city officials, those folk more comfortable in the shadows kept the door well maintained and oiled, despite its decrepit appearance. Only a few keys existed that would turn the old, iron lock, and they were guarded jealously. Trali knew if those she waited possessed one of those keys, the city’s shadowy underworld considered important by them influential or at least important.

Trali waited well after the sun fled and the tavern and inn keepers ventured out to place welcoming lamps on the door posts. She flirted with sleep, but the thought of Maquin’s anger if her prey slipped by was more than enough to keep it at bay. Her taskmaster often forgave small blunders, but had a reputation for harshness if someone made enough of a muddle of things.

Circumstances rewarded Trali’s diligence just as hunger began to pinch her belly. The door swung open and those that had been described to her emerged. Had they been any other three, she might have questioned it, but the dissimilar silhouettes of each made it clear that these were the folk she waited for.

Trali rose to her feet, joints popping as she stretched. She shambled toward the travelers as they closed and locked the door. As they turned to regard their surroundings, Trali reached them. Her back straightened and she affected her most dignified pose.

“Gentlefolk, I greet you.” She kept her voice low, but clearly audible enough for the three to hear her.

The three exchanged confused expressions, but said nothing for a moment. The creature that Trali would have described as a werewolf looked at the male Human and simply shrugged. The lizard creature cocked its head, watching Trali wearily and then turned to the Human.

“Well, you talk to it,” it gestured dismissingly at Trali. “It’s one of yours”

The man sputtered, looking embarrassed by the words. He turned to Trali and held out his hand.

“My apologies, goodlady. My companion sometimes lacks couth.”

Trali immediately revised her first impression of the fellow. Despite his bedraggled appearance, she decided at that moment that he was obviously a gentleman.

“No sorrys necessary, Lord. It’s quite a compliment to be lumped in with you.” Trali took his hand, bowing her head and performing a curtsy of sorts.

“Now, gentlefolk, if you follow me I’m to lead you to Master Maq…” Her voice trailed off for a moment, but then she continued. “I’m to lead you to our mutual friends. They’ll be eager to speak with you.”

“I am, bye the bye, Brayden. These are my companions Sethyr and Vijhan.” The man gestured toward the lizard creature and then to the werewolf.

“So pleased to make your acquaintance, good sirs,” Trali gave another quick curtsy, nodding at each in turn. She noticed that the werewolf’s tail began to wag back and forth when she acknowledged him. It reminded Trali how different Brayden’s two companions were, and that meant attracting unwanted attention. She gave the trio an embarrassed look. She motioned them over to a shadowy alley between a tavern and a shop outside of which a sign hung depicting a hat festooned with an impossibly long feather. The sound of gathered folk emanated from the open doorway of the tavern, but the shuttered widows indicated that the shop was closed up tight.

“I hate to ask it, but do all of you have long cloaks? Even in this dim night, you’re quite an unusual sight. My friends are the type that prefer as little attention turn their way as possible. If you wear the cloaks, it could help us avoid prying eyes.”

The Lizard creature hissed an unmistakable sigh, rolling its eyes in a peculiarly human way. The human, Brayden he had called himself, simply nodded and motioned for the others to comply as well. All three took a moment to retrieve long woolen cloaks from their packs. They were quite plain and looked nearly identical, probably purchased from the same craftsman.

Trali took a step back while they had donned their cloaks and nodded approvingly. It was quite an improvement in anonymity.

“Now I’d say that’s much better,” she commented.

“Oh course,” the lizard quipped, “no one shall find three shrouded figures stealing through the streets, led by…a bundle of rags, the least bit suspicious.”

“Sethyr, that is enough,” Brayden said with iron in his voice.

Sethyr’s gaze dropped toward the cobblestones.

Trali could not tell if this meant that the creature was repentant or merely cowed by the man’s rebuke. Either way, she did not care. She could not recall the last time anyone had come to her defense so readily…and it gave her a warm feeling.

Trali looked straight at Sethyr wearing a friendly smile.

“Better to look suspicious than be identified. Anyways, in this part of the city, a conveniently concealing cloak is almost a uniform.”

She stepped forward and adjusted the cowl of Sethyr’s cloak. She pulled it closer to conceal more of Sethyr’s elongated snout. The mage let out a quiet hiss, but submitted without an argument.

“Now, I think that’ll do it. Now if you would please follow me, I’ll have to there in not too long.”

Trali led them away from the alley and across the dark plaza to another alley. Their route look then through empty streets and cramped walkways, even through a burned out warehouse, before she held up her hand for them to halt. By this time, the circuitous route had thoroughly confused the trio as to their position in relation to the city wall.

They stood in front of a tenement resembling on a dozen they passed earlier. Trali smiled inwardly as she observed the confused looks the trio wore. Maquin would be pleased that she not only delivered them safely, but by a route the three had no hope of ever retracing.

Trali rapped on a decrepit looking, but solid sounding door. It slid open but the room inside was a pit of darkness.

Trali whispered to the guard she didn’t see, but knew would be there. “Please tell him that his guests are here.”

“Tell them to come in,” a voice came from the dark interior.

Trali turned to the trio she had escorted and motioned to them.

“This is as far as I go. The others will take you the rest of the way. Good Journey.”

Trali turned away as Brayden tried to thank her. She was tired and needed to rest. No matter how kind the man was, she knew the feelings it gave here had to be fleeting. Most of the world treated her with scorn and Brayden’s compassion only served to throw the rest of her life into sharp contrast. She heard a cheerful farewell as she hurried off into the night.

Chapter Fifteen

2008-03-28T06:00:00.001-07:00

To Vijhan’s canine eyes Kath was still a distant smudge on the horizon but the smell stabbed at his sense of smell, alternating between the stench of rotting garbage and the cloying odor of thousands of unwashed humans. Hidden beneath the overpowering human smells the sharp tang of the sea teased Vijhan’s nose. He had never seen the ocean, but its crisp scent stirred his instincts.

As they drew closer to the city, the stench increased, but the Canid’s nose began to adapt to it. If he concentrated he could ignore the smell and pick out other, les powerful scents. Vijhan thought that with practice he might be able to bear it for a while.

The outline of the city sharpened, gaining clarity as they drew closer. The walls slopped upward like a slab-sided pyramid, the parapets topped with graceful, rounded merlons. From this distance it was impossible for Vijhan to see if the walls were manned, but he had to assume that they must be at least minimally guarded.

The gate lay directly ahead of them, the road they traveled on running perpendicular to the city walls. It stood at the end of the road, a fortress unto itself. A huge banner flew from its highest tower, billowed by a stiff sea breeze.

“We should think about leaving the caravan soon…that is if we believe our mysterious warning,” Sethyr said.

Brayden sighed. “I suppose you are right. I have grown accustomed to the luxury of riding, but I suppose I could stretch these old legs of mine.”

“We should go now,” Vijhan added. “If we wait much longer, the gate guards may see us abandon the caravan and send out men to see why. If I commanded that gate, I’d have men with spy glasses watching the incoming traffic for just such a thing.”

“What are we waiting for, then?” Sethyr asked. She gathered up her pack and a sack of food they had purchased from the caravaneers and gingerly climbed down from the slow moving wagon. She hopped off the last few feet, landing on the dusty road next to Vijhan. When she got close enough the Canid could smell the mage’s cinnamony scent. It always made him smile inwardly. He enjoyed the scent, but would never admit it to Sethyr. She strived to be as unpleasant as possible at all times and knowing that he found her scent pleasing could cause no end of disagreement.

It took Brayden more time to gather himself before hopping down. Vijhan had to steady him as he nearly toppled over after taking a bad step.

“Careful, my friend,” Vijhan said, his hand clamped firmly on Brayden’s elbow.

“I’m fine. My thanks for the steady hand,” Brayden replied, embarrassed.

A look passed between Vijhan and Sethyr. They both hoped that Brayden had not seen the concern in their eyes. It pained the Canid to admit it, but in the short time he had known the Protector Brayden had seemed to have lost a step. He seemed older, somehow.

One of the caravan guards turned impassively to watch the three friends hurry into the high grass next to the road. Vijhan hoped that if questioned, the guard would not mention the caravan’s temporary guests and their suspicious departure.

The others followed Vijhan deeper into the grass, away from the road. Just as he anticipated, the Canid soon came upon a wide game trail. This far from the road, the grass grew high enough that it reached over their heads, but just barely. The trail cut a neat furrow through the tall grass, which in most places nearly met, almost as if the tri were traveling in a swaying, golden tunnel of grain.

“Where in the blazes did this path come from?” Sethyr asked from the rear of the line.

“This is how animals travel to Kath,” Vijhan responded.

“What do you mean?” Brayden asked, cutting off Sethyr’s curt response to Vijhan.

“Well, the one thing that Humans have always been good at is making garbage. I’m always surprised at what you will throw away.”

“Go on,” Brayden said after the Canid paused for a moment.

“Well, at least you have enough sense to dump the garbage outside of the city…or so I assume. The animals know this and feed off your castoffs. This trail was most likely made by a family of steppe boar on their way to breakfast at Kath’s midden heap.”

“Garbage?” Sethyr asked. “We are following the trail to the garbage pit?

“Where else? In the old days the pig farmers probably slopped their stock at the midden heap…”

“So that would be the logical place for a swineherd’s gate,” Sethyr finished Vijhan’s thought.

“Yes,” Vijhan nodded. “And the wild pigs have provided us with a hidden way to get there. Smart creatures. If they weren’t so tasty I’d feel terrible for eating them.”

“None the less,” Brayden interrupted. “We had better hurry if we want to reach the city before nightfall.”

Sethyr eyed the Protector, “My good friend, after nightfall is the best time to enter the city. Less chance of being seen.”

“You’re right, of course,” he answered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I simply don’t have the nose for sneaking.”

“Fortunately, you travel with two experts,” Vijhan said, eliciting a toothy nod from Sethyr.

The trail meandered left and right, following whatever porcine instinct had led the pigs toward the city, but it did lead eventually in the right direction. If a wild pig could be counted on for anything it must be its tenacious and unerring attraction to an easy meal.

The smell of the city’s garbage alerted the three companions before the city came into view. Brayden nearly gagged on the stench, but it seemed to excite Vijhan. Sethyr remained as calmly aloof as usual.

The high grass ended abruptly, obviously shorn by human hands. All three ducked back into the hidden safety of the grassy alley, hopeful that they had not been seen. Peering carefully from the edge of the grass, Brayden surveyed the land beyond. Mountains of refuse filled the space between the grassland and the city wall. He could see hunched figures swarming over the mounds, like human ants, gathering food around their hill.

Vijhan peeked over Brayden’s shoulder.

“It is amazing. Your folk squander such abundance,” Vijhan said.

“The poor put it to good use,” Brayden answered, a bit of defensiveness in his voice.

“I mean no insult, friend. You Humans can work and produce like no other race. That gives you the option of being what some would call wasteful.”

Brayden shot an irritated glance over his shoulder.

“I’m sure he is so happy that you approve,” Sethyr said, drawing a look of ire from both of her companions. “But I think that right now we should decide how to proceed.”

Brayden and Vijhan turned and walked back into the cover of the grass.

“I thought we had a plan?” Vijhan said.

Sethyr eyed the Canid.

“No, Vijhan, we have someone else’s plan. A plan, that I might add, only meets our unknown benefactor’s needs, however much they may be aligned with our own. We need our own plan.”

“Sethyr is correct. We should trust his suspicion. It is one of his most well honed traits,” Brayden said

“So what do you suggest?” Vijhan asked.

“Well, our benefactor expects us to enter on the sly. I propose we do nothing of the sort. I say we counter their circumspection with a flourish.”

“And what, exactly, does that mean?” Brayden asked.

Sethyr gave a predatory grin. “I suggest we make an entrance and force our benefactor to show himself, or themselves as the case may be.”

“We should, at least, wait until dark,” Brayden said.

“Yes, that would be for the best. We want to be audacious without being foolish,” Sethyr agreed.

* * *

Sethyr, Brayden and Vijhan watched the human scavengers as they went about their business, picking their daily treasures from the mounds of garbage. Brayden’s stomach wrenched at the misery that their lives must be. Most, he noticed, were either old or very young, the most helpless among the city’s population. A few squabbles broke out, but most went about their business with bowed backs and downward gazes. Some part of Brayden assured him that the downward gazes were more than simply watching for possible scraps. Shame showed in those bent heads.

The sight tore at Brayden, sending his mood into a dark place. He felt the guilt of not helping these folk, but pushed it aside to stay focused on his current task. He knew that focus was indispensable to a Protector. If he chased every injustice he stumbled across, he would never be able to right any wrongs. Being a servant of Chanti required focus, concentrating on the task at hand. With a sigh, Brayden fixed his eyes on the high city wall and followed Vijhan onward.

The Canid set a quick pace to the wall. A few of the human scavengers risked weary glances at the dangerous looking trio, but went back to their task once satisfied that they posed no danger. As they approached, it became apparent how large the mounds of refuse actually were. The smell increased as they neared as well.

Finally they reached the city wall. Vijhan pointed out a road that led away from the midden toward the main gate. This must be how the garbage was transported from the city to this dumping ground. They also saw a few forlorn folk shambling down the road toward the gate, finished with their day of scavenging and ready for a few hours of respite in whatever hovel they called home.

“So where, do you suppose, is this gate?” Brayden asked.

“It sounds like it was designed as part of the wall, which probably means it is not hidden,” Sethyr answered.

“The quickest way to find it would be to separate and each of us search part of the nearby wall,” Brayden said. “But, I am not comfortable with that. It puts each of us in too much danger. We are safer if we stay together.”

The others nodded in agreement. Without a word they began to walk along the wall. This close, the wall blotted out even that last vestiges of twilight, leaving the ground nearby in a pool on inky darkness.

Brayden stumbled in a small depression, cursing and limping for a few steps.

“Damn, maybe we should not have waited to find the gate after dark.”

Sethyr and Vijhan turned to regard the Protector.

“What? I am just frustrated that I am stumbling around like some infirm fool. I don’t see in the dark as well as you two.”

Sethyr grinned a grin so wide that it was visible even in the dark.

“Worry not, we will guide you. Would you like a stick to tap the ground with meanwhile.”

“Go sit on an egg!” Brayden snapped.

Sethyr’s grin disappeared, replaced by an angry hiss. Vijhan stepped between the two, interposing his wide body.

“Unless we want to wander until dawn we better find that gate,” the Canid said.

“It’s on the other side of the bastion over there,” a weak voice came out of the darkness.

The trio looked back and forth, searching for the source of the voice. They soon realized that it had come from a nearby heap of refuse. As they watched, a slumped figure stood up. In the darkness Vijhan and Sethyr could see that it was an old woman, wrapped in a tattered cloak. Brayden could only see an outline of the woman.

“That bastion,” the woman said, gesturing toward a small tower that projected out and away from the city wall. “When I was a child my father used it to slop his hogs here at the midden and he used that gate.” She approached the trio in a stiff, shambling gait.

Once she drew close enough Brayden could see to woman’s withered features.

“Oh, gran, what are you doing out here at night?” He asked, taking her hand.

“My legs won’t carry me back and forth, so I sleep here now,” she answered with a note of sadness. “It won’t be long before I am ready for the heap myself.”

“No, we will help you,” Brayden said with resolve.

“Don’t worry yourself, Protector. I have lived a long life and choose freedom over comfort long ago.”

“But, gran, it is my duty to aid you…as a Protector.”

“Young man, why do you assume I need your protection?” She cackled as she drew a long, thing knife from beneath her skirts. “I have been taking care of myself for more years than you can count. Now stop this foolishness and let me help you.”

Brayden nodded, but still looked unconvinced.

The woman cackled again but continued. Now, years ago they painted over the old swineherd’s gate, but it is still there. Someone actually opened it a few weeks ago, so I know it will still open, but I suspect it is locked once again.”

“My thanks, gran. We were gifted with the key,” Brayden explained.

The old woman’s grin collapsed into a deep frown. “Sometimes a gift like that isn’t worth anything but a peck of trouble. You three need to be careful. There have been rumblings amongst to beggars.”

“Really? What do you mean?” Brayden asked.

“Now that I think about it, anyone who see you could make themselves a nest-egg reporting it to the right folk.”

“And who would that be?”

“Can’t honestly say that I remember. I forget the damnedest things nowadays,” she replied followed by another cackle. She reached out, grasping Brayden’s wrist and drew him close in a hug.

“Now piss-off so I can get back to sleep,” she said, slapping the Protector on the back and letting him go. She turned and shuffled back toward the mounds of refuse, disappearing into the dark.

Without a word the trio made their way toward the bastion indicated by the old woman. After a few minutes of searching near the bastion, Sethyr discovered the crudely concealed gate. Brayden withdrew the key from the pouch on his belt and slipped it into the lock. It entered easily, meeting no resistance. Brayden turned the key, rotating it smoothly until all three heard the click of the tumblers falling into place. The lock had obviously been well maintained despite the shabby appearance of the gate.

“We shall see what kind of reception awaits us,” Brayden said as he pushed the gate inward.

Chapter Fourteen

2008-03-26T04:40:00.000-07:00

Sethyr watched Brayden minister to Vijhan from across the campsite. She could not help the pang of jealousy that rose in her chest. She knew that Brayden would do the same for if she were injured…he had in the past. But, she still felt jealous. Before the Canid had come along, she had Brayden’s undivided attention. Now she had to share, and did not enjoy it.

Of course, Sethyr liked Vijhan well enough. He had proved to be a good traveling companion, despite the rocky start to their association. The Canid genuinely wanted to be helpful, and did not ask much in return.

“Harrumph,” she grumbled. In some ways Vijhan was just like a dog, eager to please. Sethyr felt a flash of guilt. She knew first hand that instinct was hard to overcome. Because some distant ancestor of her own was often the prey of huge birds, the back part of her brain jumped every time a large shadow passed by. It was not rational; it just was…

Sethyr sighed. Watching Brayden tend to Vijhan was not any easier, but she resigned herself to the sharing. If it came down to having a portion of the Protector’s attention or none of it, she chose the former.

“Will he survive?” Sethyr asked as she approached to two.

“Yes, he will. It’s just his arm that is the trouble now,” Brayden said.

“That’s why you should let me start scouting again,” Vijhan said, as he opened one eye.

“It has only been two days since the bear got a hold of you. You still need rest.” Brayden scolded the Canid.

“You haven’t let do anything but rest for two days. Frankly, I am sick of your cooking. If I don’t get some fresh meat soon, I’ll start gnawing on one of you.” Humor showed in Vijhan’s voice.

“Well, I’m much too stringy, so I suppose you’ll have to start with Brayden,” Sethyr quipped.

“I’d sooner eat my mother…which he is acting quite like, come to mind.”

They shared a laugh which ended with an uncomfortable silence.

Vijhan broke the silence with one of his canine yawns.

“Honestly, I know I can scout, even with a bad arm,” Vijhan said.

Brayden look skeptical. “I’m still not sure. What if you meet another one of those bears?”

“This time I won’t try to fight it. I’ve seen the errors of my ways.”

“Brayden, you forget our need for haste. Those rubes in Hedgewise may still be in danger” Sethyr added.

