Lydee

Year 1378 (Present day)

An unofficial extension of the university, the Fostrilya Royal Library remained in operation. Lydee was thankful for that, as she stepped out of the heat of late morning Oslidor and into the comparatively cool and grandiose space. The lobby was quiet, as usual. Above her, along the second and third floors, Lydee could see nothing more than a handful of individuals scanning the stacks or walking past rows of books. Besides the relief from the heat, she was thankful as well for the lack of people. Today she wished not to be seen. At all if possible.

After her ‘meeting’ with Gregorich, what she wished most of all was to speak with Richard. She had been left feeling uneasy in a most peculiar way after her brief interaction with that man with the bushy eyebrows. Conversing and exchanging information with Richard could help jostle free the knot which had tied itself within her mind. She knew there was something amiss, but she could not free it from where it was hidden. The feeling was similar to when one sets out for the day and knows she forgot something, but not what it was.

For now, she would have to pursue the only option available to her. This, unfortunately, made her reliant on information obtained from Iniko. The man would not have intentionally misled her, but she did not trust his memory. Or his mind, whatever is left of it.

Iniko had told her that Woller was interested in prices of luxury goods during the early days of the Xu dynasty. Having dwelt on that detail for some time, Lydee had begun to construct a possible intention behind Woller’s research. A young Divine King had recently come into power in Xu. Octavius Xu had declared that he would cleanse his nation of vice and the worship of material goods. At first, this had led to a ban on any item he had deemed ‘unnecessary.’ When that went disastrously wrong, he replaced the ban with high taxes. If Woller was studying the prices of the same goods, centuries ago, perhaps he was hoping to forecast the economic impact these new regulations would create. The nation was famed for its expansive dye and tobacco plantations, and those goods were now severely restricted due to the exorbitantly high taxes which had been put in place.

Knowing the type of items Woller was interested in was helpful, but there were other questions regarding the particulars. She wished now that she had pressed Iniko more on the exact timeframe. Not that he would have remembered. And not that it would not have taken more patience than she could muster.

The concept of a period of time being the ‘early days’ was itself an issue. The royal nations agreed that they had each been founded during a singular event which took place during what was referred to as Year 0. The veracity of that claim had been doubted by scholars for time immemorial, of course only on East Saltion. To question that on Saltion, save for in Withigan, would be reckless at best. To complicate matters further, the very oldest records were accounts from the holy books of The Path. As those were outlawed in the royal nations, she would have to find the earliest documents she could.

The royal library contained tens of thousands, perhaps even hundreds of thousands, of books, papers, scrolls, and parchments. Of this multitude, the majority of the sources were from within Vinredor. Finding information that was thousands of years old, and told of Xu, would be a challenge.

The building was expansive enough to contain areas where she had never visited, even after years of research. The below ground level in particular was quite foreign to her. Among other subject matters which could be described as esoteric, or mundane, depending on who was asked, she knew the basement was where shipping manifests were kept. The library was unlikely to contain records of prices in Xu, but by looking at the prices of items entering Vinredor from Xu, it made sense that one could determine the prices in the country of origin.

She headed toward the spiral staircase which led there, eyes darting side to side without adjusting her head so as not to make it obvious that she was watching to see if she was being observed. Not detecting any eyes upon her, she took the first step down.

If she had waited for only ten seconds before beginning her descent, she might have heard one of the double doors at the entrance to the library open. If she had then looked back, she would have seen a nondescript man in a plain white scholar’s robe enter the lobby. He would have done his best not to indicate that he was looking for someone, so she might not have suspected anything was amiss. As it was, she missed the man entirely. Not knowing the layout of the library, or where Lydee was heading, the man simply began wandering the stacks, making sure to appear as innocuous as possible.

With each step down, the air became cooler. The oil lantern at the top of the steps was lit, but Lydee had to set further lanterns ablaze, a sign of the infrequency in which this level of the library was used. So deep into the earth was the basement that Lydee began to feel chill when she reached the bottom. Upon illuminating the space in front of her, the first object she saw was a table upon which someone had left a partially unrolled scroll. A thick layer of dust covered the scroll as well as the table.

And with the university closing its doors and the professors needing to find new employment, this space will see even fewer visitors than usual. Perhaps if I run out of funds, I can live down here. The scurrying of a rat, inches from her feet quickly dispelled the idea of residence from her mind.