“I know…I know all that. I suppose it will be alright.”

Vijhan whined happily. “I can’t wait to run again.”

***

Sethyr watched as Vijhan loped along side the bouncing wagon. From her vantage atop the bolts of cloth filling the wagon, she laughed.

“Don’t you ever get tired?”

Vijhan just smiled up at her and shook his head.

Sethyr chuckled, which came out as a reptilian croak. She turned to Brayden who lounged next to her atop the wagon. He eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. The lines at the corners of his eyes did not appear so deep as he napped peacefully. In the time she had known the Protector, Brayden had aged more than his years. Sethyr assumed it had to be the result of all the warm-blooded business that mammals like the Canid always engaged in.

Sethyr could not understand why Brayden and his ilk did not appreciate simply lying in the sun and relaxing. They all insisted on hurrying hither and yon, busy for the sake of keeping busy.

She mused that perhaps someday Humans would manage to keep from destroying themselves to appreciate the simple joy of doing nothing but lying in the sun.

“Not likely,” she thought to herself. They seemed to be happiest when they were occupied with some trivial bit of business.

The wagon lurched to a stop, nearly dislodging Sethyr from her perch. The jarring also woke Brayden.

“By the titan’s testicles, what is going on,” Sethyr shouted at the drover guiding the wagon.

“Sorry, sir, the caravan has halted. Looks like ‘nother caravans already at Northfork. We’ll hafta wait our turn,” the drover answered sounding bored. “Bad luck is it’s a’going and were a’coming, so we gotta wait til it’s passed by the Northfork”

Sethyr remembered Brayden mentioning Northfork several days ago when he had described Kath to her and Vijhan. The Northfork, he had explained, was where the main road going north from Kath split. The branch they waited for headed straight west, toward the Sea of Grass. It was not as heavily traveled as the other branch. That one went north-east along the coast. Smaller roads branched from it on a regular basis leading inland to the cities of the heartland. Between Kath and the Northfork regular army patrols were common. This kept the ever-present caravans safe until well away from the city. This kept the area around the city officially free of bandits. This was a service the tax collectors emphasized when they made their rounds among the visiting merchants.

For Sethyr, this delay was merely the latest in a string of boredom that began when her and her companions had joined the caravan. The caravan master had been eager to let the three companions travel with the wagons once he discovered Brayden was a holy man. He was more circumspect about her and Vijhan, but was quickly won over after she performed a few tricks for the drovers. To ensure further goodwill, Vijhan continued his hunting each day, now bringing back larger prey to share with all of the caravaneers. Sethyr would never believe that these men of the West really trusted her or the Canid, but they had warmed well past a state of tolerance.

Sethyr dozed on and off before being jarred awake by the motion of the wagon once again began jouncing along the road. She sneezed from the renewed cloud of dust kick up by caravan as it traveled down the road.

“Dust or mud,” she said in Brayden’s direction. “I’m not sure which the worst choice is. When you have one you prefer the other.”

“Aye, isn’t that the fate of all mortals?” Brayden answered, a mordant note in his voice.

“So, how far to Kath from here?”

“A day at the most. Vijhan should start smelling it any time now.” Brayden snickered.

The Canid’s head turned, peering at Brayden.

“Smell it? A day away?” Vijhan asked.

Brayden nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid we humans often ‘soil the nest’, so to speak.”

“I have heard that monkey fling dung. It must run in the family,” Sethyr added.

Brayden laughed. “You could be right. I just wanted to prepare our friend here that his fine snout may soon be under assault.”

Vijhan smiled. “Not to worry. To my folk things don’t really smell bad, simply more or less interesting.”

“If that is the case, you should find a Human city very interesting…in an olfactory sense,” Sethyr said.

The actual crossroads came into view from where Sethyr sat atop the wagon. The main road they were heading toward was obviously much wider and better constructed than the hard packed road the traveled on. It was topped by uniformly sized cobbles made from grey stone. Where the two rougher thoroughfares split from it, an ornately carved stone plinth stood, marking the end of Kath’s influence and responsibility. A stone bust of a fat, jovial looking fellow stood atop the plinth, seeming to welcome all to the territory of Kath.

“Who is the grinning imbecile up there?” Sethyr asked, pointing at the stone bust.

Brayden craned his neck to see where the mage pointed. “That is Jombie, the patriarch of Kath. He founded the place a few hundred years ago. His line died out ten years before I was born. The Regent rules there now.”

“So why is his statue still up there?”

“He and his family were very popular. The common folk still celebrate his birthday here in Kath.”

“I suppose that irritates the Regent to no end,” Sethyr said.

The conversation died away as they neared the plinth. As they passed, a shabbily dressed fellow who leaned against the plinth eyed Brayden and Sethyr suspiciously. After their wagon passed he uncrossed his arms and then began to walk with the caravan. He slowly closed the distance between himself and the wagon they were riding in. He soon caught up and looked around to see if anyone else was nearby.

“Oi, you. Up on the wagon,” he hissed.

Sethyr sat up and peered at the man.

“Yes?” She answered.

“Not you, scale-face. The bloke.”

Sethyr reached over and poked Brayden with her claw. The protector started from his dozing.

“What…what is it?”

“I believe this gentleman would like a bit of your time,” Sethyr said as she pointed down at the man hurrying along next to the wagon.

Brayden sat up, peering down at the man.

“How may I aid you, friend?” he asked.

“Are you a Protector?” The man answered.

“Yes, I am. Are you in need of my healing touch?” Brayden looked the man over. He did not have any obvious injuries or infirmities.

“No, I supposed to give you a message.”

“A message? From who?” Brayden asked.

“A friend in Kath.”

“A friend, you say? I’m afraid that you may have me confused with someone else. I really don’t know many people in Kath.”

“I was supposed to deliver the message to a Protector who was traveling with a lizard. That must be you,” the man explained. “They said you had a dog too, but I guess they meant him,” the man pointed at Vijhan.

Sethyr hissed at the man, irritated at being called a lizard. The man pointedly ignored her ire.

“So, what is this message?” Brayden asked.

“I’m just supposed to give you this. Beyond that, I’ve no inkling.” The man tossed an oilskin bundle up to Brayden who deftly snatched it out of the air. The man immediately jogged away, quickly outdistancing the slow moving caravan.

The Protector looked it over, but found no markings or clues to its contents. He began to unwrap the packet, untying the leather bindings. Sethyr leaned closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of the contents.

Once open, the packet revealed a scrap of rough parchment folded over a large bronze key. The key was scarred and covered in a patina, but still looked quite functional. Brayden unfolded the parchment and began to read. Sethyr scooted closer and read the parchment over his shoulder.

“Danger lurks, waiting for you at the gates of Kath. For reasons unknown to me, Helgrim the darker seeks you and your companions. This key unlocks swineherd’s gate. It has not been used officially for many years but should serve you well. Seek it five hundred paces east of Northgate. Using this you should be able to slip their traces.”

The words were written in precise, blocky letters and the letter was unsigned. Whoever their possible ally was, they chose not o reveal themselves yet. Sethyr surmised that even if their new enemies were watching the Northgate for their arrival, their new allies would be watching the Swineherd’s gate carefully.

The caravan trundled on steadily, bringing closer the decision of how to use this unforeseen and troubling bit of information.

Chapter Thirteen

2008-03-24T06:21:00.000-07:00

Vijhan stalked the low scrub bordering the nearby plain. A strange, pungent scent wafted toward him on the morning breeze, raising his hackles. He had to stifle a low growl. The Canid, a skilled hunter, inhaled deeply, trying to pick up more of the scent. Perhaps if he could get a nose full he would be able to identify the scent. Gripping his spear just a little tighter, he inhaled again.

Vijhan recognized some of the threads of the scent. Whatever it was, it was a predator. The coppery smell of a meat eater was easy to discern with his sensitive nose. There was also a curiously strong smell of rotting meat intermingled with the predator’s. The sweet-tinged rot masked the finer nuances Vijhan needed to identify what kind of predator it was.

Spooked, the Canid gave one last sniff and then began to back away. There was no way to know what was giving off the scent, but he could tell that it was very close. After warily retreating to a safer distance up a low hill, Vijhan strained his eyes to see if his new vantage point allowed him to catch a glimpse of the hidden predator. No such luck.

Felling confident he had slipped away undetected, Vijhan fell into a ground-eating lope. He decided to cut his scouting trip short and let his companions know that something seemed amiss ahead. Earlier in the day he had discovered a wonderful camp site, but had rejected it as not far enough along his route. If he hurried, he might be able to intercept Brayden and Sethyr before they reached the site and explain the situation. Based on their best guess, they would find one of the trade roads in the next day or so. Ending the day early would be a welcome respite from the constant travel of the past several days.

As Vijhan traveled gentle breeze began to blow from the north. He muttered a curse for the change in the wind. With the wind directly in his face he could smell anything that he was moving toward, but anything coming up behind him would have its scent blown away from the Canid’s keen nose. For Vijhan the effect was akin to wearing a blindfold, eliminating his ability to detect any pursuers by their scent. He was, however, comforted that he caught the faint scent of his companions on the breeze blowing toward him.

Vijhan’s pace remained constant and quick, as if the scent of his companions was pulling him along. The scent grew more distinct in his nose as he ran, reassuring him that he was growing closer every minute. Vijhan’s tail began to wag on its own at the prospect of seeing his companions again. Even though it was a natural reaction among his kind, it bothered Vijhan that his tail seemed to have a mind of its own. A few times he had considered wearing breeches that would conceal his errant tail, but dismissed it each time at the thought of the possible discomfort.

With a chuff of determination, Vijhan decided to leave well enough alone. Not even Sethyr seemed poked fun at him for the minor foible. He thought perhaps it could be that she might be as self conscious of her tail as he was in the presence of Brayden. Despite their vast differences, Vijhan knew that he and Sethyr both shared a strange admiration for Brayden. Before meeting the Protector, the Canid never had any interest in Humans, other than as possible prey. Vijhan assumed that Sethyr shared similar feelings because she chose to travel with Brayden rather than stay with her own folk.

The breeze shifted abruptly, no longer blowing in Vijhan’s face, but from behind. What he smelled stopped him in his tracks. He paused and inhaled more deeply to pick up the scent better. The strange rotting smell was so strong now it caused him to sneeze. He recognized the smell, with its mixture of rot and predator. However, this time the smell was much closer and it made his mind cry danger. The smell was unmistakably from a dákde t'ooch.

Vijhan whirled around, ready to fight. A massive bear galloped into the clearing, its head up and sniffing the air. Vijhan let out a gasp at the bear’s size. On all four feet, it looked directly into his eyes. He had seen one at a distance when he first began to hunt with his pack, but that experience utterly failed to prepare him for meeting a dákde t'ooch face to face. The bear swung its huge hear from side to side, scanning the clearing. It was then that Vijhan saw the reason for the rotting smell. A horrible burn marred one side of the bear’s face and neck, all the way down to its shoulder. The wound was blackened, but had broken open and putrid yellow ooze seeped from it. Vijhan saw that the wound was terribly infected and was driving the bear into a fevered rage. If the dákde t'ooch had not been deadly enough, being mad with pain made it doubly dangerous.

It took the bear a few moments to catch sight of Vijhan. Dákde t'ooch depended on hunting with their sharp noses and had very poor eyesight, but it was good enough to identify prey at a short distance. The bear shook its head and bellowed a challenge, flinging drops of ooze from the wound out to either side.

Vijhan’s knees nearly buckled from the roar’s ferocity. He imagined that the force of the roar ruffled the furry tufts of his ears, making them unconsciously flatten against his head. Vijhan, his reason frozen by fear, gave his body over to his hunter instincts. His lips curled into a feral snarl and he howled, summoning the rest of his pack to the kill. A kernel of though trapped beneath the carnivore reactions knew there was no pack to summon, but it remained trapped, unheeded.

Enraged by Vijhan’s challenging howl, the bear snorted, lowering its head for a charge. With another roar, the beast leapt forward. Vijhan reacted instantly, scrambling to the left, putting him on the side of the bear with the injured, cloudy eye.

The bear’s jaws snapped on empty air. Realizing that its prey had escaped, the bear reared up on its hind legs. It towered nearly three times Vijhan’s height. Letting out another titanic roar, it scanned the clearing for the Canid.

Before it spied Vijhan, the Canid jumped forward, stabbing his spear forward. The blade bit deeply into the beast’s hip, summoning forth another angry roar in response. The bear whirled around, dropping to all fours. The creature’s sudden move ripped the spear from Vijhan’s grasp.

Sensing an advantage the dákde t'ooch lunged at the Canid. Vijhan managed to dance out of the way, drawing a small, bearded axe from his belt. The bear snapped at him, but missed again. Vijhan smashed the axe downward at the bear’s head as it snapped at him. He scored a glancing blow against the blackened wound on the bear’s face. The scabious mass split wide, spitting a fountain of putrid corruption.

The bear let out a high-pitched bellow of pain, shaking its head in agony. The pain showed no signs of discouraging the bear. In fact, it seemed to redouble its ferocity. The bear struck out with a ham sized paw, catching Vijhan before he could backpedal. It connected with a glancing blow on the Canid’s arm with a sickening crack. Vijhan sailed through the air, landing in a heap at the edge of the clearing. The axe flew from his mangled grasp as he hit the ground, clattering against the trunk of a scrawny tree.

The bear plodded in a circle, bellowing and pawing at its injured Muzzle. The pain made it forget the fallen Canid for the moment. Vijhan took those precious seconds to gather his wits, getting to his feet. He cradled his broken arm close to his side, wincing with each movement. He spotted his axe lying under the tree where it had fallen and he stumbled over to retrieve it. Carefully leaning down to pick it up, Vijhan’s injured arm brushed one of the low hanging branches. He stifled a yelp of pain and grabbed the axe.

The sound was enough to distract the bear from its pain long enough to recall its prey. It rounded on Vijhan, panting, its huge shoulders heaving as it slowly padded toward the Canid. Vijhan raised the axe in a feeble defense, but the bear rose to his hind legs and batted it away, sending it flying into the trees. Now defenseless, Vijhan reverted to his instincts. Unmindful of his dangling arm, the Canid rose to his feet and leapt at the bear. His teeth closed on the bear’s thick neck and he bit down with all his remaining strength. His teeth met tough hide and a thick, oily pelt, but did not penetrate anything vital. There was just too much flesh there for the Canid’s teeth to find deadly purchase. The bear swatted Vijhan to the ground, dislodging him but paid for it by losing a large patch of hide from its neck. The back of the Canid’s skull struck a rock as he hit the ground. It sent stars across his vision and his head swam.

The dákde t'ooch loomed over the stunned Canid, a combination of saliva, blood and pus dripping down, spattering Vijhan. A shout drew the bear’s attention away from the fallen Canid. Its head lifted, searching for the source.

Brayden stood among the trees just outside of the clearing, his broadsword drawn and his shield held defensively.

“Leave him be, beast!” Brayden shouted. Dropping to all fours, the bear sniffed the air suspiciously. Some glimmer of guile still left in its fevered brain warned him to be wary of the newcomer. It growled threateningly, but did not make a move to attack.

Brayden took a step forward, shouting and banging his sword against his shield. The racket startled the bear, but it still did not back away from Vijhan.

Brayden took another step forward, continuing his clanging barrage. The bear shied away from the harsh metal clanging, but did not fully give ground. It continued to stand over Vijhan, unwilling to lose its prey to the newcomer.

It reached out with its paw, rolling the Canid closer and eliciting a pained groan. The bear leaned its head down, eyes never leaving Brayden, and began to pick up Vijhan in its mouth.

“NO!” Brayden screamed. The Protector rushed forward, swing his sword in an overhand arc.

The Bear, having a hold of the Canid, whirled on all four feet and galloped away from the charging Protector. Even carrying the Canid, the bear moved much faster than Brayden. It began to outdistance him, Vijhan flopping in its huge mouth like a doll.

“Blast you, beast…STOP!” Brayden yelled, but the bear paid him no heed.

“Sethyr, do something.” Near panic showed in the Protector’s voice.

Just at that moment, Sethyr did do something. The mage materialized directly in the path of the charging bear. She held nothing but a tree branch in each hand. The bear chugged on, bearing down on the mage like a charging bull. Sethyr simply smiled one of her knowing smiles and spoke a single word.

“Kilosh.”

The branches she held burst into bright flames, whooshing as they ignited. The sight of the flames did get the bear’s attention.

The huge beast froze, its juggernaut bulk heaving to a halt five meters from the flames. Its good eye grew large, transfixed by the guttering flames.

“Ah, I see by you wound you are familiar with fire,” Sethyr said. She took casual step forward, moving the burning branches closer to the bear.

“Be a good, little pet and drop our companion.”

The bear let out a high-pitched whine. Its head swung to and fro, searching for a way around Sethyr. It stepped to the right, but the mage waved a branch and the bear shied away from the fire, sending it backward a few steps.

Sethyr slowly continued her approach, a step at a time.

“You silly bugger, drop the dog and you can go…Oh you stupid animal.”

With a bellow of pain, the bear dropped Vijhan and whirled around. Brayden stood behind it, his sword wet with blood. The Canid forgotten, the bear advanced on Brayden, enraged at its new tormentor. Sethyr could see more than a little concern on the Protector’s face.

“Allow me,” Sethyr said, and waved one of the burning branches in Brayden’s direction. A gout of flame leapt from the branch and executed a curved path through the air toward Brayden. The protector held his sword aloft, intersecting the path of the flame. When the two touched, the sword’s blade transforming into a brand of fire.

The flaming bland gave the bear pause. It hesitated in confusion, its fear of the flames warring with its insensate rage. The rage won out and the bear lunged at Brayden, its eyes filled with hate.

The Protector danced aside easily, avoiding the snapping jaws. With a quick chop, he brought the sword down on the bear’s neck, its blade slicing neatly through it. The flames sizzled as the bear’s blood splashed on the blade as it passed though the bone and sinew.

The bear’s head dropped neatly to the ground, but the body plowed into the ground a few more feet, driven by the momentum of its muscled bulk.

“Sethyr, douse these flames, we don’t want to start a wildfire,” Brayden called as he rushed to Vijhan’s side.

Sethyr gave a bored sigh. “As you wish.”

The mage held the burning branches in front of her and blew casually on them. The flames guttered out, leaving the branches smoking, but extinguished. As the flames on the branches died, so did the ones engulfing the blade of Brayden’s sword.

Brayden dropped the sword absently into the grass as he reached Vijhan. The Canid was unconscious, but still breathing. The protector carefully removed the Canids woolen shirt, searching for wounds. The bear had left several deep punctures on his shoulder where it had carried Vijhan in its mouth. The arm was obviously broken, but other than that, Vijhan seemed fairly intact.

Brayden hastily removed his heavy leather gauntlets and probed the wounds on the Canids shoulder.

“A am going to fix these first and then I’ll need you help to set his arm,” he said to Sethyr as she approached casually.

Without waiting for a response, Brayden put his hands over the punctures, closed his eyes and, began to chant a prayer to Chanti. A bright glow appeared around his hands. The visible bruising slowly faded as the chant continued. Finally, Brayden finished his prayer and moved his hands, flexing them painfully as if afflicted with arthritis.