As she searched the stacks, a memory of Woller came to her. When she had first joined the university, he had told her an anecdote of one of his many disagreements with the old librarian, Paitrov. The man possessed a knowledge of history which put the professors at the university to shame. He was an invaluable reference when conducting research, but Woller, believing himself to be the foremost authority on all things historical, had challenged the librarian’s claim that the East Saltion nation of Hon Rin was once a minor territory belonging to its current neighbor, Silth Ju. Woller had set out to prove himself correct, stating that he would conduct a lengthy period of research until he could definitively show that he was in the right. Instead, Paitrov had told the professor to wait in the library’s lobby. He had gone down into the basement for five minutes before returning with no less than three documents which Woller had no choice but to admit proved the librarian correct. Woller told it as a joke, but also as a piece of advice. If one ever needed assistance while at the library, he only had to speak with Paitrov. Unfortunately, the man no longer worked there.

Would that Paitrov was here to assist me now. At least that story has directed me here. If information of the ancient history of East Saltion is down here, it makes sense documents pertaining to ancient Xu would be as well.

The basement was larger than the ground floor, spreading out in all directions past the boundaries of the floor above it. Even though she lit every lamp she came across, Lydee had difficulty seeing where she was going. Reading the words on the sides of the shelves was an even greater challenge. The room expanded out into narrower and narrower passages, making it take quite some time to find a shelf with ship manifests from the first century. When she finally found what she was seeking, she looked at her surroundings and realized she had no sense of where she was, or how to get back to the staircase. She hoped that she would find what she was looking for here because she was not enthusiastic about prolonging her time underground, the musky air giving each inhalation the slight taste of mold. Was there truly mold down here, feeding on irreplaceable historical items? Had it always been this way, or was it just another sign of the decay the library had suffered after Paitrov’s departure?

Someone had given serious effort to assembling the collection she was viewing. The manifests were all written on parchment, of which Lydee could discern multiple types. The documents had been stacked together by year, some in crates and others covered in hide or leather and bound by string or gut. A thick layer of dust lay across the covers, but the documents on the interior remained in good condition. While the ink had faded, as Lydee knew it would, they were still legible once she took held them directly below a lantern.

Removing a set of manifests gave her a strange sensation, as though she were disturbing the slumber of something which did not wish to be awakened. As isolated as she was, she could not help but look over her shoulder every now and then for fear of something just on the cusp of her imagination. There were no sounds now in the basement, not even the scampering of a rat.

On the bottom shelf now, Lydee attempted to withdraw a booklet when a crate fell, spilling parchments out onto the floor. Rigid documents scattered in different directions, some lost in the darkness behind the shelf. She reached under the last wooded level and began to feel for the papers. On her knees, arm extended, her hand bumped up against something cool. Unlike the shelf itself, which was made of hardwood and gritty to the touch, the surface she felt now was perfectly smooth. It was, she realized after a moment, metallic.

Strange. There is nothing else metallic here that I have seen.

Lydee gathered the papers within her reach and placed them back in the crate. Knowing there were a few she had missed, but being unable to find them with such a paltry amount of light, she took the nearest lantern from the wall and placed it on the floor.

Was it dedication to the preservation of historical items, or a more innate curiosity which pushed her to lay down on the floor with her face brushing up against the stonework? Either way, with the lantern now illuminating the area, she looked under the shelf. One piece of parchment was just out of reach. Try as she might, she could not extend her arm far enough to reach it. She chose to remove more booklets from the shelf to create a space to reach through. That was when she saw what she had felt earlier.

The wall behind the bookshelf was made of ironwood, just as the other walls she had passed in the basement had been. Ironwood was a logical choice being common in the dry climate of Oslidor and the surrounding areas. The center of the wall however, a circular space of nearly a man-height in circumference, was dark grey metal. Lydee stared at the anomaly in front of her, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of her chest. She pulled more booklets off the shelf, then began crawling through the space she had created. The lantern’s glow reflected off the metal, casting the area in an eerie light. Cautiously, Lydee reached out to touch the surface. While it felt as smooth as a pearl, there were odd swirls and abstractions along the surface which gave it the look of having been folded upon itself. She moved her hand along the metal as she stood, curious as to what could have caused its strange appearance. At a higher plane, the lantern revealed odd shapes on the floor to her side. She shuffled in the narrow space, one hand touching the wall until it simply vanished.