He turned them over, revealing a web of bruises on the palms of his hands.

Sethyr hissed when she saw them. “It’s a high price to pay for the healing touch,” she said.

Brayden looked up at his friend. “Perhaps, but one I am willing to pay. I’d do the same for you.”

“It’s a pity it won’t knit bone as well as flesh,” Sethyr responded.

“Aye, but I don’t know if I’d even survive that…now help me make him comfortable so we can set his arm in a sling. It’s fortunate that he is still benumbed. It’ll make it much more pleasant for all of us.”

Brayden removed a blanket from Vijhan’s nearby pack and rolled it behind the Canid’s head, trying to make him as comfortable as possible before beginning the task of resetting the Canid's broken arm.

Chapter Twelve

2008-03-21T04:37:00.001-07:00

Skirting the swampy ground filling the floor of the valley, Brayden, Sethyr and Vijhan had traveled eight days in a generally southerly direction, following the valley downward. The valley was fertile with game aplenty and Vijhan often returned from his scouting forays with a brace of robust hare or pheasant. Just before dusk came each evening Vijhan would lead them to a protected campsite he discovered during the day. Brayden was amazed at how far the Canid could range in a day and still return to them each afternoon. He thought how hopeless it would be to have an entire pack of the relentless hunters dogging his every step and thanked Chanti that Vijhan was their companion and not their pursuer.

Each morning Sethyr insisted on taking a private stroll. The mage refused to explain why, becoming angry and defensive when the Protector asked for an explanation. After the third morning walk, Sethyr returned, seemingly pleased with something that occurred during the stroll. Brayden decided it would be simpler to drop the subject as it appeared to be at an end. Vijhan followed his lead and did not bring up the subject again.

As they traveled farther, the valley widened, slowing dropping to meet a wide expanse of roiling, tall grass. From their vantage point Brayden could not count the animals moving across the plain in mixed herds. Many gathered at the edge of an expansive lake fed by several converging rivers flowing from valleys very much like the one they had just traversed. The veldt spread before Brayden.

The Protector called for a halt, causing Sethyr to grumble. Vijhan thoughtfully complied, but something about his demeanor gave the impression that he was on edge. Brayden slipped his pack off, setting it on the ground and squatting down to search for something inside. He retrieved a worn, roughly-drawn map. The map was inked on supple leather that had been bleached almost white. Despite its rough nature, the map contained very detailed, albeit messy, drawings.

Brayden sat down on a nearby stone and studied the map. Mumbling to himself, he ran his finger over several spots, mentally retracing their steps.

Vijhan peered over his shoulder, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

“No wonder you Humans seek to build empires. They seem so small on a map,” the Canid remarked. “Hardly an effort to conquer something so tiny.”

Brayden ignored the friendly jibe but Sethyr rose to the challenge.

“Yes, Vijhan, I supposed it would be difficult to draw a map for Canids, what with having to mark all the territories with urine.”

Vijhan barked a laugh. “Aye, ye’d have to have a whole pack of us just to scent it right.”

Sethyr began to answer but closed her mouth. She had expected the comment to draw his ire, not a laugh. The mage knew that continuing this particular sparring match would only result in her own irritation. Vijhan’s growing good mood seemed to have grown during their trek and seemingly made him immune to her barbs. Sethyr decided to bide her time until the Canid was feeling more vulnerable. A sting in a soft spot always proved more effective.

Sethyr stifled a grin, but not quickly enough. Vijhan turned and caught sight of her smile, returning it warmly.

“Ah, Sethyr, tis fine that you find yourself in an agreeable mood this morning. You’re a good companion anyhow, but even better when the mood strikes you.”

A flash of guilt passed through Sethyr. She wondered how Vijhan could be so sunny and open. He hardly seemed the same Canid who they defeated in Hedgewise. She began to ponder this while returning his smile weakly. If Vijhan temper remained so clement Sethyr worried that she might lose her edge and actually begin to enjoy his company. She had made that mistake only a few times in the past, and with the exception of Brayden, each time it had ended badly.

Brayden broke Sethyr’s reverie, calling for her to come over.

“Look here, on the map,” he pointed at a spot on the map. It appeared to be a large area filled with crude squiggles labeled ‘Sea of Grass’. “Luckily we only need to skirt the edge to the south and pick up one of the trade roads to Kath.”

“That should be easy enough to run,” Vijhan commented. “And plenty of game to live off.” His eyes lit up with the thought of hunting.

“Easy enough for you, Vijhan,” Brayden corrected. “But not for us. We are not built for it, at least not like you are.”

“If it were really a sea, I’d be much more at home,” Sethyr added. “But these plains worry me.”

Brayden nodded, “they would worry me too, but we only have to travel for two or three days on them, and then it is a quick jaunt on a good road to the gates of Kath.”

Sethyr sniffed in disagreement. “Spending three nights on the plain does not sound wise to me. We have all heard of the monsters that stalk those herds down there.”

“I am surprised at you, Sethyr,” Brayden answered. “You, of all folk, I would have expected to take those stories with a grain of salt.”

“You forget, I have lived in the wild…as a youngling. Predators are not to be taken lightly.”

Vijhan nodded enthusiastically in agreement with Sethyr’s argument.

“I have seen the bears. When they get old and sick they sometimes wandered into our mountains. Even half dead they were a terror.”

Brayden remained unconvinced. “I have hunted bear. They are dangerous, but not overly so.”

Vijhan laughed. “Not these bear, friend. These are short faced bears, twice the size of one of a mountain bear, and with legs as long as a horse’s. They can even run one of my kind down and tear them to pieces. We call them dákde t'ooch: Black wind. They are one of the reasons my people never lived in the Sea of Grass.”

Brayden looked at Vijhan skeptically but remained silent.

“It that why you have been so nervous today?” Sethyr asked.

Vijhan’s head snapped toward the mage, scowling.

“You are not the only one with a keen nose. You smell musky when you are nervous; at least I hope it is nervousness.”

Vijhan nodded. “If you had seen dákde t'ooch before, you would be nervous too.”

Sethyr turned pointedly away from Vijhan and addressed Brayden.

“So, august leader, what is our plan, other than avoiding being eaten by bears.”

“I believe that there is not much we can do other than being watchful and traveling as quickly as possible. Once on the road, we should reach Kath easily.”

“I understand all that,” Sethyr said. “I was actually referring to our plan once we reach Kath. Shall we simply knock on the Argent Tigers’ door and demand an explanation?”

“I am not quite that naive or dense.”

“So…the plan?”

“Well…of that I am not sure of yet. Chanti will provide me with insight when the need arises. Of that, I am sure.” Brayden attempted to put as much conviction into his voice as possible.

Sethyr sighed. “I have little confidence in the vagaries of faith, but I suppose I have little choice.”

The three remained silent for a time, simply watching the herds below move to the water, drinking deeply and then moving on. Brayden counted at least a dozen herds of different species. Some were lumbering giants, taking their turn at the water, confident in the safety simply because of their size. Other herds consisted of fine boned antelope who jumped at any errant sound. The variety astounded Brayden and he made a silent prayer to Chanti, thanking her for all the wonders he had seen in her service. Many would disagree, but Brayden found the life of a Protector much more interesting than that of a noble’s son, one sure never to inherit.

Sethyr broke the silence, snapping Brayden from his musing.

“Is this where we will camp?”

Brayden looked to Vijhan, who nodded silently.

“Yes…why?”

“I thought I might kindle a fire…if only I had something to cook...”

Sethyr let the comment hang in the air.

Vijhan gave one of his canine yawns, not rising to the bait.

“I have some oats left. Would you like to make some gruel?” Brayden’s voice carried an edge of humor.

“No thank you,” Sethyr answered. “I was thinking of something a bit more fresh.”

“I spied a patch of wild onions over yonder,” Vijhan said, pointing away from the campsite.

“Umm, perhaps, but those would hardly make a meal.” Sethyr scratched her head theatrically. “We need something else, but what?” Sethyr shrugged. “Onions always go well with a haunch of roast meat, but where would we get that?”

Brayden suppressed a smile, keeping silent.

Vijhan perked up, as if an idea had suddenly come to him.

Sethyr cracked a slight smile.

“I know,” Vijhan said. “I have some dried meat in my pack. We could make some soup.”

Sethyr’s smile disappeared.

“You are being intentionally dense, you hound,” she said. “It’s obvious that I want you to go and bag one of those delicious looking antelopes.”

“Yes, I know that,” Vijhan said.

“So why are you being so difficult?”

“I don’t rightly know what you mean.”

“Damn it, you know exactly what I mean.”

“I suppose I do, but I’d be satisfied with jerky soup, and Brayden seems content with his gruel…which leaves you…”

“Which leaves me hungry,” Sethyr snapped in mock anger.

Vijhan was nearly on the edge of laughter. “So where does that leave us?”

“You can’t seriously be that childish, can you?”

“Perhaps.”

“What is it you want?”

“Just say it and I’m off to hunt.”

“Than go hunt.”

Vijhan cupped his ear, as if straining to hear a distant sound. “And?”

“And, just do it.”

Vijhan put on a look of deep disappointment. “Nope, not the right answer.” He sat down and began grooming his feet with a tool from his pocket.

“Fine…would you please go catch one of those thrice damned antelope?”

Vijhan looked up from his grooming, considering the request for a moment. The moment dragged on until Sethyr huffed in aggravation.

“Well, I suppose I could do that,” the Canid finally relented. He retrieved a bundle of javelins and an atlatl from his pile of possessions and turned to leave the camp.

“Good, and bring back a good one. It had better be good enough to expunge the bitter taste of courtesy out of my mouth.”

Both Brayden and Vijhan smiled at Sethyr’s comment.

Chapter Eleven

2008-03-19T04:16:00.001-07:00

Leiftenant Cargill Munros watched the deserted street below intently. Torches mounted on the outside of the Company’s permanent stockade cast fluttering light into the dark night, illuminating the immediate area. Unit protocol called for constant tending of the torches so that the stockade would be constantly surrounded by a pool of light after the sun went down, making it nearly impossible to approach the building unseen.

A hundred years ago, when it was common for mercenary troops to wage private wars against each other to eliminate competition, that sort of precaution was necessary. However, nowadays that kind of vigilance was not really called for, but the Tigers still kept up the tradition. The Colonel always preached; Tradition creates standards, standards breed routines, and routines establish discipline. He often said that discipline is the only habit worth having because it ensured that you always did the proper thing, no matter the situation.

Five years ago, when he had first joined the Argent Tigers, Cargill had absorbed the Colonel’s lessons like holy writ, but no longer. Now he simply accepted them as rules that worked most of the time, but could seem as arbitrary as hell at others. Five years of garrison life wore a man’s illusions of glory very thin.

Cargill sighed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Nothing much happened during midwatch, and he was in charge of all that nothing. At this point he did not have much choice in the matter. As a third son of a minor noble, fortune had smiled on young Cargill when his father had secured a commission in the Argent Tigers for him. Cargill had jumped at the chance, his young head filled with tales of exotic places and dashing adventure. The reality of his lot bore little in common with those tales.

The reality added up to months of endless drills, interrupted occasionally by municipal patrols during major holidays or disturbances. Cargill wondered how the Colonel could keep the 300 men of the company paid, fed, and housed with out some sort of income. If someone were sponsoring the Tigers, why would they pay precious gold to keep them in garrison perpetually? Only kingdoms had that much coin to waste. He decided to take a little initiative and look into the finances of the company. At the very least it might break up the boredom.

Cargill spanned to attention as he caught sight of a hooded figure emerging from the shadows near the front gate. He shouted a warning to the sentries just as the figure hammered the iron knocker against the gate.

“Stand fast, men. I’ll be right there. Cargill bolted down the steps, risking two at a time at the bottom of each flight. He hurried across the last bit of parapet and then swung down to the gate post on a rope ladder.

The visitor struck the gate again, sending a solid boom through the empty courtyard behind the gate.

“Hold on,” Cargill shouted as he paused to compose himself. Sliding open a thin metal port in the gate, he peered out. Despite the light cast from the nearby torches, Cargill had difficulty making out their late night visitor.

“What business do you have here?” he said firmly through the open port.

“I am here to see the Colonel, now open the gate, boy.” The voice was like a whispered shout, sending a wave of cold down his neck.

“I…I…I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Standing orders prevent anyone from entering the casern until morning.”

“Hang the rules, boy. I am your employer and you serve at my sufferance. Fetch the Colonel or I’ll have you hung from the gate.”

Cargill nodded emphatically. “Yes…sir. I’ll go get him myself.”

The Leiftenant slapped the port closed and drew a heavy breath. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead as the voice replayed in his head. Without a word to the stunned gate guards he rushed toward the main building in the compound, headed straight to the Colonel’s rooms. He snatched up a shining lantern from a table in the common room as he passed.

Cargill burst into the chamber that the Colonel used as an office and flew to the door behind the heavy desk. With strength born of surprise and haste, He hammered the door leading to the Colonel’s bed chamber. His pounding immediately elicited a barrage of mumbled curse from behind the door.

The Leiftenant could hear the sound of a heavy bolt being pulled back. Colonel Birdwell emerged from the dark room bleary eyed and rumpled.

“What in the blazes is going on?” His eyes furrowed when he recognized Cargill.

“Leiftenant, I trust this is an emergency…or your resignation.”

Cargill nodded, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes…sir, an emergency. There is someone at the gate who demands to see you.”

Anger sparked in the Colonel’s eyes. “You woke me in the middle of the night because some idiot wanted to see me? You buffoon, send him away with an appointment for tomorrow and a boot in the backside.”

Cargill was about to explain further, but was interrupted.

“That would be ill advised,” a strange voice whispered.

Both Cargill’s and the Colonel’s faces turned ashen as they recognized the voice.

They turned toward the open door of the office to see the hooded figure standing in the doorway.

“Your subordinate may leave us now. We have business to discuss.” The mysterious employer stepped into the room and then to the side, leaving just enough room for Cargill to squeeze by. The Leiftenant glanced over at the Colonel, who gave him a quick nod. Cargill was grateful for the dismissal and brushed past the hooded figure. As he did he caught the sent of spices. Most were familiar but one not all were. The mélange smelled pleasant, but left a cloying sweetness in his nostrils.

As he exited the room he overheard the intruder speak.

“Colonel, you will have guests soon, and I want you prepared.”

The sentence was punctuated by the door slamming behind him.

In an attempt to put thoughts of the Colonel’s visitor behind him, Cargill brooded on the gate guards’ failure to keep the visitor from entering the casern. It was a terrible lapse of discipline and he intended to make their lives unpleasant for a few days.

Arriving at the gate, Cargill gasped. The heavy gate hung on a shattered hinge, the iron bolt used to secure it twisted and useless. The pair of guards lay on the ground near the gate, dead as drowned rats. Their faces were sunken and gray as if dead for months.

The Leiftenant made a sign against evil and shouted for more guards. All of the troopers gawked at the bodies of their fallen brethren and an angry current began to run through the normal soldier grumbling. Employer or not, the Tigers wanted vengeance. The Colonel emerged from the company building: alone and shaken.

“Give us the bastard!” one of the soldiers shouted.

His cry was met with loud agreement. The Colonel merely stared at the gathered soldiers, as if searching for the right words.

“Stow that guano, the Colonel has something to say,” Cargill shouted. Showing unusual courage, the Leiftenant purposely put the Colonel in a tight spot. If the commander could not assuage the troopers’ anger, the situation had the potential to spin out of control.

Colonel Birdwell glared at Cargill for a moment and then took a moment to compose himself.

“The blood price has been paid for our loss. Our employer regrets his anger, and has new orders for us.”

The gathered troopers jeered.

“I have agreed to share the blood price with the unit equally. Each man will be given 20 pieces of silver. In addition, our employer plans a feast for use in two days time.”

Cheers of excitement washed away the current of anger.

Cargill snorted in disgust at the quick change in demeanor of the troopers. They sold their brotherhood cheap with such a gleeful display. He wondered if they would accept his death as readily if compensated well enough.

Several other members of the officer corps stumbled out of their billet, looking confused and more than a little concerned. Most were only in partial uniforms and they all looked sleepy and confused. The Colonel eyed the officers with contempt and then turned to Cargill.

“Leiftenant, take over here and make sure that the troops either return to their barracks or to their posts…As you were.”

An officer with Captain’s insignia walked up to Cargill.

“What in the hell was that all about?” he asked.

Cargill briefly explained. The officers seemed as happy by the turn of events as the enlisted men, sending a disappointed ache through his heart.

“Carry on,” the Captain said offhandedly to Cargill as he walked away, slapping the back of one of the other Leiftenants and loudly bragging how he planed to spend his windfall in the local brothels.

Chapter Ten

2008-03-17T06:28:00.000-07:00

Vijhan woke with a start, a growl beginning in the back of his throat. Something felt wrong, but he could not tell what. It slipped away from him like wafting smoke. He stifled the growl, craned his neck around and surveyed the camp. Everything was in place. Brayden and Sethyr were still asleep, just as they were when Vijhan had taken up his vigil over the camp.

Rising to his feet as quietly as possible, he scolded himself. Nodding off while on guard was a serious breach in discipline. He feared his new companions’ reaction if they woke and found him asleep at his post. Vijhan shook his head for side to side trying to clear his mind. The cobwebs cleared in an instant, like a veil lifting from his thoughts. Leaping to his feet, he drew the long-bladed scramsax from his belt and loped around the camp searching for any signs of trouble. He sniffed the air deeply as well, his ears perking up for a moment as an errant whiff of something tickled his nose but it disappeared in the early morning breeze before he could identify it.

Satisfied that all was as it should be, Vijhan sheathed the knife, and yawned a long-jawed canine yawn. He sat back down and rummaged in the pouch hanging from his belt. Feeling around for a moment, he retrieved a bundle of willow sticks. He slipped one from the bundle, placing its end in his mouth, and then returned the rest to the pouch. He chewed the end of the stick slowly, careful to reach every tooth. Satisfied that he had cleaned his teeth well enough, Vijhan stopped chewing and pulled and withdrew the stick from him mouth. His sharp teeth had reduced the stick to a frayed mess. With a quick flick of the wrist he threw the stick away, out into the forest, resisting the urge to chase it. He chuffed in irritation. Sometimes instincts could be such a bother.

Brayden stirred at the sound of Vijhan’s chuff. He shifted, sleepily searching for a more comfortable position and then groaned in resignation. Sitting up bleary-eyed, the protector pulled his blanket around his shoulders tightly and got to his feet. He nodded wordlessly to Vijhan and then shambled out of the camp looking for some privacy.

Vijhan wondered how the humans managed, being without natural fur. He would have felt so vulnerable with all that flesh showing. One of the highest Canid punishments was to be shaved and banished to the wilderness, bereft of the comfort of their coat or their pack. He could not imagine how humans without such comforts. Of course, Vijhan knew that humans had families, but based on what he saw, they were not nearly as close as a Canid pack.

After a few minutes Brayden returned from his business in the woods. He appeared much more awake, but still no happier or warmer.

“Good morning, Vijhan,” he greeted the Canid.

“Yes, a very good one. The first day a hunt is always a good day.”

The conversation woke Sethyr, who hissed in annoyance but did not stir.