She lifted the lantern above her head to shine down on the floor, the light showing that the wooden wall had been cut, fractured pieces of wood scattered on the ground. The cleared space was large enough for her to fit when she turned her body to the side. Not knowing precisely why, she shifted the lantern into her other hand and entered the space.

Through the gap in the wall, she found herself in a room with three sides covered in bookshelves. Lydee walked to one and picked up a leatherbound booklet. The cover appeared modern, but the pages of parchment inside were ancient. The first page seemed to be notes taken regarding events in someone’s life, their travels. There were dates as well, but they made no sense. The first entry was dated as being from the year 4,122, a date which had not yet come to pass. The parchment and ink were clearly ancient, in decent condition but fading and torn along the edges. Further pages followed the same pattern.

Lydee took another booklet off the shelf and inspected it. This one was dated beginning in the year 9, making it, if true, the oldest document she had even seen, or ever heard of. Even Redemption, the first holy book of The Path, was considered to be from the second decade of the first century.

None of this can be. These dates are impossible… aren’t they? But if so, why are these items hidden behind a wall? And why and when was it broken into?

Lydee’s heartbeat had increased without her realizing it. She scanned the room in disbelief, shaking her head and wondering if this was in fact reality, or but a fevered dream. Then, in the distance, a sound.

Someone is descending the staircase.

Panic.

Lydee filled the interior pockets of her robe with booklets, then turned to the gap in the wall from which she had emerged. She squeezed through and crawled to the bookshelf which contained the manifests. She paused then for a moment and was barely able to hear footsteps above her own heartbeat. They did not sound as though they were getting closer.

Whoever it is may be as lost as I am.

Still, she did not want to be found in a space that was clearly designed to be hidden. Through the space she had cleared in the shelf, she rushed to return the manifests, unmindful of their original order. Standing up and dusting herself off, she could tell that the footsteps were now indisputably louder, and increasing in volume with each passing moment. She scanned the area and realized she was at a dead end, the lantern which she held providing the only available light.

A difficult decision to make now. Return the lantern and attempt to hide in the darkness, or find the exit while hoping to avoid whoever else was in the basement? A glance at the floor forced her hand. Her path could easily be tracked by the footprints she had left in the dust which had accumulated due to disuse. It was this dust that made her feel so certain she was now being hunted. That two individuals would seek the basement on the same day, when it had so clearly been neglected for such a long time felt too unlikely to be a mere coincidence.

Lydee did her best to move away from the footfalls. She stepped carefully, making sure not to make a sound and followed her own footsteps until she came to a hallway that branched in multiple directions. There she took a new path. The path spread out again and again, the floor now free of footprints. Behind her, or truly in which direction she did not know, the footsteps continued, muted but audible.

She did not know how long she walked, or how many turns she made, but she eventually found herself at the staircase again. At the base of the stairs were a second set of footprints. Where they led out, the footsteps began to flow seamlessly into her own.

There is no doubt. Someone is searching for me. Or, at the very least, someone is searching for the person they know is down here.

A last look back, then Lydee placed her lantern on the ground and quickly, but silently, ascended out of the underground and back to the familiar confines of the Royal Library, sure, in the way that one can only be in times of terror or dismay, that her life had become inalterably changed.

Cupela

Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)

A breakthrough had occurred. Diseases, illnesses, afflictions- they were to be a thing of the past. At least that was what the latest development hinted at. Cupela had been amazed by the progress, and then unsettled by the aftermath.

The road to immortality was lengthy, with many twists. Afterall, to become immortal, one would have to be free not only from aging, but from sickness as well. It was a deadly fever which had sparked Enfildio’s intense desire to end the blight of death. Now, it appeared as though the dream of a world without illness was more than just a fantasy. The eradication of disease was still theoretical, but that did not diminish the accomplishment of Enfildio and his team. All of us were critical to this success, Cupela reminded herself for the hundredth time.

For years, Enfildio had sworn by the use of ferins for conducting research on humans. It was irresponsible and immoral to use human test subjects, he had declared. Yet ferins, as different as they appeared from humans, had a remarkably similar anatomy. The furry brown creatures were the size of rats, but with much larger ears and eyes. What made them most beneficial was not their appearance however, but their incredibly short life span. A ferin went from infant to adult in ten days, and the average ferin lived less than two months. With these creatures, one did not need to wait years to see results, but only weeks.