“Yes, the hunt. If only we knew what our quarry was. Then we might know where to look.” Brayden spread his arms, stretching the cold muscles to warm them up. He still grasped the blanket, which made him resemble some sort of awkward bird, fanning its wings before flight. Vijhan chuckled silently at the sight.

A realization struck Vijhan like a thunderbolt as he thought about what Brayden said. He suddenly recalled something the hooded figure said offhandedly during one of their meetings.

“Brayden, I may be able to help with finding the trail,” he said.

“That is good news. You must be very talented if you can track him after all this time.”

“No need for tracking, at least not yet. But, I remember something that he mentioned. He once made a comment of how much better the weather was in Kath than here during this time of year. He said he could not wait to get back.”

“Kath? That is a goodly trek from here,” Brayden remarked.

“I have never been there, but how difficult can the journey be? Isn’t it through the Imperial Heartlands? Much more civilized than here.”

“Civilized does not mean safe. Some officials have no love for the Protectors. They see our order as meddling fools. Some even accuse us of sedition.”

“Perhaps you can travel in disguise,” Vijhan suggested.

“That could prove the best course, but will do little for you and Sethyr. As non-humans you two will be distrusted almost everywhere except the larger towns.”

“I can endure their scorn. I am strong.”

Sethyr rolled over and spoke, her eyes still closed.

“Just wait, Canid. You will be surprised how creative their scorn can be.”

“I will endure it,” Vijhan said, glaring at Sethyr.

Brayden walked over to the heap of firewood that gathered the previous day, retrieved two small logs and placed them carefully on the fire. This sent a glowing flare of sparks to rise from the flames.

“That solves the how in getting there, but once there how do we proceed?” Brayden asked.

“Hmm, if my memory serves, the man also mentioned something called the Argent Tigers,” Vijhan answered.

“I am not familiar with the name. Are you, Sethyr?”

Sethyr lay for a moment, silent. Then one eye opened, glaring at Brayden.

“No, I have never heard it before…but it does sounds like one of those inane names that soldiers are so fond of. I’d wager that anything named so has to have soldiers running it.”

Brayden scowled at Sethyr. “I happen to consider myself a soldier in many ways…”

“No,” Sethyr interrupted, “you are priest. That makes you a hypocrite, not an idiot. The difference is subtle, I’ll grant you, but you’re a bright one.”

Vijhan stared at Sethyr, mouth agape.

“How can you let…” the Canid hesitated for a moment, as if searching for the right word. “that lizard speak to you with such disrespect?”

Brayden gave Vijhan a wan smile. “You have to understand, my friend, that it is just Sethyr’s way. He only bothers to use his wit on those that he has affection for or those that have drawn his ire. Sometimes they are one and the same. For folk he has no feeling for, either way, he probably wouldn’t piss on if they were on fire.”

“I’ll thank you not to apologize for me,” Sethyr said, now sitting upright and wearing an irritated look.

“No apologies here, just understanding,” Brayden said, wearing his most absurdly peaceful face.

“Please…not before I have eaten. If I’m going to retch I at least want to do it correctly.” Sethyr rose and stumbled away from the camp carrying her backpack for some privacy of her own.

Once Sethyr was out of earshot Brayden leaned close to Vijhan.

“Sethyr is like a cup of chicory in the morning: strong and bracing but quite enjoyable once you have acquired the taste.”

“Don’t forget bitter,” Vijhan added with a grin.

***

Sethyr absolutely abhorred the cold, especially the damp cold that clung to the bones early in the morning. As a reptile she did not retain heat as well as the warm-blooded races. She cursed the furry buggers and their ease in getting the blood flowing. Sometimes she was forced to resort to artificial means to rouse herself from torpidity on chilly mornings. She shuffled out of the camp until she was far enough away to be assured of her privacy. She then sat down, her legs crossed, and set her backpack across her lap. After carefully removing all of the contents of the pack, Sethyr reached into the bottom, releasing a hidden catch that revealed a shallow pocket. Several small vials snugly filled the pocket. She plucked each out, setting them on the ground in front of her next to a small, hammered-copper bowl.

Sethyr picked up the first bottle, holding it up in the direction of the early morning sun. Through the colored glass she could tell that the vial was nearly empty. Grumbling she unstoppered the vial and poured its entire contents into the bowl. She followed this with measured drops from the two remaining vials. Satisfied that she had gotten the mixture just right, she stirred the liquids together using the pinkie of her right hand. She sniffed the residue on her finger. The smell reminded her of the fetid mud that collected at the bottom of stagnant swamp pools in her homeland. She shuddered, wiping the wetness on the hem of her robe and then raised the bowl to her mouth while tilting her head back. Sethyr quaffed the potion, pouring it quickly down the back of her throat. The less that hit her tongue the better. Despite her care, a few drops found their way to her tongue, causing her to stifle a gag.

Forcing herself to swallow, Sethyr chocked down the viscous brew. She let her tongue loll from her mouth rather than risk it coming into contact with any additional reside. She reached for her waterskin and gulped a generous amount. After being satisfied that the last of the mixture had been washed away, she replaced the stopper on the skin and set it down. She carefully replaced the vials in their hiding place, including the empty one.

“I must find more siltblade root soon or answer some very complicated questions,” Sethyr reminded herself. She repack her backpack, took care of her morning business and then returned to the camp, ready to be at least civil this time.

Chapter Nine

2008-03-14T05:31:00.000-07:00

Najasat sat on his bed, holding the message gem in his hand. He still was not feeling quite well, but he felt worlds better than he had just hours before. His heaving stomach had subsided and the aching in his limbs had dulled, but his head still throbbed just a bit.

He pondered the gem, feeling its cool weight against his palm. He could almost feel the warm of the life that the greyling had given to deliver its message. They greylings had been one of his best acquisitions. He could still feel the turgid heat of their swamp wrapping him when he thought about them. Yes, that had proved quite useful to him. They were just smart enough to pay attentions to things that any good spy would find interesting. Yet, their will was malleable enough to turn toward his aims. The message gem, of course, was his small addition to their anatomy. It made them that much more reliable.

Rising from the bed Najasat walked toward his desk, stretching languidly. Several audible pops issued from his joints as he moved.

“Much better, everything back in place,” he muttered to no one in particular.

Najasat sat down in the chair, placing the crystal next to a bowl that had been carved from some sort of skull. He opened one of the desk drawers and retrieved a rack of small glass vials. Each contained a different powder or liquid ranging greatly in color from drab green to bright red.

Beginning with a luminous green liquid with the consistency of honey, Najasat began mixing the contents of each vial in the carved bowl. An acrid vapor wafted from the bowl as he added the last vial of stark white power. He snatched up the message gem and dropped it into the bowl. It disappeared into the bubbling concoction with a dull plunk. A moment later the gems floated to the surface and then dissolved, tracing a thousand tiny lines of light through the liquid.

Taking the bowl in his hands, Najasat it to his lips and drank deeply. He set the empty bowl back on the desk and leaned back in the chair. He shut his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply through is nose and exhaling though his mouth. The rhythmic breathing continued for a few moments and then returned to a more natural cadence. His eyelids fluttered open, revealing a startling change.

Najasat’s eyes were opaque silver, like a polished mirror, but cast no reflection. He tensed for a moment as his eyes darkened and then images began to play across them. The images showed a familiar looking Canid leading a Protector of Chanti and a Cairnfolk dressed in mage’s robes toward a yawning cave mouth. A deep growl issued from Najasat’s throat as he recognized the Canid. It was the leader of the pack he had employed to harass the village of Hedgewise. For some reason the Canid, whose name he had never bothered to learn, was betraying him.

Najasat sighed. “These lesser ones can always be counted on to make the wrong decision eventually,” he thought to himself. The Canid had been simply a tool and not an especially effective one in fact. Like any other dog, he could be dealt with in time. Punishment could be meted out as required when any hound turns on its master. But that would have to wait. He found the sudden appearance of these new folk much more interesting.

The images flowing through his mind abruptly stopped, signaling the end of the greyling’s memories. Najasat’s eyes cleared quickly losing their silvery sheen and returning to their original jade green hue. He sat musing for a moment, thoughtfully stroking his chin.

“This could prove an interesting diversion,” he said aloud. “Yes, I think that I will find this entertaining.” He knew that the vision he had received from the message gem was hours old, but perhaps is was not too late.

Rising from the chair, Najasat stretched again eliciting even more cracks and pops from his joints. He turned back toward the bed and walked over to a large chest set near its foot. He opened the chest, retrieving a dark, woolen cloak and then donning it with a flourish.

The cloak covered him from head to toe, obscuring all his features except for his height, which was average so offered no advantage to an observer. Najasat returned to the desk, retrieving a small, rectangular block of obsidian from one of the drawers. His fingers brushed the dark surface of the stone, leaving behind a fleeting sparkle of golden light as they passed.

Satisfied that he had everything he needed for his planned deed Najasat moved to an open area of the chamber and set the obsidian block in the center of the open space. He began to sing a low melody, almost a chant. His voice had a rich, resonant tone, which carried through the quiet room filling with its musical warmth. The obsidian reacted to the mellow tones by beginning to glow. As song progressed ghostly voices joined in, accompanying Najasat’s voice in haunting harmonies. The obsidian responded to the chorus, rising from the floor and hovering in the air nearly seven feet from the floor. At the same time the block began to change shape, becoming thinner, but growing in surface area. Soon the block was a yard on each side and as thin as vellum.

Continuing the haunting melody Najasat walked forward, positioning himself directly beneath the glowing block. He folded his arms across his chest and looked up at the block. Even the bright glow didn’t penetrate the darkness beneath the hood of the cloak.

Suddenly the song changed. Its key shifted, making the harmonies clash. With a flash the block fell straight down toward Najasat. He disappeared into the block as if passing through a window. A hair’s breadth before striking the ground, the block disappeared with a crackle.

***

A flash of light filled the cave, followed by a crackling hiss. Najasat stood in the cave, transported there instantaneously by the magic of the block and the spell he had invoked. After appearing he immediately draw a willow wand from somewhere beneath the cloak and held it defensively before him.

Chapter Eight

2008-03-12T05:15:00.001-07:00

A light gray creature clung to the bark of a birch tree near the mouth of a cave. It would have been nearly impossible for even a trained hunter to pick it out because of its color, but its motionlessness added even more to it ability to remain undetected. The creature’s color had even earned its name, a greyling. Only the most careful observer was able to detect the slight rise and fall of its chest or the ever present swiveling of its eyestalks as it watched everything around it. Most would have simply mistaken the movement as the flutter of a leaf in a mild breeze. Of course, these traits, and a few not so obvious ones, where the very reason that the greylings were bred. Greylings somewhat resembled a fleshy worm about a foot long and as thick as an average thumb. Of course, few worms sported wide, bat-like wings and grasping claws, but the greyling had them. The creature’s hodgepodge of strange features could only mean one thing. Greylings were not natural creatures. Most likely, they were the result of some twisted fleshcrafter’s art, meant to fulfill a specific task not intended by nature. This particular greyling was about to achieve its purpose in life.

Its eyestalks twitched eagerly as it saw several humanoids approaching its hiding place. The aerie keeper had magically imparted this location when he had released this greyling. The creature knew to wait and observe until it either dropped dead of starvation or saw something worth back. The greyling watched as a Human, a Cairnfolk and a Canid passed nearby and entered the cave it had been set to watch. As soon as they passed and nothing else seemed to be coming, the greyling took wing, flapping its leathery wings to gain altitude for its long journey back to its aerie.

***

Skitnik the goblin skittered through the hollow corridors with its shoulders slumped and wearing a worried expression. Its eyes downturned lest he see something he was not supposed to and be summarily executed. The creature navigated the maze of corridors like a rat in a maze. Most messengers did not last very long in the Tangle. Skitnik had outlasted most, mostly due to a healthy portion of paranoia and a knack for disappearing when it was time to deliver bad news to the Master. By far the most dangerous duty for a goblin here in the Tangle was that of being the bearer of bad news.

Luck had been with Skitnik so far, but today his number had come up. A greyling had come in that morning, exhausted from the long flight to the Tangle. The small flying reptile delivered its news to the aerie keeper and promptly died, its heart ruptured from effort. Using a sharp, hooked knife the keeper split the creatures gut, plunging two fingers inside. After a moment of concentration, the keeper extracted a small clear gem from inside the creature. Tossing the corpse of the greyling aside, he lifted a chamois from a nearby work table and cleaned the gore from the gem. He held it up to light streaming from the aerie’s entrance, peering into its facets. He grunted, seemingly satisfied and slipped the gem into a small leather pouch. He then turned to look for someone to deliver the message gem to the Master. Unfortunately for Skitnik, he was the only goblin unlucky enough to be nearby.

The aerie keeper was a Jurouk who, despite his jade green skin and red glowing eyes, looked almost human.

“You there,” he pointed at Skitnik. “Come here now. This message needs to be delivered to the Master.”

Skitnik whirled around, desperately hoping that the aerie keeper could possibly mean someone else, but he was not so lucky.

The aerie keeper took several steps toward Skitnik, scowling. “Yes, you moron, I mean you.” He held out the pouch. “Take this to the Master’s chamber immediately, and don’t trifle with it. I’ll have your head if you do.”

Skitnik bobbed his head in agreement, careful not to meet the Jurouk’s eyes.

“Now get going, you filthy git, or I’ll skin you,” the aerie keeper growled.

Skitnik peeped in alarm, his claws clicking on the stone floor as he hurried away. He muttered under his breath, angry that there had been no one else to take the message. He had a bad feeling about this one. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, but his paranoia was scratching vigorously at the back of his mind. “Beware,” it peeped.

As he approached the Master’s chamber, the peep had become a shout. Skitnik trusted his paranoia, more than he trusted anything else in this world and so he decided to listen. He slowed his pace, careful to avoid letting the long claws on his feet click on the stone floor. With a wary look over his shoulder to ensure his privacy, Skitnik crept into the dark shadows left by the spotty light from the lanterns hung at regular intervals down the hall. He could see a brighter glow farther down the hall. This pearly luminescence came from the magic globes used for light in the Master’s chamber.

Skitnik hunched down, embracing the shadow and the invisibility it offered. His sharp ears strained for any sounds coming from the room ahead. He occasionally heard muffled footsteps and once he picked up the distant crash of dishes from the kitchen, but not a single sound came from the Master’s chamber. Skitnik’s heart leapt. Perhaps the Master was asleep, or away from his chamber. Neither was very likely as the Master did neither very often. Steeling what modicum of courage he did have, Skitnik crept forward, careful to stay as deeply in the shadows as he could. He quiet padded forward, wearily scanning the corridor for even the smallest indication that he had been seen.

The light pouring from the chamber banished all of the shadows directly around the entrance, leaving the goblin without any more room to maneuver without stepping out of the shadows. Skitnik stifled a whine, his eyes desperately searching for an alternative to showing himself, but there was not one.

Skitnik sighed, thinking to himself, “So this how I die?”

With a burst of speed the goblin scampered across the brightly lit corridor into the Master’s chamber. Having been there several times before, he knew the layout of the room and raced toward the large desk dominating the center of the chamber. Perhaps if he appeared to be doing is task as a messenger with gusto the Master might overlook the messenger’s role in delivering bad news.

Skitnik slid to a halt, his claws tick-tacking on the stone floor, seeking purchase to halt his slide. He hopped onto a step stool placed in front of the table, put there so that the Master could see his smaller minions without the need to rise from his usual place at the desk. At times the stool was insufficient because of the scrolls and books piled on the desk. They formed a veritable bulwark of vellum and parchment between the Master’s work area and his servants.

After hopping up on the stool, Skitnik craned his next to see over the musty books, but no one was at the desk. His heart leapt. Had he managed to come when the Master was not here? Had he escaped his doom?

Skitnik jumped down from the stool and scampered around the desk, careful not to knock over any of the books stacked under the table. A carved wooden chair topped by a thick red cushion sat behind the desk, pushed away slightly. Skitnik’s heart jumped at the sight. The Master might return any moment and find him there. Surprising the Master with his presence could prove very unhealthy for a servant.

Skitnik hopped deftly onto the chair, standing so that he could see the top of the desk, and set the message gem on the desk carefully. He placed it directly in the center of the desk, on top of a sheaf of yellowed parchments covered with strange writing, but then again all writing was strange to Skitnik. He thought that the Master was sure to see the gem when he returned. Flushed with the confidence of success, the goblin took an extra second to bounce up and down a few times on springy seat cushion. Its velvety texture felt good to his bare feet, making him almost purr.

“Who is there?” A loud, strangled voice disturbed Skitnik’s woolgathering. He jumped down from the chair, skittering under the desk to cower behind one of the heavy legs.

“I asked who is there?” The voice asked, sounding a bit clearer.

Skitnik scanned the room frantically from his hiding place. He suddenly realized that the voice was coming from the heavily draped bed. He strained to see beyond the dark canopy covering the bed, but only caught flashes of movement.

“WHO?” The voice bellowed this time, filling the chamber.

Mustering his courage, Skitnik piped up. “A messenger, Master.” The goblin’s head involuntarily bowed when he addressed the voice.

“Leave the message and be gone, before you are my dinner.”

“As you wish, Master. It is on your desk” Skitnik began to back away from the bed, thankful to have completed his task.

“Wait,” the voice murmured. “Bring the gem to me.”

Skitnik’s shoulders drooped in despair. Fate had handed him doom when he was at the edge of escape. His paranoia was chanting a steady mantra of ‘I told you so’ in his head as he retrieved the message gem and plodded toward the bed.

A hand and arm emerged from with the darkness of the bed’s canopy. It was twisted, covered with rippled and pocked skin the color of a corpse. It beckoned him forward with deformed fingers tipped with cracked and discolored nails.

Skitnik froze at the sight of hideous arm, not eager to lay eyes on the rest of the creature. The Master motioned again, this time annoyance showing in the choppy gesture. The goblin strangled a whine and began to inch forward, holding the gem out at arms length. As he got within reach the hand extend, palm out.

‘Strange,” Skitnik wondered. The hand seemed to be smoother and the nails more well groomed than he originally thought. In fact, it was almost pink, not corpse-like pale. It must have been a trick of the light or his own nervousness, he concluded. He quickly plopped the gem into the Master’s waiting grasp.

“Good,” the Master said, drawing Skitnik’s attention toward the dark recesses of the canopy. This close, some light penetrated the shadows and the goblin would later swear that he had glimpsed the face of a beautiful woman in the shadows. Just as quickly as the face appeared, it disappeared back into the dark.

“Go,” the master ordered.

Skitnik bowed deeply and scrambled out of the room, not caring if his nails caused a racket as he fled.

Chapter Seven

2008-03-10T06:25:00.001-07:00

The early morning sun had just peaked over the edge of the valley where Sethyr and Brayden traveled. The surrounding hills were well forested and had offered the pair a comfortable camping site the previous evening. In contrast, the floor of the valley was nearly barren. Until a few years before, it had been as verdant as the hills, but a scouring flood had washed away almost all of the trees and underbrush, leaving behind an unbroken mud flat.

Sethyr groaned when she realized that they would have to cross the flat to reach their destination. She had spent her entire early life living in a swamp and was not eager to reacquaint herself with the mud. Brayden had merely nodded and set his shoulders determinedly, setting out into the mud. Nearly an hour passed, taking them almost halfway across the valley floor.

Brayden slogged through the heavy mud, his breathing deep and rhythmic. With each step his boot first broke through a paper tin layer of ice and then sank into the muddy ground past his ankle, making every move an effort. If the weather had been any colder and perhaps the mud would have been frozen enough to walk on easily. Unfortunately that wasn’t the case. Sethyr walk slowly next to the struggling Protector, but was somehow able to keep from sinking into the mud. On closer inspection one could see that her reptilian feet splayed widely when she set them down. In addition, a thick leathery web stretched between her three long toes. This combined to allow her to distribute her weight evenly enough to avoid the clutches of the mud.

Every dozen steps or so Brayden eyed Sethyr in irritation.

“You are enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Sethyr flashed him a toothy smile. “Actually no, I hat walking this slowly…and the edge of my robe is now terribly soiled.”

Brayden grumbled, but did not say anything else. Sethyr was baiting him for a good verbal sparring match and he knew it.

“Oh don’t be such a bear. I happen to be blessed by my heritage with a certain affinity for swamps. Believe me when I say I do not enjoy this any more than you do. I simply have the physical gifts to cope with these abominable conditions more easily.”

Brayden grumbled again.

They continued across the valley floor, the mud lessening as they approached the craggy hills on the opposite side. If Vijhan’s descriptions of the Canid campsite were correct, the camp lay in those hills. Sethyr did not share her friend’s faith in the truthfulness of the Canid packleader’s information. Perhaps she was judging Vijhan too harshly, but thinking the worst about the outcome of a situation had very rarely left her disappointed. In the rare case that things did turn out better than expected she was elated to be wrong.

In this case, however, she had little doubt that this investigation was futile. They just did not have enough information go deduce an intelligent hypothesis. Unless the hooded figure had left their shoe behind with their name sewn into the lining, she doubted their chances of success.

The laborious trudge through the mud finally came to an end. The ground abruptly rose upward, joining a sweeping hillside covered with soft, thick grass and dotted with small poplar trees. Further up the hill Sethyr could see much larger trees that had been out of reach of the flood waters.

Brayden pulled himself out of the last patch of mud, clinging to a nearby poplar. His breathing had increased, but he did not appear to be too terribly out of breath. He sat for a moment; his back cradled by the soft grass and closed his eyes. The sun had risen considerably higher and its bright rays helped chase the chill of the icy mud from his bones. Sethyr also turned toward the sun, pulling up her sleeves, letting the rays fall on her upturned face and arms.

“Brayden, you know I don’t believe in all that religious hoodoo, but I can see why the Cairnfolk worship the sun. It can be so…delightful, at times.”

Brayden peered up at Sethyr from where he lay.

“You are a strange creature, my friend.”

Sethyr’s head snapped down to glare at Brayden, “And what does that mean?” Anger showed at the edge of her voice.

“No, no, you misunderstand,” Brayden explained as he sat up. “I simply mean that most of the time you seem so, so…complicated. But then you can take such pleasure in something as simple as basking in the sun. Sometimes I think it is all some sort of elaborate joke you are playing on the world.”

“You give me too much credit,” Sethyr replied, her temper soothed. “I can most easily be described as difficult. I accept that, and at time embrace it.”

Brayden nodded slowly. He slipped his boots off and used his belt knife to scrape the clinging mud from the boots. He cleaned the mud from the blade using a handful of grass and then wiped it with a cloth from his belt pouch to make sure no moisture remained. He wriggled his toes, letting the sun shine on them.

“I think I am beginning to understand your appreciation of the sun. It banishes the chill quite well.”

“Try being wet half your life; you’ll soon appreciate the sun as I do.”

“I’ll remind you of that if we are ever stuck in some Chanti forsaken desert.”

“I’ll expect it,” Sethyr quipped, again getting the last word.

Brayden enjoyed the sunshine for a bit longer and once again slipped on his boots. He scrambled to his feet, shouldered his pack and set off up the hill, Sethyr silently following. He peered up at the hill’s peak, wondering how many others like it lay between him and the Canid campsite.

Thankfully, the Canids disliked walking up hills as much as Brayden and Sethyr and had made their camp in the lee of a nearby hill. It took the companions only a quarter of an hour to discover the remains of that camp. The Canids must have returned to gather their possessions because there was little evidence, other than a rough fire ring and bald patches in the grass where tents had been, to suggest that there was ever a camp here. There was, however, the dead Canid lying in the middle of the clearing. The creature had suffered a horrible knife wound to its abdomen, leaving much of its viscera lying in the dirt next to it.

“There must have been further discussion of the post of packleader,” Sethyr commented.

“Aye, I believe you may be right,” Brayden answered.

He squatted down to take a closer look at the corpse. “I don’t think that this fellow will be telling us much.”

“A shame. I was so looking forward to spending hours or weeks pursuing this. I don’t suppose you would consider dropping the entire matter?” Sethyr asked.

“You know me better than that.”

Brayden spent several more minutes scanning the immediate area for any additional signs. He examined the clearing thoroughly but finally gave up, shaking his head slowly.

“I’m just not sure how much more we can glean from this,” Brayden said.

Sethyr had taken a seat on the ground and she watched the Protector, wearing a bored expression.

“Perhaps I can be of help,” said a familiar voice hidden somewhere in the nearby undergrowth.

Brayden turned quickly toward the voice and drew his sword in one fluid motion. Sethyr lashed her powerful tail, sending her tumbling into an acrobatic roll which ended with her ready to cast a spell while still kneeling defensively.

“No need to worry. I am no threat.” The voice called again from within the undergrowth.

The sound of the voice tugged at both Brayden and Sethyr’s memory. The exchanged questioning glances and then refocused their attention on the unseen voice. It sounded very familiar, but neither could quite place it.

The brush rustled where the voice had come from. Something was pushing its way through the thick wall of bushes, but their thick foliage obscured what it was. Brayden approached a step closer, moving into a more defensive stance. Sethyr hissed, trying to get Brayden’s attention.

“Not so close old man. If I cast my spell you might be splashed with fire.”

“Hold your spell, Sethyr. We cannot just roast whoever this may be. We owe them at least a chance to explain themselves.”

“You are too trusting,” Sethyr hissed.

Their attention was draw back to the brush by an increase in the rustling. Brayden risked another quick glance over at Sethyr and then took a small step backward.

The rustling reached a crescendo as a figure began to emerge from the undergrowth. First a dog-like head peeked out, followed slowly be a humanoid body.

Both Sethyr and Brayden immediately recognized Vijhan. The Canid emerged fully from the undergrowth and stood silently, his hands held out to show he held no weapons.

“What in the blazes are you doing here,” Brayden asked, disbelief in his voice. The protector was, however, careful not to lower his sword.

“I have been waiting for you.”

“And why is that?” Sethyr asked as she rose from her crouch.

Vijhan tilted his head toward the mage. “I could only assume that you would come here. So I decided to wait here and see if I could help you in any way.”

Sethyr snorted. “Don’t imagine for a second that I believe any of that.”

“Sethyr, please, let him speak.”

Vijhan turned his head back toward Brayden. “She is party right. At first I did not think to aid you. I rushed back here to try and wrest back control of my pack. Unfortunately, they moved too quickly and had moved on by the time I arrived. They only left behind poor Haroosh there.” Vijhan motioned toward the corpse.

“You still have not explained why you want to help us,” Sethyr snapped.

“I am getting to that…young lizard. I am here to help you, frankly, because I have nothing else to do.”

“That is a comforting thought. Why don’t we just…” Sethyr interrupted.

“Sethyr, please let him speak.” Brayden cut off Sethyr, shooting her an angry look.

“Fine!” Sethyr crossed her arms, glaring at Vijhan.

“As I said, I have nothing now that my pack is lost to me. I could follow them and challenge for leadership again, but I have lost my taste for that. The only other thing that came to mind was waiting for you two. Brayden, you treated me fairly and kept your word. Those are not qualities we Canid normally associate with Humans. More often than not, we are hunted like vermin, just as wolves are. I feel a debt to you for sparing my life.”

Brayden nodded. “Chanti teaches that all life has value and should not be squandered lightly.”

“Even the life of a murdering savage,” Sethyr added, addressing Vijhan. She turned to Brayden, “Are you forgetting what he was prepared to do in Hedgewise? And what of the villagers who disappeared recently?”

“I have not forgotten,” he answered. “But he was prevented from it and has been offered a different path. We must do what we can to encourage his first steps on that path.”

“I have seen this new path and seek to follow it,” Vijhan added eagerly.

Sethyr hissed. “Then seek it elsewhere. I will never trust you…ever.”

Vijhan lowered his head. “I understand and accept that, but I will do what I can to help you find the hooded man and then I will go my own way.”

“Fair enough,” Brayden said. “We…I welcome your help.”

Vijhan grinned widely, but the sharp teeth showing did little to comfort Sethyr. Despite her trepidation, the tension had broken. Brayden sheathed his sword and then swung his pack off of his back. Vijhan walked forward quickly to help him.

Sethyr shook her head again. It looked like Brayden had earned himself a pet. The mage pondered this for a moment and then realized that she had come to join the Protector in much the same way. Vijhan was not a pet at all, simply someone seeking something better.

She had been living, just barely, in the slums of Kath when she met Brayden. The human inhabitants had showed little regard for her hunger or feelings. Fortunately, their scorn did not extend to open hatred, but they refused to help her and some had even gone so far as intimidating the few folk who did speak to her.

Brayden had appeared one day in the beggars’ quarter in search of a merchant’s son who was addicted to snake lotus. The young man hailed from a large town not far from Kath, but had run away from home when his father had discovered that his son was stealing from the other townsfolk to buy snake lotus.

Piet, the merchant, had implored Brayden, the local Protector, to retrieve the boy. The search for Piet’s son led Brayden to the Beggars’ Quarter. Most in the quarter were close lipped, distrustful of outsiders. Few would talk to the Protector, and those that would have selfish reasons for it.

Sethyr knew of the boy Brayden described. In fact, she had seen him the previous evening. The boy had been flush with coin, probably garnered from some illegal activity. She had been in the ramshackle tavern, the Cock’s Tail, when he had come in, shouting for a round of drinks. He pulled the barkeep aside and whispered something as well.

Everyone in the tavern cheered their good fortune because one of their number had seemingly struck it rich, but probably more appreciative of the free drink.

Sethyr was conspicuously left out of the festivities, not even offered a drink. She simply watched. Shortly after that, she saw the barkeep saunter up to the boy and hold out his hand for payment. The boy slipped him a few large coins, which brought a surprised smile to the barkeeps face. Once he was assured of payment, the barkeep handed the boy something rolled up in a dirty bit of cloth. The boy eagerly unwrapped the cloth, revealing a sprig of gnarled root about the size of his thumb. He attacked the root, chewing it with quick, almost desperate bites. A look of bliss soon passed over him. He stared wide eyed at nothing wearing a bemused smile.

Never having seen anyone act this way, Sethyr got up and moved closer. She stopped short when she got close enough to the boy to clearly see his eyes. His pupils had turned to slits very similar to her own eyes. She hissed, her head sliding forward and down into a defensive posture. The sound of her hissing attracted the attention of most of the peasant nearby in the tavern.

One particularly burly fellow stood up, glaring at Sethyr.

“Whatcah’ doing lizard?” He shouted.

Sethyr dropped into a defensive stance, a spell ready on her tongue.

“You got a problem with Iggy? He just bought us a round, so you better not upset him. We might get another outta him.”

The crowd grumbled agreement. She heard the isolated cries of ‘stinking lizard’ and ‘freak’ mixed in with the general sounds of disquiet.

“My apologies,” Sethyr nodded apologetically.

“Your sorrys don’t mean nothin’ here, egglayer.”

She hissed in rage at the insult. All but the most brave in the crowd began to eye the door for a possible escape route.

“Shut your face, or I’ll make a pair of boots outta you,” the man threatened.

Sethyr decided in that moment that discretion was called for. She turned on her heel and headed toward the door. No one did anything to bar her way, but once out the door, the laughs and taunts of the patrons chased her into the night.

She recalled all of this in the blink of an eye when Brayden asked about the boy, but she hesitated. Sethyr had been abused by humans in authority often enough that she was wary of them. Did she dare tell what she knew to this priest, or would she be accused if something bad had happened to the boy.

Sethyr watched Brayden for quite some time. No matter how wretched the people he spoke to were, he never belittled them or acted superior. This had impressed her. Something in the priest’s eyes, or maybe it was the way he looked at people, pushed her to trust him.

She continued to watch him intently; a bit too intently. Brayden finished speaking with a passing washer woman who was so short he towered over her. He looked up, his eyes catching Sethyr watching him. He nodded, wished the washer woman a good day and began to stroll in Sethyr’s direction. She began to panic, scanning the market for a quick and easy to lose herself in the crowd. Unfortunately, Brayden and Sethyr were taller than most of the folk nearby. She knew that hiding herself would be nearly impossible. Instead, she chose a different tact.

As Brayden approached, Sethyr motioned him to come closer.

“Ah, good sir. I heard a tale that you are seeking some poor unfortunate soul.”

Brayden nodded, “Yes, that is so. Perhaps you could help.”

“Hmm, that may be possible. What can you tell me…perhaps it will jog my memory.”

Brayden repeated most of what she had already overheard. There were a few less important details, but they hardly mattered, as Sethyr already knew who the priest spoke of. She politely let him finished and then put on her most convincing look of concentration. She even went as far as scratching her chin, as she had seen many humans do.

In truth she was using the time to decide if she would reveal what she knew. With a sign she came to a conclusion.

“Ah yes, I have seen this boy. In fact, I say him just last night. It was at the Cock’s Tail; quite a ramshackle place.” Sethyr recounted the rest of what she remembered, but was careful to leave out the anger she had shown at the human’s insult. The priest did not need to know everything.

Brayden thanked Sethyr for the information and was about to leave when she suddenly realized something. This priest was the first human in a long time to treat her as an equal. She nearly choked on the wave of loneliness that crashed over her.

“Wait,” she cried at him as he turned to leave. “I shall show you exactly where the tavern is.” She hurried ahead, eager to help and spend more time with this strange priest.

All of this had happened nearly three years ago and Sethyr had not left Brayden since then. She did not even pretend to understand his motivations most of the time, but she had grown to trust them. She silently decided to trust them in the case of Vijhan as well. If Brayden wished to accept his aid, so would Sethyr…but she could never let them know that.

“Are we done with the social grooming?’ Sethyr asked with more humor than sarcasm in her voice.

“Ah, yes. We should be moving on. I don’t think that staying here for the night is a good idea.” Brayden looked up at the sun, gauging the time. “We have a few hours before nightfall.” He turned to Vijhan. “How far are we from the place you met with this hooded person.”

“Not far at all, but it will take time to get there. Most of the way is up a steep hill.” Vijhan’s voice was bright with eagerness, pleased to be helping.

“Is there a good place to camp there?”

“Yes, yes there are many caves.”

“The we had better get started if we want to get their by nightfall,” Brayden suggested.

Sethyr chuffed, shouldering her backpack.

“I can carry that for you,” Vijhan offered.

Sethyr glared at him, “Don’t be absurd. I am perfectly capable of carrying it myself.”

“My apologies. I meant no offense. It’s just that you…” Vijhan paused, thinking for a moment. He looked over at his shoulder at Brayden who was intent on checking his pack.

“He has no idea, does he?” Vijhan asked.

Sethyr’s glare intensified.

“Interesting,” Vijhan said and then let out a low, barking chuckle.

Sethyr hissed, whispering as she passed the Canid. “Say nothing and I may let you live.”

Vijhan laughed softly again. He knew it would not be a good idea to reveal Sethyr’s secret. Not only would it be rude, but it would alienate the mage and there was no telling what Brayden might do. No, he did not plan on saying anything. Secrets always had more power if you kept them close.

Chapter Six

2008-03-07T05:49:00.001-08:00

Sethyr sat on the cot of the hut in which they had been staying. She had long since exhausted her curiosity in the contents of the jars and other knickknacks that filled the shelves around walls of the hut. She only half watched Brayden kneeling near the other cot engaged in his evening prayers. The rest of her attention was occupied by using her arcane skills to make a frayed rag flop around the floor like an injured mouse. It danced to the rhythm of Sethyr’s waggling finger. The wisewoman’s cat was enjoying the demonstration, pouncing again and again on the rag, playfully batting it with its paws and occasionally bringing it to its mouth to double-check that there was no mouse hidden inside.

“I cannot understand why you let Vijhan get away,” Sethyr said, sighing.

Brayden opened an eye in annoyance at the interruption, but quickly finish his prayer with a sign of peace. He rose from his knees, albeit a bit slowly, and sat down on the cot.

“He did not get away, I let him go,” he replied. “I gave him my word.”

“You even fed him and gave him supplies. I know you gave your word, but what will you tell the orphaned child of the next peasant that cur kills?”

“We can’t assume that something tragic will happen. I have to have faith that Chanti led me to the right decision.”

With a flick of the wrist Sethyr sent the rag flying across the hut, landing in Brayden’s lap. The cat leapt after it in pursuit. Startled, the protector jumped to his feet, sending the rag and the cat flying in separate directions. The cat twisted in mid air, landed gracefully on the dirt floor and scrambled out of the hut as if he had been rehearsing it for months.

“What in the blazes are you doing?” Brayden shouted. He stared daggers at Sethyr, who simply reclined on the cot, pointedly not meeting his glare.

“What can I say; it is my nature to be difficult. Just like it is Vijhan’s to be savage.”

“Let us not have this discussion on a folk’s nature, or must I bring up the Cairnfolk, your own people?”

The rebuke made Sethyr’s head snap around, meeting Brayden’s glare head on this time.

“I concede the point, but I still don’t trust Vijhan to keep his word.” Sethyr’s countenance softened, as much as her scaly features could. Brayden had made his point well, even if it did sting.

“Well, it is beyond us now. He was, however, quite helpful after we got him talking.”

“So, how do we proceed? Are we to take up this village’s cause, Brayden?”

“I feel that Chanti has led me here, so I must see to this village and their plight. I cannot demand you do the same. However, if you choose not to I would sorely miss your company.”

Once again Brayden cut directly to the heart of Sethyr’s feelings. Perhaps the protector would feel differently if he realized that the mage was female, but Sethyr did not feel confident enough to reveal this tidbit to her friend just yet. After all, she would sorely miss his company as well.

Sethyr hesitated before answering, looking thoughtful.

“You can’t rid yourself of me that easily. Someone, other than Chanti, needs to watch your back.”

Brayden bridled at the causal mention of Chanti.

“Don’t get upset,” Sethyr said quickly, attempting to defuse his anger. “I simply meant that I am in closer proximity, thus able to offer convenience as well as support.”

“Oh course, I should understand that better…Its just …sometimes I feel like I don’t know you at all,” Brayden said.

An uncomfortable silence sprang up between the two. Brayden sat back down on the cot and stared down at the floor. Sethyr flicked her fingers and resumed rag’s dance near the open doorway, but the cat did not reappear. After a few moments she let the rag flutter back down to the floor, lifeless.