As ferins and humans shared an internal body structure, the animals were also capable of contracting human diseases. This had made them a scourge in the real world, and a blessing in the laboratory. Enfildio and his assistants had learned much about how to fight illnesses over the past years of diligent work. The true breakthrough though had come just one day past.

A set of ferins which had been treated for scarlet fever had survived the ordeal. The tonic given to them had not only helped them survive, but had eradicated any symptoms of the affliction. It was the first time a deadly disease had been cured, not just in their workshop, but as far as they knew, in history.

The cure was based off of close to two years of work in which the team of herbalists had slowly diminished the effects of illnesses. They had tonics now to fight the common cold, sore throats, and to help with mundane fevers. Now they could fight truly deadly illnesses. It was a cause for celebration. Or, it would have been, had the players involved been other than they were wont to be.

Ubul had discovered the condition of the ferins, being the first awake that day. He in turn had awoken Cupela, who had confirmed his findings. The others followed and the workshop had been a bustle of excitement. Then Cupela went for Enfildio. He had been awake, but evidently impervious to the effect of the noises from the larger work room. When he joined the others, he congratulated them on their work and told them to take the remainder of the day off. Everyone had been more than willing to comply with that directive, and they spent the next few chimes of the bell drinking and laughing before going off to their rooms to sleep off the effects of the day, or in the case of Sarah and Piroska, who had not imbibed, or laughed, to find isolation after being forced to interact in such an uncomfortable way with their peers.

The next day, all of the research notes on the progress of the victorious set of ferins was missing, and Enfildio had closed himself off to the world, refusing to answer the knocks at his door. The message was clear to Ubul. “He has taken our work and will attempt to advance with it alone. We are here to do labor for him, not with him.”

“He paid us for our time. Handsomely, I might add,” Cupela said. “If he wishes to work alone for some time, that is his prerogative.”

“You haven’t grown sick of defending the old man,” Hrent said, “even when he confides in the mule girl more than you?”

Cupela was surprised by how much the little man’s words had stung. “Stop acting like a petulant child, Hrent.”

To their side, Jezmavalin laughed as she leaned against a workstation, drinking still from the previous day, and looking as though she had never stopped.

“Where is she? Ubul asked. Sarah.”

“She’s still asleep,” Cupela said, turning to look at the door to Sarah’s quarters. Except, instead of seeing a closed door, she saw the young woman. Tears were beginning to run from her eyes. She turned and ran awkwardly back into her room, slamming the door behind her.

“Asshole!” Cupela yelled at Hrent.

“I don’t see why you defend her when she’s taking your place as the old man’s favorite helper. Or, should I say his errand girl. You think he cares about you at all? He abuses your naivete. You go out and run errands for him, while he spends his nights with Jezmavalin, when he wishes to, or when she’s not passed out.”

Cupela felt her cheeks flush. She looked over at Jezmavalin, but the gorgeous woman just shrugged before standing upright and heading to her room.

Glaring at Hrent, Cupela said, “You can’t handle a single criticism without lashing out. You’re no better than an infantile bully.”

“The truth hurts,” Hrent snarled.

“Is that why you’re steaming?” Ubul asked.

“Sure, defend her. She’s the only woman in here who gives you the time of day. Jez may be drunk, but at least she has the sense to leave,” Hrent said before making a show of casually stretching and walking to his room.

Cupela wanted to scream. Hrent had no way of interacting with others if he wasn’t demeaning them, yet his words had still broken through her defenses.

Why? Because they’re true? No. Enfildio is simply teaching Sarah. She knew nothing of herbalism before she came here. Enfildio has trusted me with stories he would never tell anyone else. Hrent is envious that no one spends any time with him. That’s all it is.

Ubul stepped closer to Cupela and put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not let Hrent divide us against each other. He’s miserable and the only relief he can find is in making others feel the same.”

Cupela nodded but did not speak. She was doing her best to limit the damage done by Hrent’s comments, but she had also noticed how close Sarah was becoming to Enfildio. Was it preposterous to believe the newcomer could replace her? Do not let that little man make you doubt your own past. That is what he wants; to sow distrust and misery. Do not allow him to win.