“You know I cannot abide silence,” Sethyr said, her voice tight with exasperation. “Perhaps someday you will know everything about me, but until that day, you must be satisfied to simply trust me.”

Brayden’s head swung upward, his eyes meeting Sethyr’s. “Yes, that is enough for me, as is your friendship.”

Another silent moment passed, but with out the tension of a few moments before. That had been replaced with a pleasant contentment, an acceptance of the status quo.

Sethyr broke the reverie with a shudder. “Enough musings of the soul; now is the time for a plan.” She sat up, elbows on her knees and stared at Brayden.

“The first thing we must do is find out the identity of the hooded fellow is that was employing the canids,” Brayden said.

“Uh, yes, of course, but how. Vijhan didn’t have any idea who it was. The only thing he could tell us was that the chap was spicy. What, pray tell, could that mean.”

“Um, I was hoping you had an idea, Sethyr. I am the faith half of our partnership, not the think half.”

Sethyr croaked a belly laugh. “Congratulations. It sounds like you are also the humble half as well. I wonder what that says about me.”

They both shared a laugh at the comment.

Sethyr flicked her nictitating membranes to clear moisture from her eyes. Extreme emotions often caused the Cairnfolk to exude protective mucus over their eyes. Brayden had first misinterpreted them as tears, but Sethyr had assured him that was not the case. The protector had not commented but to him it seemed to serve much the same emotional purpose as tears did for humans, even if not physiologically.

Sethyr signed deeply. “So, I had better deduce what spicy means. Perhaps he is a merchant and handles spices often.”

Brayden nodded, looking hopeful.

Sethyr continued, “But I simply can’t believe it could be that easy. Hedgewise is not on any significant trade route, so why would a merchant bother. Even if they wanted to establish a new trade route, the village would prove useful as a stop. But, what use would it be if it were deserted? No, I do not think it was a merchant.”

“So what is the alternative?”

“Hmm, perhaps the spice came from the fellow’s food. You humans tend to stin…I mean smell of the food you eat. I can’t understand how you stand all that sweating. If this is true then that tells us something. Either the fellow cooks with such spices or has a companion that does. In either instance, that marks them as a foreigner. Perhaps all we must do is find this foreigner.”

Brayden frowned. “If we do that aren’t we as ignorant as those that accused you because of your race?”

“No, they rushed to judgment. I do not fault their suspicion, for at least they were thinking. Not considering me as a possible threat would have been the ignorant thing, given their recent circumstances. No, I see their fault in condemning me without more thought.”

“You are more forgiving than I might be I your place.”

Sethyr snorted, hissing a laugh. “Brayden, you can worry a conversation until there is no meat left on the bone. We have our clues. Now we must simply follow where they lead.”

“Easier said than done. Our only trace is the spice Vijhan mentioned. How is that of use?”

“Well, he also told us where he and the other Canids laid in wait for this hooded one to contact them. We can use this as our starting point. We best be wary of those other Canids.”

“You are right in that,” Brayden agreed. “I hope they have fled. Without Vijhan to lead them I think they would be much less ambitious in choosing their prey.”

“Even so, we must be careful. I just hope we can locate their old camp. Perhaps we should have kept Vijhan with us until he could lead us there.”

“It is too late for that now. I hope his directions will be enough.”

***

Brayden and Sethyr gave their packs one final check before shouldering them and emerging from the hut. Despite the early hour most of the people of Hedgewise were gathered to see them off.

Brayden obliged the peasants by flashing them a warm smile ad waving broadly.

“Peace to all. We greet you all this fine morning.”

Sethyr simply nodded at her friend’s words. The villagers did not pay her much attention anyway, so she was not concerned. It did, however, irritate her that they seemed to have completely forgotten how she had single handedly staved off the Canid attack only two days before. It was at times like these that she really felt out of place among the humans. It was as if she was invisible, and that was quite a blow to her ego.

Brayden strode through the crowd waving and greeting everyone with his booming voice. Sethyr slipped in behind him, riding in his wake through the crowd. As they neared the edge of the village they found Ernst waiting for them, a burlap sack in one hand and wearing a wide smile.

“Good morning my friends. The folk of Hedgewise wish you a good journey,” Ernst address them loudly.

“Thank the gods you are leaving,” Sethyr translated under her breath.

“We have gathered food for your journey.”

“We hope this is enough food to get you very far away,” she said quietly, again translating what she thought Ernst truly meant.

Brayden turned slightly toward her. “Hush now,” he whispered, having heard her quite comment. He turned back toward Ernst and addressed the crowd.

“Our thanks for your hospitality, Ernst. We will remember Hedgewise fondly.”

The crowd cheered in response.

“Now we must be on our way. We bid you farewell.” Brayden gave one last wave and resumed his departure.

The crowd cheered again, parting to let them pass. Sethyr remained close behind the Protector, ignoring the cheering villagers. They emerged from the crowd, moving out of the village, toward the surrounding forest.

Unable to contain herself, Sethyr spun back toward the village and waved with an elaborate flourish. She bowed deeply and shouted, “Thanks for the bath.” The stunned crowd became silent. Most looked hurt and embarrassed, but Sethyr did not care. They had nearly killed her and the more the villagers were reminded of their deed, she felt the less likely they would be to repeat it.

Sethyr spun on her heel and hurried after Brayden who was nearly to the treeline. As she caught up he spoke without turning.

“Was that really necessary?”

Sethyr snorted in annoyance. “Necessary, no. But warranted, I’d say it was.”

“As long as it made you feel better.”

“You know I always have to have the last word.”

“I know.”

“Good”

“I’m glad we can put it behind us now.”

“As am I,” Sethyr said, finally having the last word..

Chapter Five

2008-03-05T04:42:00.001-08:00

Brayden struggled toward consciousness once again. The pugnacious part of his personality bridled in frustration at yet again having to recover from a collapse. Doubt about his ability to serve the protector in the wilds was beginning to scratch at his pride. Damn the sisters, he knew he was getting older but was not, by most definitions, old.

The prideful part of Brayden’s personality preferred to think of him as seasoned. His years of experience were an asset, not a countdown to uselessness. There was a time when Brayden was more apt to solve problems with his fists rather than his mind, but twenty years as a Protector in the service of Chanti had changed that.

Twenty years had given him quite an arsenal of techniques to handle conflict, but he had also been confident that if those failed, he could still rely on his sword arm in a pinch. The worrisome part of Brayden’s personality wondered if he could still trust that assurance. Age overtook everyone eventually, he knew, but that did not make the realization any more palatable.

The stubborn part of Brayden’s personality suddenly asserted itself; kicking the pugnacious part in the balls, punching the worrisome part in the eye and calling the prideful part a strutting turd, and then sent them all back into the subconscious without dinner.

Brayden woke, filled with a strange determination. He heaved himself into a sitting position, swearing as a wave of vertigo hit him. A hand reached and grasped his arm, steadying him. Bright morning light streamed in though the open door of the hut, hurting Brayden’s eyes. He squinted in the glare, but managed to look up to see who was offering the steadying hand. His eyes shot fully open when he saw that it was Sethyr. He reached up and grasped the hand.

“By Chanti am I happy to see you.”

“And I, you,” Sethyr responded.

“How in the nine hells are you here? They told me you were dead.”

“That is not important. It suffices to say that they removed my gag and I took it from there,” Sethyr said, hissing a laugh.

“You talked them out of it?” Brayden looked confused.

“Not quite. I convinced them to throw me in their pond. Were it not for my particular heritage I surely would have perished.”

“Sethyr, you could sell soap to a goblin. They never stood a chance, did they?”

“No really, but it was a near thing. Luckily Ernst here proved to be an accommodating fellow.” Sethyr gestured toward the village headman who waited silently off to the side. Ernst wore a look of concerned embarrassment.

“I suppose you are feeling better, with all the rest.” Sethyr asked.

“Not funny, but I am actually feeling better. I guess I am just getting older.”

“Nonsense, you told me you were barely two score years old.”

“In this game, that is old enough to begin feeling it. Anyway, what would you know? You are still young, Sethyr.”

“That is true enough, but my folk often enjoy lives of a century or more.”

Brayden coughed in disbelief. “One hundred years? You must be joking.” He realized just how little he really knew about Sethyr and the cairnfolk.

“Given favorable conditions that is not uncommon. Unfortunately the lives of the cairnfolk are very seldom ideal. Our lives are often short and violent.” Sethyr seemed to want to continue, but paused and then signed, remaining silent.

Brayden nodded. “Well, it is a good thing that you have me to look after you…that is when I am awake.” Both Sethyr and Brayden laughed out loud. The human’s book laughter contrasted with the hissing of Sethyr’s laughter, but both shared the same spirit of familiar humor.

Brayden excused himself to use the chamberpot and then called for them to come back in.

“Please friends, tell me everything that happened while I was napping.” He drew out the last word, rolling his eyes at the same time.

Sethyr smiled. The closest thing that Brayden could compare it to was a crocodile about to snatch an unsuspecting gazelle off the shore.

Brayden’s eyebrows knitted with a question. “What are you playing at, Sethyr?”

“I failed to mention that we have a guest. While you were napping a pack of canids slipped into the village and were preparing for a bit of mayhem. Luckily, I had already had a chance to retrieve my magical accoutrements from our camp and I was able to deal with them. I suspect this is the same pack we crossed swords with earlier. Chanti smiles on us because we captured their leader. I assumed you would like to have a little talk with the fellow.”

Brayden nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. “Yes, that should prove useful. We should be able to clear up matters quite nicely.”

Brayden rose from the cot gingerly, his joints popping. Sethyr left the steadying hand on his arm, but had enough sense to avoid bruising Brayden’s ego by helping too much. The protector muttered a thank you, taking a few tentative steps. He felt quite well considering how much he had been through in the last few days.

Brayden’s gaze swung toward Sethyr suspiciously. The mage met his gaze with mirth, eyes glinting with mischief.

“I can divine your thoughts, friend. And the answer is yes,” Sethyr said.

Brayden scowled at his friend. “I have told you before; I do not want to use your vile concoctions. Had I been awake, I’d never have agreed.”

“Ah, but you were not awake. That is the crux of the issue. Without my elixir you would still be lying there, mewling like a sick cat.”

“I depend on the graces of the lady, not some swamp cure. Chanti provides…”

“And she provided me as your friend,” Sethyr interrupted Brayden’s tirade. “Now that you are back on your feet you can pray all you want. We have had this argument before and I have respected your wishes, but we have pressing business to tend to and I couldn’t wait. I made the choice to administer one of my vile concoctions. If your lady sees fit to damn me for it, than so be it.”

“No, that is not what I meant. It has nothing to do with you. It concerns my own weakness,” Brayden said.

“Well then, that is a different matter entirely. I suppose you are only human.”

They both smiled at Sethyr’s good natured jibe.

“If you will excuse me I will prepare myself to question our guest. My devotions should not take more than an hour or so.” Brayden gestured for Sethyr and Ernst to leave. They nodded, filing out in silence, leaving the protector to his prayers.

* * *

While Brayden prepared and prayed Sethyr arranged with Ernst to retrieve the rest of their belongings from the abandoned farmhouse that had formally served as their. A teenage boy from the village had been dispatched with all speed to carry back the gear. Once he had returned, Sethyr had quietly slipped into the hut and laid out Brayden’s things for him, making sure that they were all crisp and clean. The vestments had been enchanted to repel dirt and grime, but that only went so far.

Once Brayden finished his prayers, Sethyr helped him don his vestments. As he dressed they discussed how to deal with the captured canid. The protector wanted to avoid using his magic if possible. Compelling others using Chanti’s will had never set well with him. This situation called for guile and both he and Sethyr had equally healthy portions of that vice.

Brayden emerged from the hut clad in his finest vestments. The gathered folk murmured in awe as he appeared. The stark white robes with red trim were finer than any garment they had ever laid eyes on. The protector lifted his hands, gesturing toward the crowd. “The blessings of Chanti upon all gathered here.”

The crowd intoned the usual response. “Peace to all.”

Sethyr stepped forward, motioning Brayden to follow. The protector gave the mage a slow nod and followed, his long robes swaying gracefully. Sethyr led the way to one of the barns located at the edge of town.

The barn was built solidly of hewn timbers, mud chinking filling the cracks between the logs. Someone had applied a coat of whitewash to the exterior, making the barn stand out among the drab buildings of the village. Brayden had a suspicion that it probably belonged to Ernst. Not only did he appear to be the most prosperous person in the village, he was probably not going to trust a prisoner to the tender mercies of the mob again, so he would keep the canid safe on his property.

Sethyr swung the large door open, letting the bright morning light shine into the barn. Several people inside turned to see who had entered. Ernst was among them. Brayden concealed a satisfied smile when he saw the headman.

Sethyr led the way into the barn, eyeing everyone suspiciously. Brayden followed, his posture straight, wearing an official looking scowl. He spied the canid tied up in one of the stalls, resting on a pile of straw. He was still bound but was no longer gagged.

“How is the prisoner?” Brayden asked.

Ernst hurried up to the protector. “He is well, we saw to that.”

“Has he had any food or water?”

“Why, no sir.” Ernst looked confused.

Brayden shook his head. “See to it that some meat and cheese are brought…and some fresh water. I want him strong enough to question.”

“I didn’t get a meal,” Sethyr quipped, drawing a deeper scowl from Brayden. Sethyr hissed a quiet apology and took a step back.

Ernst gestured emphatically at the two other villagers in the barn.

“You heard the protector. Bring this creature something to eat. Some cheese and meat…um.” Ernst turned to Brayden, hesitating. “Should we cook it? The meat, I mean.”

“I suppose we should ask…what is your name?” Brayden turned and asked the canid.

Everyone else turned, watching for the answer.

“Vijhan, my name is Vijhan,” the canid said plainly in the common tongue. “And I like my meat cooked. I am not a savage.” The canid spoke the common tongue, clearly and with only a slight accent. Brayden was surprised at how well the canid spoke. He silently reminded himself to avoid underestimating Vijhan.

Brayden turned back to Ernst, “You heard Vijhan, bring something roasted.”

Ernst dispatched the other villagers to return with food for Vijhan.

“What do you want…Human?” The last word came out of Vijhan’s mouth as a snarl.

“That is simple, Vijhan. I want answers.”

“To what?”

“What do you think, you cur?” Sethyr snapped.

Brayden put up a hand. “Sethyr, let me handle this.”

“As you wish,” Sethyr said, eyeing Vijhan with venom.

“Let us begin simply. Why did you attack the village?”

“Loot, you dolt. Why else would we do it?”

“Loot, you say? But this is a poor village and all winter they have been losing livestock. I can only assume your band was responsible.” Brayden leaned casually against the entrance to the stall.

“The strong prey on the weak. It is the canid way. I make no apologies.”

“Of course not. I would never fault you for your nature.”

Vijhan brindled at Brayden’s comment.

“We are lords of the wilds. That is our nature.”

“Then why would you want loot? You surely can’t carry with you.”

“We take what we want from the weak.”

“Yes, you said that already, I just don’t understand what these people had to take…I mean that had any value to you.”

Vijhan growled. “I don’t need to answer to you.”

“Oh, but you do, Vijhan. You have no pack now. You have been deposed, replaced, cast aside. If you do not answer my questions than I will simply hand you over to the villagers and let them deal with you. And however they decide to deal with you I’m sure they will make it last a long time.” Brayden sighed.

Vijhan’s brow furrowed. “What can you offer me?”

“I will absolve you and let you go free. Just tell me why you have been preying on this particular village.”

Vijhan hesitated, eyeing Brayden and Sethyr.

“Why should I trust you?” He finally said.

“You have no other choice, unless you want to trust your fate to the mob.”

“Answer one question for me, first. Why are you here, in this particular village?” The words were accented, but were still a fair impression of Brayden’s formal voice.

“They took me in, after I was injured wile my companion and I were traveling. We were attacked by a pack of canids. You wouldn’t know anything about that, I suppose.”

“Not a thing,” Vijhan responded hastily.

Brayden’s posture shifted. He straightened up and all pretense of friendliness disappeared.

“I have answered you, now you must answer me.”

“Fair enough, human.” This time the word carried no contempt. “The Band of the Shattered Fang was hired to drive these humans out of the village. We were given gold and promises of more if we succeeded.”

“By whom?”

“I am not sure who, but I can tell you one interesting fact. The fellow who hired my band was human.”

“Human?” Brayden blurted, “Who was it?”

I never got a good look at his face, but I would recognize his scent anywhere. He smelled spicy.”

“What in the nine hells is that supposed to mean? Spicy?”

“I once went to the western desert. Human folk there cook with strange spice and herbs. The man who hired my band smelled like their cooking smelled. Lots of spices mixed together. It was actually quite strong…nearly covered his human stink.” As soon as the words left his mouth Vijhan cringed.

Brayden ignored the comment, intent on gathering more information. “So, you say he was from the West…all the way from the desert?”

“That could be. The only place I have smelled anything like it was in the West.”

Brayden kneeled down, looking the canid in the eye. “Is there anything else? I can compel you if necessary.”

“No, I have spoken everything I know. Now keep your promise and release me.”

Brayden rose to his feet, smiling. “Not quite yet, my friend. You haven’t eaten yet.”

Chapter Four

2008-03-03T05:36:00.000-08:00

Soft padded feet barely disturbed the night, not even silencing the soft croaking of frogs in the nearby pond. All but the most careful listener would dismiss the occasional rustle as nothing more than the passing of an errant night breeze. Few would recognize the muffled steps of a practiced predator stalking its unsuspecting prey. But, that was just what the sound was. More correctly, it was a pack of hunters, intent on the easy pickings the village offered. The canids nearly salivated at the thought of plundering the village. The shadowy figure who had paid Vijhan, their leader, to have his pack harass the village had finally decided it was time for the Band of the Shattered Fang to hit the village hard. Until now Vijhan had held them in check, growling about restraint and degrees of fear. Vijhan had always felt he was too smart to be a canid. He yearned to be more than a simple pack leader. Pouring honeyed words into the canid's ear, the shadowy figure had convinced Vijhan that this plan was the path to his high destiny.

The hunters of the Shattered Fang waited silently in the moonlight, ready to act as soon as Vijhan gave the signal. He took a moment to savor this moment; the moment of the kill, when the prey fell and the hunt was a success. Vijhan's blood sang, responding to a song rooted deep in his lupine heritage. Although his pack ran on two legs, they were as wild as any wolf, and oft-times more deadly. All of his packmates nearly shook with anticipation.

With a bang, the sky exploded in white light. The canids covered their sensitive eyes, stung by the burning light above. A blazing ball floated lazily in circles over the village, throwing stark shadows in a false dawn. The pack milled in confusion, blinking against the brightness. A soft ‘whump’ echoed through the village. The sound seemed to come from all around.

Confusion gripped the hunters of the Shattered Fang. Vijhan knew that if he did not regain control quickly, there would be trouble within the pack. A leader who could not be decisive in a crisis soon felt the jaws of the lesser males snapping at his heels.

“Attack, you curs,” he howled.