Ubul remained by her side. After a few minutes of silence, he spoke up softly. “Still… I can’t help but feel as though Enfildio is using us. All of us. When do you see him conducting experiments? Everything he does is done behind his closed door. It is as if he is hiding something.”

“Don’t start, Ubul. Please.”

“I’m solely thinking aloud.”

Cupela snorted.

Ubul is my only friend here, and even he fails at consolation.

“I will not get any work done today,” she finally said. “Perhaps I will rest and then read some.”

“Not a bad idea,” Ubul said. “I will do the same.”

Cupela barely turned to acknowledge him. She was suddenly extremely fatigued, as though speaking of sleep made her realize how much she needed the break from thinking. Looking around the empty workshop, she felt more alone than she could ever remember.

She did not know how long it took her to fall asleep, or if she ever did. Either way, she jolted out of bed when she heard the explosion.

The world outside of her room was a haze of ochre smoke. Cupela felt the heat of flames reach up to claw at her face. She attempted to clear a space in front of her by waving her hands, but the effort was futile, the effort only hastening the acrid smoke’s climb into her lungs, forcing her to cough until her hands were on her knees. Through the haze she could hear yelling, though it was unclear from which direction.

She had spent enough time in the workshop to find her way along the walls, the heat growing with each step, until she bumped into something. It turned out that something was someone. The hiss of the flames was clear now, the heat making her recoil, yet she knew she could not turn away from whoever had been involved in the blast. Cupela kneeled down and put her hand against the form. She pulled her hand away from the heat of the contact, but what was more disturbing was the texture of the skin she had touched. It felt similar to melted wax, and the image that conjured in her head began to make her sick.

From her side, another person came into focus through the smoke. It was Enfildio. The elderly man was coughing and waving his hands across his face. “Cupela? Are you alright?”

“I am fine. But someone is here, and not in good condition. I can’t see who it is. We need to put out the flames! Do you have your cape? Throw it down.”

Enfildio did so, and Cupela padded the black cloth around the figure on the ground. Flames danced on the nearby table as well, the heat radiating outward and burning her face. She pulled the cape off of the body and went to work using it to douse the remainder of the fire.

There were more voices now as other figures approached. Ubul. Hrent, Jezmavalin. They broke through the smoke, coughing and cursing.

“What happened?” Ubul asked.

“I’m not sure,” Cupela said. “But someone is hurt, and badly.”

“Where is Sarah?” Enfildio asked. “Is that her?”

“We need to get her out of here,” Jezmavalin said. “Outside.”

No one spoke for a moment, as they waited for the response from Enfildio. “Fine,” he finally said after longer than Cupela wished he had taken. “Delicately.”

They began gently lifting the body. Cupela had to hold her breath to prevent herself from retching. The smell was atrocious and the feel of blood and melted skin on her hands was too much to consider lucidly. They slowly made their way to the staircase, no sounds now except for coughing and heavy panting.

The smoke was thinner at the staircase. Cupela held onto one leg as they moved the body up the steps. Halfway along their ascent, it became clear who they were holding. It was not Sara. It was Piroska.

The already frail woman had been burned nearly beyond recognition were it not for the spectacles which she wore, the frames of which were now wedged into her cheeks. Cupela could not look at her without flinching away, yet she returned her gaze time and time again, hoping for a change, as if she were in a nightmare and was about to wake up to find her companion hale again.

“Put her down,” Enfildio said from behind the group. “The smoke has cleared.”

Cupela and the others obeyed, and did their best to let the burned woman down so her body was laying horizontal along a single step. Cupela looked over at the others. Jezmavalin looked dazed, possibly still inebriated. Ubul was shaking his head in disbelief, while Hrent stood motionless, looking down at Piroska, his thoughts unreadable.

“She needs medical attention,” Cupela said, stating the obvious, but being the only one willing to speak. “We need to take her to a hospital.”

“No,” came Enfildio’s voice from behind her. “The hospitals have nothing that can help her. But I know of an unguent. I will gather it and bring it back here. In the meantime, let her rest and give her pain tonics every half bell. Give her enough so that she does not wake up until I return.”

Glances were shared between the assistants, but no one challenged the master herbalist.

As Piroska rested, the others, including Sarah who had finally emerged from her room, began the process of cleaning the workshop. The flames had not expanded out past the single workstation, but the smoke had clung to multiple surfaces. Cupela had opened the door to allow air flow, but the atmosphere still made their breathing labored. They worked in silence until Cupela spoke to break the discomfort.