The Shattered Fang sprang as one. Each dashed to a hut, kicking at their doors. Most did not give, barred from the inside. The hunters that did manage to enter huts were greeted with shouts and brandished farm implements. The light and sound had obviously been enough to alert the villagers to the danger. Surprise was gone, and with it the prospect of an easy rout had disappeared as well. Vijhan had never considered humans very dangerous, but they could be savage when defending their homes and property.

Vijhan’s keen ears picked up the sounds of human folk from within the nearby huts. Soon, the folk would be organized and come out to defend their village. Already two of his dozen hunters were hard pressed by groups of villagers.

“Form up and retreat,” he barked in the canid tongue. He saw the ears of all his hunters prick up at the command. They had never been forced to retreat like this before. Retreat meant no loot, and loot meant failure, and failure often meant a challenge to leadership of the pack. Each hunter, in turn, began to howl, acknowledging the order. The pack’s eerie howl startled the villagers, give the hunters the time they needed to disengage and bolt from the village. Even though the lowing ball of light hung over the village, it had descended and dimmed, shrinking the ring of false daylight it cast.

Vijhan was the last to leave; taking an extra second to make sure all of his packmates had headed for the safety of the surrounding night. The pack leader rounded the last hut at the edge of the village, intent on disappearing into the darkness, but what he saw before him stopped him in mid-stride. All of his packmates stood at the edge of the village, frozen in place like statues. The blue glow of arcane energy crackled over each, forming an intricate webwork over each. The acrid smell of lightning filled his nostrils

Panic crept up Vijhan’s spine, raising hackles of hair as it moved. The sound of running feet approaching him from behind drew attention. He turned, hunched in a fighting stance ready to defend himself. He brandished a long dirk he had named cruelbite. With his free hand Vijhan freed the small buckler strapped to his back and then holding it defensively in front of him.

The pursuing villagers paused, faced by an armed and desperate canid. Each stared at the other, eyes filled with equal shares of anger and fear. Although their attention was immediately focused on Vijhan, a few villagers began to take notice of the other, bewitched canids.

They gawked at the frozen dog-men, trapped in their magical stasis. A low growl returned their attention to Vijhan, the more immediate threat. Heartened by their advantage in numbers, the villagers advanced on the pack leader.

“We’ve got another beast to drown,” someone in the crowd shouted.

Vijhan did not like the way this night had developed. The cloaked one had promised easy plunder, and now it seemed that he had delivered total. The Canid leader could see no way out of the village alive. It was in that moment that he decided to make these stinking apes pay dearly for his hide.

He leaped forward, bringing cruelbite up to stab at the throat of the largest and most well-dressed humans. The man brought his hands up to defend himself, but both knew it was too late. In seconds cruelbite would plunge into the soft flesh, loosing a gout of blood that would signal the death of the man.

A bolt of golden light intercepted Vijhan in mid leap. The light held the canid like an insect trapped in amber.

All of the gathered villagers turned toward the source of the light. They gasped at the vision confronting them. Surrounded by a nimbus of soft light they saw the lizard they had dispatched earlier that day standing on the roof of a nearby hut. The golden light holding the canid emanated from a willowy wand the lizard held. Ernst immediately recognized the lizard.

* * *

Sethyr was dressed in fine red robes, with finders bejeweled with several large rings. Other ornaments festooned the front of the robe, sewn onto the bright fabric with golden thread. A sliver diadem rested on her head, almost entwined with her bony crest. Despite all the other finery, she wore no shoes, her claws digging into the wooden shingles, steadying her on the crest of the roof

Everyone gawked at Sethyr, more than a little afraid. Some wondered is this was some sort of avenging specter. Some wondered if the rest of the lizard army had arrived. Others simply wished to forget all the recent excitement and return to their uneventful lives.

Sethyr felt a pang of guilt at the consternation her reappearance caused, but only a small pang. Being simple was no excuse for what these people had done to her. A nasty little voice inside whispered that they deserved to be frightened.

Sethyr broke the silence of the night, addressing the villagers.

“Shall I release these beasts to return to pillaging you folk, or are you going to try and drown me again?” she asked.

Ernst stepped forward, no longer threatened by the canid. “Sethyr, thank the powers you are here. You saved my life.

“So now I’m Sethyr…not the beast? Brayden must have woken up.”

“Yes, he did, but he collapsed again.”

Sethyr shook her head. “You apes are so fragile.”

Ernst moved closer to the hut, his neck craned, peering up at Sethyr.

“We must apologize for our terrible treatment of you. Had we realized you truly were Protector Brayden’s companion we would not have…well we would have acted differently.”

“I am quite sure of that…but the fact remains, you did not treat me well. Now, I hold the power to save these same people who condemned me.”

Ernst began to look nervous as Sethyr spoke, but remained silent.

“I also hold the power to punish those same people,” Sethyr continued. “The truth be told, I have not decided which way to tip the scales.”

Sethyr paused, glaring at the gathered villagers.

“But Ernst, when my fate was in your hands you did have the decency to keep me from burning. That is a mark in your favor. I wonder if you would have felt the same had you known that drowning me would never have done the trick, as my folk have an affinity for the water.”

“Oh course, I would have still intervened on your behalf,” Ernst interrupted.

Sethyr pinned the man with a glare.

“Hush now. I am not done bloviating. Now, where was I? Oh yes, what am I to do about this quandary? Revenge or altruism? Hmmm…” Sethyr rubbed her chin in mock concentration.

“Ah, I have an idea. I think I’ll give the village to Brayden as a gift. Perhaps a nice gift will aid in his recovery. First we must do a bit of cleaning. Let’s start by putting the dogs out.”

Sethyr retrieved a small glass ball from with her robe and held it aloft. Tiny blue crackles of light shown inside the globe, mimicking the crackles playing over the frozen canids. She winked at the villagers and crushed the globe in her hand. The tough skin of her fingers protected her from being cut by the shards of glass. The energy playing over the captured canids faded, but the golden glow surrounding their leader remained.

Stretching, as if coming out of a deep sleep, the canids surveyed their situation. Several growled low in their throats. One moved toward the villagers, lips peeled back in a snarl. Another, larger canid intercepted it, cuffing it on the ear. The canid yelped in pain and turned on its attacker, who promptly ran it through with a rusty saber. The saber wielding canid turned and peered up at Sethyr.

“I leader now. We go now. No more kill. You keep Vijhan,” the words came out of the canids dog like muzzle with difficulty. The canid then gestured toward the other canid still trapped by the golden beam.

Sethyr nodded politely. “Oh course, but do not come back. We will deal with you friend here.”

The canid sheathed his saber and turned toward the others. He barked a quick order and loped off, away from the village. The remaining canids fell into line behind their new leader. They disappeared into the night in a matter of moments, leaving behind an eerie silence.

“Well, it appears that we only have one to deal with now,” Sethyr said.

With a flourish Sethyr walked to the edge of the roof and stepped off, all the while keeping the golden beam on the remaining canid. His steps continued downward, as if supported by an airy staircase. The villagers gasped in surprise. Sethyr stifled a smile. The flashier spells were often not as useful as the subtle ones, but she enjoyed the awe they generated in simpler folk.

“Could someone please fetch some rope for me? We will need to muzzle this puppy after I release it.” Some in the crowd gasped at the mention of releasing the canid.

“Oh, not to worry. When I remove the magic, this fellow will be terribly weak for some time. He won’t be able to hurt any of you.”

Chapter Three

2008-02-29T06:17:00.001-08:00

A slow, steady throb of pain beat a rhythm behind Brayden's eyes. Awareness scratched at the edges of his mind, driven by that very same pain. Slowly, his senses returned. At first it was the dull ache in his head. Then, he noticed the scratchy texture of whatever it was that he lay upon. Next, the pleasant scent of roasting meat tantalized his nose, making his stomach rumble. Finally, the sound of nearby merriment drew Brayden to full wakefulness.

Gritting his teeth, Brayden rolled onto his side. He was rewarded with a fit of racking coughs. After resting on his side for several minutes Brayden steeled himself for an attempt to sit up.

Beginning slowly, he used his arm to lever himself upward. Pain shot through his ribs like an icy knife. It robbed him of his breath, sending him into another paroxysm of coughing. He gasped for breath, nearly toppling off of the cot but steadying himself. Groaning in pain, Brayden took a moment to recover his breath and a bit of his strength. A voice from somewhere inside his head chided him to lay back down and rest, but concern for Sethyr drowned out the voice.

Brayden rubbed his eyes, massaging his temples to clear his head. He opened his eyes for the first time. Taking in his surroundings, Brayden pondered his situation. He sat on a rough cot covered by a thin, homespun blanket. The cot sat in one corner of a crude, yet neatly kept hut.

A workbench of some sort stood against the far wall. Several shelves were mounted above the workbench, each lined with ceramic jars of various sizes and shapes. Each was labeled, but in the dim light of the hut Brayden could not read the flowing script from where he sat.

With a start, he realized that he was wearing nothing but a long, linen nightshirt. Someone must have changed his clothes after he had passed out. Brayden reflexively snatched up the rough blanket, covering himself modestly. The effort earned him another fit of coughing. After it passed Brayden pulled the blanket over his shoulders like a cloak and held it close. He shivered despite the mild temperature in the hut.

Pulling the blanket even closer, he rose unsteadily to his feet and shuffled toward the door of the hut. Fatigue and pain forced him to stop every few steps to catch his breath and steady himself. As he shuffled toward the door the sounds of merriment grew louder and more distinct. It sounded like the entire village was celebrating.

Nearly to the door, Brayden rearranged his grip on the blanket to free one of his hands and reached for the door. As his hand brushed the door it flew open, startling him. An involuntary flinch nearly sent him to his knees as he swayed on already unsteady legs.

Sunlight streamed in through the open doorway revealing a burly man dressed in fine clothes. He wore a grim expression that did not match the celebratory sounds outside. The man strode forward, steadying Brayden with a strong hand.

"I am Ernst, headman of the village of Hedgewise and I must speak with you." The look in Ernst's eyes chilled Brayden. Years of hearing confession during his training as a protector let him recognize irreconcilable guilt in Ernst's expression.

"Yes, we must talk," Brayden replied.

Ernst gingerly helped Brayden back to the cot, helping him settle himself.

"I hope that out wise-woman's ministrations have been of help to you," Ernst said. "She even offered up her home for your recovery." He gestured around the hut casually.

"Of that, I am very grateful. However, young man, I doubt that this is the matter you feel so compelled to discuss."

"Yes, that is so." Ernst paused momentarily, gathering his courage to speak. "There is a more grave matter at hand."

A surge of cold fear ran down Brayden's spine.

"Is Sethyr here?" he asked, cutting through the preliminaries.

"If you mean the lizard, then the answer is yes."

Brayden felt a wave of relief.

"Where is he? I must speak with him," he asked.

Ernst frowned. "So, this lizard was your acquaintance?"

"Yes, he is my companion and a good friend," Brayden answered.

"This is what we must speak about."

Brayden hesitated, gathering his wits, and slipped into the practiced role of confessor. His entire countenance changed, becoming open with an understanding expression. "Go ahead and tell me," Brayden said using a reassuring tone.

"Your lizard friend is...is dead!" Ernst blurted. "There was nothing I could do."

Brayden stared at Ernst, his face not changing. It was if Ernst had not spoken the words.

"Did you hear me?" Ernst asked. "Your friend is dead. There was a trial and he was sentenced to death. I am sorry."

Ernst reached out, putting his hand on Brayden's shoulder. The touch of Ernst's hand jolted like a splash of cold water. His blank expression melted, replaced by a rictus of rage. Brayden knocked Ernst’s hand away and leapt to his feet. His other hand shot out like a snake, striking the bigger man in the nose. He stumbled back, hands flying up to cover his nose. Blood dripped freely from behind his hands, confirming that Brayden had broken Ernst's nose.

Brayden advanced toward Ernst, his face still full of rage. The headman babbled a quick apology and fled out of the door of the hut.

Brayden followed, hard on Ernst's heels. The bright sunlight outside shocked Brayden as he emerged from the hut in pursuit. Squinting and shading his eyes, he paused, not able to follow the escape of his quarry. Ernst used those few moments to remove himself from Brayden's immediate reach and disappear into the shocked crowd.

A murmur of confusion passed through the crowd at Ernst's flight and Brayden's appearance. The protector scanned the crowd for some sign of the escaped headman. Seeing none he took a step toward the crowd, still fuming. Instinctively everyone took a step back from him, shying from his anger.

"Where is Sethyr?" Brayden addressed the crowd.

Muttered confusion filled the air. People looked at each other shaking heads and shrugging.

"Where is my friend Sethyr!" He shouted, his anger boiling over.

The crowd shrank back another step and then began to unravel at the edges.

Brayden stepped forward, pointing a peasant at the forefront of the crowd.

"You! Where is my companion...the lizard?"

The man's face paled, panic showing at the edge of his eyes. The trickle quickly turned into a flood.

Seeing the people fleeing, Brayden launched himself at the peasant he had addressed. They both went down in a heap and they began to wrestle. Brayden's fighting experience helped him quickly gain the advantage. He pinned the man down and sat astride his chest.

"Where is the lizard?" Brayden asked, barely containing his anger.

The peasant squirmed, eyes full of terror.

"It wasn't my fault."

"Chanti subdig vos!" Brayden growled, his voice taking on an otherworldly tone. His hands grew hot from the swell of energy he channeled to compel the man to answer him.

As the energy poured into him, the peasant stiffened and then relaxed, all fight having left him. The power of Chanti drove the man's will before it until it cowered in some forgotten place deep within his mind.

Brayden loosened his grip on the man. Once he was sure the peasant would not bolt he levered himself up to tower over him.

"Tell me where the Lizard is."

The peasant stared up at him in terror, struggling to speak.

"P...p...please don't hurt me. Please," he sputtered.

"Answer my question and I won't have to." Brayden responded sharply.

"It's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"Gone. Dead...we killed it...for hurting you."

The man's last few words hit Brayden hard, making his brow knit in confusion.

"What do you mean, for hurting me?" he asked.

"We captured the creature and then you showed up, sorely hurt. We figured it had done it."

Brayden took a step back from the peasant. The strength drained from him as he realized what had happened. Evil had no hand in what had happened. Surly ignorance and fear played their parts, but evil never entered into the situation. Brayden's rage suddenly lost its focus, replaced by a deep sorrow. His head falling to his chest, Brayden let out a deep breath letting his channeled energy melt away.

Released from the protector's geas, the peasant scrambled to his feet and fled leaving Brayden all alone.

The solitude enfolded him like a blanket, smothering hope and light. A chill breeze whispered though the lonely village, robbing him of his last bit of comfort. Not sure what to do next and the last of his strength gone, Brayden carefully lowered him self to the ground and sat down, his legs crossed. His head dropped into his hands and he let out a sign of despair.

"Chanti, guide me," Brayden prayed.

"I have truly lost my way. May you forgive me for using your power for anger. Watch over and guide the Soul of my friend, wherever it may dwell."

Brayden heard a door creak open. He made a quick sign of veneration and looked up. Ernst emerged from a nearby hut, holding a bloody rag to his broken nose. He approached, his hand held out in peaceful greeting.

"Sir, I beg your patience. Do not blame these folk. Blame me. My courage was not string enough."

Brayden stared blankly at Ernst as the headman approached.

Ernst continued. "They have suffered this past year. Creatures come in the night, unseen and silent. Some folk have disappeared and most of the livestock has been slaughtered. The village is beset by fear."

"Does fear excuse all? I'm sure Sethyr was afraid when you killed him."

Ernst nodded. "Of course you are right. He did nothing to deserve his fate. It is my fault. I did not have the courage to face the fear and anger of my own people. And for that I will always be sorry.

Brayden looked at Ernst with hard eyes.

"By Chanti I hope that is enough."

With the words barely out of his mouth Brayden collapsed in a heap.

Chapter Two

2008-02-27T05:08:00.000-08:00

A dull throb pestered Sethyr back into consciousness. The pain played a slow tattoo behind her eyes, the steady beat of her heart leading the rhythm. Feigning unconsciousness, Sethyr took careful stock of the sensations surrounding her. Sun shown on her face, telling her that she had been knocked out for more than a few seconds. She lay on soft grass, still slightly wet from morning dew. This told her that an hour or perhaps two had passed. The gathered voices of many people and the strong smell of wood smoke meant she was probably in the village of her attacker. Tight bonds around her wrists and ankles dashed her hopes of quick escape.

Resigning herself to helplessness for the moment, Sethyr concentrated on the nearby voices, hoping to catch some information that might be of use. Most of what she heard could be categorized as babble. However these people were their accents could be most courteously described as rural. Some conjectured on where the ‘lizard beast’ had come from. Others bemoaned the anticipated coming of a horde of her kind, intent on defiling their woman folk and eating their babies.

One particular snippet of conversation pricked her interest.

The voice said, “that burley knight is still dead ta the world. The lizard and his brutes surely done deep harm to him.”

She wondered if they had found Brayden. If they had, then at least he was safe, no matter her fate. It seemed that whoever had knocked her on the head had summoned help from some nearby village. Now the villagers had her, trussed up like a goose on Harvesttide.

Sethyr pondered what her next move should be. She doubted the villagers would listen to reason. Perhaps if she could forestall her fate long enough for Brayden to regain his senses he could intervene on her behalf.

Testing to see if her muzzle had been bound as well, Sethyr gently tried to open her mouth. She felt some sort of cord tighten as she tried. Somehow these buffoons had made the decision to gag her as well. Sethyr cursed silently. With one lucky stroke her abductors had stripped her of one of her most potent weapons; her glib tongue.

The sound of approaching voices intruded on her thoughts.

“Get that thrice damned lizard on his feet,” a basso voice roared.

Rough hands grabbed her by the arms and pulled her upright. Sethyr decided in a flash to feign continued unconsciousness and hope this would dissuade the villagers from immediate action. The hands holding her kept her upright, but she let her head loll back. Whoever was holding here nearly lost their grip, sending her to her knees. This time she let her head pitch forward.

“If the beast can’t at least acknowledge its crimes then I suppose we have to just kill it now…trial or no,” the deep voice bellowed once more.

With few other choices, Sethyr stood on her own and slowly opened her eyes. She cast a contemptuous gaze at the man standing before her. Among the shabbily dressed peasants crowding around, his well-made clothes marked him as prosperous man. He was also above average height for a human and built like a barrel of lager. The man’s round, child-like face belied his burly frame. He glared down at her with.

“Well, I’m glad you decided to wake up. We can’t have a proper trial with you unable to answer the charges. You and yours nearly killed that noble knight. He lays, even now, insensible and in our good care.”

Sethyr cocked her head, contempt showing in her eyes. “My good sir, I doubt you would know a proper trial if one of them dropped on your head and danced a jig.”

The man moved forward, his hand poised to strike. He stopped with an obvious exercise of will. “Listen here beastie, just because you come from a land of uncivilized brutes doesn’t mean we will treat you as one. Here in Hedgewise we abide by the law…and it even applies to the likes of you.”

“Uncivilized brute?” Sethyr hissed. “It seems that you are the one who tied me up, not the reverse. What evidence have you that I am responsible for Brayden’s injuries.”

“Brayden?” The man asked, looking confused.

“Yes, Brayden, the noble knight, as you so described him. He is not my enemy, but my companion. He received his injuries defending me from several canids,”

Anger and uncertainty mingled in the man’s eyes as Sethyr spoke. “that seems a lie. There’s no way a man like him would suffer the likes of you.”

“A man like him? How can you possibly know what kind of man he is?” Sethyr asked.

“He…well…he wears the mark of Chanti.”

Sethyr hissed a laugh. “So, a bit of cloth with a symbol on it is enough to sway your feeble mind? And simply because I am one of the Cairnfolk you are ready to condemn me in an instant.”

The man nervously ran a hand through his thick, curly hair, no longer seeming so confident.

Sethyr sighed. “I suggest you give Brayden time to wake up and he can clear this all up.”

The man looked concerned, watching Sethyr with more than a bit of skepticism. “I’d like to wait, beast, but this mob’ll never have it. It need’s to be fed and I’m sorry, but it’s not going to be me who’ll burn to sate it.”

Sethyr nodded, "The mob, you say? I thought wolves hunted in packs, not monkeys."

"That is no way to get help out of me, lizard," Ernst said irritably.

"My deepest apologies. At times my serpentine nature gets the best of me," Sethyr hissed sardonically. Please just make sure they do not burn me. My people consider it a sin to be consumed by fire. If given a choice, I would rather be drowned…if I must choose a fate.”

The man nodded earnestly. “Yes, yes, I’m sure I can at least convince them of that.”

Ernst turned without another word and strode into the milling crowd. After a few moments Sethyr head his booming voice cut through the babble of the mob.

"Folk of Hedgewise, pray attend my words!" Ernst bellowed.

The noises subsided to a hushed grumbling.

"I have questioned the beast and it claims innocence." The mob responded with shouts of disbelief and dissent.

"Please, good folk, let me speak." Once again, the crowd quieted.

Ernst continued. "The beast claims friendship with the Chantite. We must wait for him to recover before we pass judgment."

The crowd transformed back into a mob carried on a wave of shouted curses.

The chant "burn the lizard" rose from the mob filling the village with the sounds of hate and anger.

Sethyr squirmed in her bindings, trying desperately to wriggle out somehow and flee from the raw hatred of the villagers. Despite her best efforts, the leather thongs would not budge. She watched the mob, filling with panic at her seemingly inescapable fate.

Ernst emerged from the mob, parting it with sheer might of muscle. He approached Sethyr and kneeled down as if to check her bindings.

"I am very sorry, but you can see that this rabble won't be satisfied with anything less than blood. All I can do is promise that you won't burn...and that much might cost me dearly." Ernst paused for a moment, shaking his head.

"You must think us savages. I wish you could have seen these folk at their best instead of their worst." He finished his pantomime of checking her bonds and rose to his full height, turning to face the mob.

"Good folk, I have reached a judgment!" Ernst's rich basso voice cut through the surrounding clatter of voices. All eyes turned to him as a tense silence descended.

"As I said, I have reached my judgment. The beast must be punished. It will pay with its life for the harm done to the Chantite protector."

The mob roared, the gathered voices showing a sharp edge of bloodlust.

"Burn, burn, burn," they chanted.

One particularly unkempt villager emerged from the mob with a burning torch, rushing past Ernst and jabbing it at Sethyr. Ernst cuffed the villager like a bear swatting a bothersome dog. The man fell to the ground, stunned. Snatching up the torch, Ernst waved it in the direction of the mob. Cowed by his great size and the flaming torch, they retreated a few steps, watching Ernst with eyes full on anger.

"I am the headman of this village," he shouted. "If any here object than speak up. You all know I am fair-minded and honest. I decide what the law says and today it says there will be no burning. I say deny the beast the purifying fire of Chanti and drown it. Today the pond will be the sword of justice."

Ernst's eyes burned more brightly than the torch he held.

Like some huge beast cowed by a smaller, more ferocious one, the mob settled itself with Ernst's decision.

Satisfied that he had made his will the law, he kneeled near Sethyr, again making a show of checking her bonds.

"I am very sorry," he whispered.

Sethyr saw tears welling up in his eyes, but he quickly wiped them away with a beefy hand.

The mob roared in agreement once again and streamed past Ernst to snatch up Sethyr and carried her toward the pond near the outskirts of Hedgewise.

Chapter One

2008-02-25T18:32:00.000-08:00

A cricket chirped in the half light of the full moon. It sang out in search of a willing companion, intent on nothing but the urge to mate. It hopped along the crumbling window ledge of the ruined farmhouse, stopping and chirping every few hops. It began to chirp again, but a rustling from a deep shadow froze it. Its antennae whipped the surrounding air, reaching out for any sign of danger, but found none. It settled down, puffing out its wings to chirp again when death descended on it. A reptilian tongue shot from somewhere in the deep shadow, catching the cricket on its sticky tip. The tongue disappeared back into the shadow followed by a crunching sound.

“Gods, Sethyr, I’m sick enough as it is. I don’t need to retch watching you eat bugs,” a voice said from within the shadows deeper inside the farmhouse.

“My apologies, Brayden, but it was a morsel much too tempting to resist. Call it a late evening snack,” a smooth, yet sibilant voice replied from the shadows near the open window.

Sethyr rose from the shadow. Her smooth, well-groomed scales caught the moonlight almost making them glow. She wore a rich, velvety robe which appeared grayish red in the soft light of the moon. The sleeves, neck, and hem of the robe sparkled with brocaded trim of gold and silver thread. She peered out of the window, scanning the clearing for signs of danger. She worked her tongue in the back of her mouth, trying to dislodge one of the cricket’s legs that had lodged itself between her back teeth.

“Could you bring me some water?” Brayden’s voice came out of the dark, disturbing Sethyr’s thoughts. She retrieved the waterskin from her pack and hissed under her breath. It was empty and the nearest place to fill it was a good walk from the farmhouse. If Brayden was not injured she would have told him to get his own water, but the ape-kin had been injured trying to protect her. She felt she owed him some consideration. Despite that, she still was not happy about the walk.

“I’ll go get some,” Sethyr chuffed in annoyance. “I’ll probably take a dip as well. I feel like I’m drying out.”

“Don’t be too long,” Brayden said. “I don’t expect the folk in these parts will be too friendly to your kind.”

“I’ll be careful,” she hissed in mock annoyance. “I am, after all, a mage of no small talent. The local ruffians had better know their place or they might end up a toad…and you know how tasty I find toads.” She flicked out her sticky tongue to emphasize her point but the gesture was lost in the ghostly light.

Sethyr stuffed the empty waterskin back into her pack and lifted the pack onto her shoulder. She stepped into the shadows just inside the crumbling doorway of the farmhouse and peered out into the night. The moonlight washed the land in a silvery radiance, giving it an almost intangible look, almost like spun glass.

She flicked her eyes, lowering the membrane that allowed her to see heat as well as light. She scanned the area again, but still did not see anything threatening. Her reptilian eyesight did pick up the heat of a small, scurrying critter here and there, but nothing big enough to cause concern.

Sethyr stepped out of the farmhouse and began walking to the spring she had visited the day before. Even taking the time to bathe, she should not be more than an hour or so. She thought Brayden would be fine without her until then.

Sethyr set out across a fallow field. The spring lay on the far side in a thick copse of trees, kept green by the spring’s water even through the dry season. The field was dusty and strewn with stones. It was no wonder this farm was abandoned. The soil was obviously poor and the previous tenant had not even bothered to clear away the stone that would make plowing nearly impossible.

Sethyr chuffed again. The thought of having a farm and not taking care of it was foreign. The Cairnfolk, as her people were called, had so little that they treasured every little bit of it. They dwelled in a dark swamp whose most interesting features were massive stone cairns that towered above the muck in a seemingly random pattern.

Some folk told stories of seeing ghostly images of the Great Lizard Kings appearing atop the cairns on the hottest nights of the year. Sethyr had never witnessed any such spectacle, despite spending many nights waiting for the kings to appear.

She spent many nights dreaming, wondering what it would be like to know a life different than the one for which she was destined. From the time she was hatched, everyone simply expected her to become a simple eggwife, a near slave to the clutches of eggs that the tribe relied upon to replenish their numbers. By Cairnfolk standards it was an easy life. She would never be expected to work at anything other than mating, laying eggs and then taking care of them until they had hatched. Once hatched, the young were fostered to other families in the tribe and the eggwife began the process all over again. That life seemed so empty to Sethyr that she had ran away.

Sethyr croaked in amusement. Instead of ending up taking care of a clutch of eggs she had ended up nursing Brayden. Despite the warrior’s bluster, she genuinely liked him. He could be such a boob at times, but she knew that he was a good person, but he was a man. That is why she had not fully revealed her nature to him. Brayden had assumed Sethyr was a male, as most mages were. She had simply never rebutted that assumption. It was more convenient for Brayden to believe that she was male. As long as he thought that, he was prone to treat her as more of an equal. In some ways the Humans here in Brinhalad were as backward as the Cairnfolk.

“Well, no matter. He’ll just have to stay in the dark. Better for both of us, anyway,” Sethyr said to herself.

Her musings had taken her nearly all the way to the spring. She hissed in anticipation when she spotted the wispy cloud floating gently above one of the far pools. Unlike the others, that pool was fed by a hot spring.

Sethyr padded toward the pool, her claws ticking on the large, flat rocks surrounding it. She shed the pack and her robe with a flourish and dove in to the warm water. Her lithe form sliced through the calm surface of the pool, sending up a spray of watery jewels glittering in the moonlight.

Using long, undulating sweeps of her muscular tail, she swam along the bottom of the pool, letting the warmth soak through her hide. It warmed her both inside and out.

With another leisurely flick of her tail Sethyr rose to the surface. Her eyes and nostrils broke the water without a sound, the deep instincts of her reptilian heritage scratching at the back of her mind.

Sethyr blew a spray of water from her nostrils and dove back to the bottom of the pool, trying to shake off the predatory feeling that had come over her. It smacked of the same barbaric instincts that kept the females of her kind in bondage to eggs and younglings. She had hoped that the years away from her tribe had dulled those instincts. She shook her head from side to side trying to clear it, sending twin streams of bubbles from the sides of her mouth.

Whipping her powerful tail back and forth, Sethyr shot through the water toward the shore. At the last minute she angled her body upward and burst from the water. Her momentum carried her over the edge of the pool and onto the bank. With practiced reflexes she landed gracefully on all fours, water streaming from her scales.

She shook the water from her eyes and had just enough time to see a burly man in a shabby, peasant tunic watching her. In an instant her vision turned to shooting stars as a blow landed on her head and then everything faded into darkness.

***

Brayden awoke with a start, his mouth parched, trying to wet his lips with a dry tongue.

“Sethyr,” he tried to say, but it came out as an unintelligible croak.

“Sethyr,” he tried again, this time able to manage a scratchy whisper.

He wondered where she could be with the water. He turned his head, fighting back a wave of vertigo. From the pallet on the floor he could see most of the room, but there was no sign of Sethyr.

Early dawn streamed in through the eastern window. Brayden groaned, levering himself to a sitting position.

“Where have you gotten yourself too, Sethyr?” he muttered, fighting off another wave of vertigo. Concern creeped into Brayden’s thoughts. It was uncharacteristic for Sethyr simply to disappear. His friend was normally one of the most responsible people Brayden knew. He often teased his friend about being an old soul. Sethyr would just hiss playfully and make note of Brayden’s immaturity and lack of direction.

During their year together Brayden had come to respect and then rely upon Sethyr’s measured judgment and seriousness. They were a natural counterpoint to Brayden’s carefree and jovial nature. In that instant, he resolved to find and rescue the old lizard, no matter what kind of trouble showed itself.

Brayden struggled to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself on legs that felt boneless. His knees shook and he shivered in the early morning chill. He slipped a heavy gambeson over his shirt and breeches. He reached to pick up his chain shirt, nearly toppling over from the weight of it. Injured as he was, Brayden realized that he would never be able to struggle into the chain mail. He satisfied himself by buckling on the heavy green belt that signified his place in the sojourner’s guild. His sword hung from a simple baldric attached to the belt. Brayden finished his preparations by pulling on a pair of sad looking boots. They appeared to be nearly falling apart, but they were comfortable and he often explained that they had brought him luck in the past.

Brayden’s chest heaved from the effort of merely getting dressed. He whispered a quick prayer to Chani the Protector, asking for renewal and the strength to find Sethyr. He steeled himself and then strode out of the ruined farmhouse. The sun was bright, beginning to burn off the early morning fog. The worth of the sunrise lifted his heart. “Surely,” he thought, “this must be a sign from Chanti that she is watching over me and Sethyr.

He and Sethyr often argued over issues of faith. The Cairnfolk believed the spirits of their ancestors watched over them, but Sethyr had rejected this idea, just as she had rejected most of her people’s beliefs. She also discounted Brayden’s belief in Chanti the Protector, Lady of Light. However, she was always careful to respect his right to believe as he wished.

Brayden set out; heading in the direction Sethyr had said the spring lay. Frosted grass crunched under his boots with each plodding step. Despite the morning chill, sweat dripped down his forehead. His breath came in short, sharp gasps, accompanied by a slight wheeze. He began to question the wisdom of his venture, but cast aside his doubts when he thought of Sethyr perhaps being in danger.

Despite all the lizard’s faults, Brayden had come to enjoy the mage’s company. He found Sethyr’s wit entertaining and having a companion helped pass the time traveling from town to town. Brayden traveled, spreading the warmth and protection of Chanti. He never knew what drove Sethyr to travel as well, but he was still grateful. The mage and her sporran full of enchanted glass beads proved useful all too often.

One incident flooded up from Brayden’s memory. One evening their rest had been disturbed by a ruckus outside of the wayhouse where they slept. A child of the village was missing and was thought to have been abducted by goblins. The villagers, knowing that Brayden was an acolyte of Chanti, pleaded for his help. Brayden assented, reassuring the terrified parents he would find the child. He began organizing the villagers into groups to search the surrounding countryside.

Sethyr just watched the preparations with a sly smile. Brayden knew that the mage had a different approach in mind, but Sethyr seemed satisfied to let the plan proceed. Irritated, Brayden stalked over to the mage, confronting Sethyr with an accusing finger.

“You Damnable lizard, you know something, don’t you?” Brayden said.

Sethyr’s smile widened, revealing a row of sharp teeth. “Well, my friend, I merely had a simple question.”

“Well…what is it?’ Brayden snapped.

“What makes the boy’s parent’s think he was abducted?” Sethyr responded in a calm voice.

A look of confusion came over Brayden’s face. He scratched his head for a moment and then bellowed for the frantic parents.

A pair of simply dressed but clean peasants shuffled forward. Brayden took a deep breath and turned to question them.

“Good folk, what evidence do you have that your son was taken by goblins?” he asked.

The parents looked at each other questioningly, the mother shrugging.

The father gulped and turned to Brayden. “M’lord, I figured it was goblins cause of what I found in the barn.”

“What did you find in the barn?” Brayden asked.

“Well, the door was wide open and there was a broken milk ewer.” He paused for a moment, pulling on his lip. “Oh, and Old Boots was mighty upset, and so was the cow.”

“Wait, who is this ‘Old Boots’? Was he a witness?” Brayden asked, on the edge of exasperation.

“Oh, sorry sir. Boots ain’t no witness. Why, he ain’t even a person. He’s a cat. Boots is the old tomcat we keep in the barn to eat the rats. He was a hell of a mouser in his younger days. Now he mostly sits around beggin for scraps. He…”

Brayden interrupted the husband with a raised hand. “That will be enough. Thank you.” He then looked over at Sethyr looking defeated.

“So, my friend, what are your thoughts?” Brayden asked.

Sethyr straightened up from leaning against the side of the wayhouse and smiled.

“I suggest we sharpen the point of our search a bit. Let us begin at the barn in question. Shall we?” Sethyr’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

Brayden whistled and whirled his hand in the air gathering the searchers around.

“We shall return momentarily. Please wait here for me,” he said to the crowd of bedraggled peasants.

He turned on his heal and motioned for the missing boy’s parents to lead them to their barn. They were led to a well-kept barn. The surrounding farm showed signs of great care and concern for order and neatness, firewood stacked very precisely and crops arrayed in exactingly aligned rows. Brayden watched as Sethyr merely nodded upon seeing the barn and its surroundings.

The mage took one look at the inside of the barn and hissed in pleasure and nodded once again.

Sethyr turned to the father. “Have you ever been in his Majesty’s army, sir?”

The man nodded. “Yes sir, as a matter of fact I was a sergeant in the royal infantry before I settled down and bought this farm.”

“Just as I thought.” Sethyr said with a predatory grin. “You can come out now, boy.” The mage said in a loud voice. “You’ll only make it worse if we actually have to find you.”

Just then a pile of hay in the back of the cow pen stirred. The cow protested with a loud moo. A young boy emerged from the hay looking forlorn.

The parents rushed forward, crying his name.

Brayden looked stunned. “How did you know?” He asked Sethyr.

“My first inkling came with the full moon. As you know goblins are only about in the dark of the new moon. So we know it was no goblin,” Sethyr said.

“But it could have been something else,” Brayden interrupted

“True, my friend, but having been a youngling once myself, I put my mind in the frame of a child.” Sethyr explained. “From what his father said, it sounded like the boy was probably responsible for the spilled milk. No child likes to be scolded, and seeing the ordered nature of the farm confirmed to me the standards to which the boy is held. It came to mind that he perhaps hid rather than be blamed for the mess. Old Boots was probably merely upset because his treat of fresh milk had been disturbed.”

Brayden stared at Sethyr aghast. “How in Brin’s name did you put all that together?”

“T’was a simple matter…if you use intellect and the deductive process. It is very much like magic, cause and effect.”

All had turned out well that time. Brayden prayed that all would turn out as well this time.

Brayden’s mind returned to the present and his search for Sethyr.

He stumbled onward across the rocky field. His teeth chattered and he began to shiver in the crisp dawn air. Brayden knew that his symptoms were a sure sign of an infection of some sort. If he did not find Sethyr soon, he would be the one in need of rescue.

Almost blind with fever, Brayden stumbled into the clearing beyond the field. His head swam as he scanned the area around the pools for some sign of Sethyr. He shook his head in disbelief when he spied a small crown gathered around the edge of one of the pools. He walked toward them, struggling to keep his feet. As he grew closer his shock deepened when he saw that the people gathered around Sethyr’s prone form. Angry shouts issued from the crowd, drowning out Brayden’s plea for help. Finally reaching the gathered folk, the warrior grasped one tightly by the shoulder. The man whipped around just in time to catch the warrior as he passed out.

Brayden’s appearance sent up a new commotion. The warrior was carefully lowered to the ground. Someone shouted for a cloak to cover him. A grubby rag of a cloak was passed forward and spread over Brayden.

One of the gathered folk stepped forward. He carried a gnarled cudgel, waving it at others and shouting orders. He looked down at the unconscious Brayden with a look of pity.

“Don’t you worry none, good sir knight. We’ll lake care o’ that swamp varmint that done ya wrong. That we will.” The man waved over one of the gawking crowd.

“Cedric, go fetch a sturdy rope. We’re gonna give this here lizard a good bath.”