“She has a daughter, you know.”

“Someone—never mind,” Hrent mumbled.

“She abandoned her daughter to come here?” This from Ubul.

Cupela shrugged. “I do not know her story, only that she has a young daughter. Maybe this was her only method of gaining coin. She keeps her personal life to herself.”

“We all do,” Jezmavalin remarked. Cupela looked over at the beautiful woman, her long dark hair somehow unblemished by the smoke. What reaction are you hoping for?

“Especially Enfildio,” Ubul said, looking at Cupela.

Cupela stared at him blankly. “He doesn’t owe us anything. He pays us to do a job, and we do it. We all knew the terms of the agreement before we took it. That is enough.”

“For you,” Hrent added.

“It’s time to give Piroska more pain killer,” Cupela said, excusing herself.

I hope Enfildio returns soon. Not just for Piroska, but for my sanity as well.

Yara

Her rage had not subsided when the palace servant brought her the Divine King’s summoning. The young man left in even more of a hurry than he had arrived when he saw the whip in her hand. It may also have been the young woman on her hands and knees, staring down at the floor and whimpering that added to the servant’s haste.

The scabs on the adolescent’s back had reopened, which made the scene look worse than it was, Yara reflected. Her own clothes were free from blood save for the black gloves she was wearing. She removed them carefully and tossed them to the servant girl, along with the whip.

“Have those cleaned before I return. Then go back to whatever task you were pretending to do before.”

It would be unwise to be in such a foul mood during an audience with the Divine King. Her back to the door, she took a series of deep breaths before heading to the royal living quarters.

She had been to the Divine King’s private chambers on occasion, but never to his bedroom. In fact, she never heard of anyone being summoned to that intimate location before. A number of possibilities jostled for position in her mind. None of them were particularly pleasing, but then again, her thoughts had been darker than usual. Because of this man, Gregorich. Who is he? Why is he inquiring after Woller while posing as one of my agents? Does Oslian not trust me?

The thought that Richard had fabricated the man’s existence seemed highly unlikely. She did not believe him to be diabolical enough to present an invented story in such an innocent way. She had dozens of questions regarding Richard’s interaction with the man he knew as Gregorich, but she did not have the flexibility to ask them. She could not allow him to know Gregorich did not work for her. Unless of course, she disposed of him afterwards. But he was Esther’s now, and the Royal Herbalist was possessive of her people.

Her next suspicion was a rival on the council. Ilgor was ancient enough to have known Woller back when he was an acquaintance of Oslian’s, but she did not believe Oslian would have spoken to him about the matter. As for Rovellia, she was too dim-witted to hatch any kind of plan. Therefore, her only true suspect on the council was Martin. Oslian asked him for advice on a wide variety of issues, and she would not be surprised if Martin was able to pry information loose which Oslian did not want him to have. She could envision him intending to outdo her and gain favor with the Divine King.

Nevertheless, she was not sure Martin was behind this, or whether she actually preferred that he was. He was dangerously competent, but at least she knew who he was. The idea of someone she did not even know manipulating her was a terrifying possibility, and Yara did not appreciate being made to be fearful.

We will see who else may have been invited to the royal bedchambers. That will be quite telling.

Yara was granted permission to enter the Divine King’s living chambers on the top floor of the palace by the half dozen royal life defenders who guarded the passage at all hours. The foyer within displayed a decadence which would make the common man weep. Precious gemstones lined the framework of each piece of furniture, all of which sat upon a carpet of blood-red velvet. The mirrors were made of glass with solid gold trim, a purple sapphire the size of a fist inset at the top of the twin set on either side of the room. It was here that she had spoken with Oslian once before, when he had been ill and had been advised not to leave his bed. He had stubbornly refused, which came as no surprise to anyone. If he truly did not leave his bed for this summoning, it was not a large leap to assume the worst.

She came to the door which she believed led to the bedchamber. Even before touching her hand to its surface, she could tell how incredibly thick the painted wood and iron door was. She paused to take another set of deep breaths, then rapped upon the door.

“Enter.” Oslian’s voice. Strong enough to carry through the door. A good sign.

The first thing Yara saw inside the bedchamber was the Divine King’s bed, unoccupied. The white sheets with violet trim looked as though they had not been used that day. Instead, Oslian sat on an expansive couch. To his side stood Esther. There was no one else in the room.

“Sit down, Yara,” Oslian said.

Thankful for the direction, Yara bowed and took a seat at the far end of the couch.

Oslian attempted to clear his throat, then broke into a coughing fit. Yara wisely chose to look away until the Divine King had composed himself. “There are two purposes for your summoning,” he said. “The first is that I require an update regarding the information you have gathered on Woller.”

And the second?

“I have uncovered the fact that the reason he was purported to have disappeared is facetious. A relationship between Woller and a student never occurred. She told me this herself, multiple times, under… a myriad of circumstances.”

Oslian looked up to Esther. Yara was not sure what passed between the two of them, but when he looked back at her, he said, “That is not a surprise. Woller was always too blunt and rigid to seduce a woman. My suspicion that he created a lie to cover his tracks was correct. This means he is hiding something and must be found immediately.”

“I agree, Your Excellency,” Yara said cautiously. “I have agents following former friends and colleagues of Woller’s.” She wished to add more, but that was all she had. She was unprepared to deliver a report on the investigation’s progress. Saying the meager actions she had taken out loud made it all the worse. And she had left out the complications regarding the man who called himself Gregorich. In fact, she wished to glean something from Oslian or Esther which could help her determine who the man was, or for whom he was employed. But admitting there was an element to the investigation that was beyond her control was out of the question.

“Very good,” said Oslian. “I know you will find him. You have never let me down, Yara. That is why I requested your presence here.”

And yet, you do not grant me the title of Grand Advisor. A carrot for me to continue to chase, no doubt.

Oslian gave no hint as to his feelings. Speaking tonelessly, he stated, “Esther will explain the second purpose of this meeting.”

The Royal Herbalist had listened without comment thus far, as she always did. She would never deign to interrupt the Divine King, despite the fact, or perhaps because of the fact, that they had known each other for many years. Yara did not know the origin of their friendship, but she did know they had been close for decades and in the years before Oslian became the sole ruler of Vinredor. She was closer to him than anyone, by a large margin. Even when the Divine King had been known to have taken lovers, there were times when he would meet alone with Esther. The true nature of their relationship remained a mystery, even to Yara. She wished to know more, but Oslian never volunteered information regarding his relationships or his past. Caution was also always wise when dealing with the Divine King.

The Royal Herbalist clasped her hands in front of herself. “A recent examination of the royal personage was conducted. During this examination, a tumor was found within a vital organ.”

She paused then. He is dying?

No doubt Oslian had had the same thought. He would not, of course, speak it aloud, at least not in front of her. Esther as well would have known the blasphemous implications of this diagnosis. Yet nothing would be spoken. Nothing could ever be said to anyone about Oslian’s condition.

Yara could not look at Oslian. He sat on the periphery of her vision, but she refused to analyze his image. She had not prepared herself sufficiently to receive this news. Her mentor, the man who had lifted her out of poverty, was dying. She knew that with a certainty she did not want to admit. Oslian was old, and increasingly frail. He had shown signs of illness for the past few months, but Yara had chosen to ignore them. She needed Oslian to stay alive. As long as he lived, her position and status were beyond reproach. Without him… well, she could only fear the worst.

The fragility of her role as royal councilor was becoming increasingly clear. The matter of succession was never mentioned around Oslian, and he had never spoken of it as far as she knew. The common belief was that he had sired multiple bastards, but that those children, likely now adults, were being kept unaware of their royal blood until a time which the Divine King deemed appropriate, or rather, safe. Oslian also had distant relatives, who he likewise kept far away. Vinredor had not always been this way, but that was the last topic to ever address in front of the Divine King.

If, when, Oslian died, Yara now knew she would need a plan.

This day has grown unfathomably dark.

Eyes on the floor, Esther continued. “It is difficult to say how much time the Divine King has until the tumor,” here she swallowed, then tightened the grip of her grasp. “Until the tumor deactivates vital functioning.”

“Unless,” Oslian added.

Esther looked up. Yara met her eyes, then looked to Oslian whose gaze was focused on the Royal Herbalist.

“Unless we can find a cure,” Esther said.

Oslian stood then. He looked to consider reaching for support from an arm rest, then defiantly chose otherwise. “I will defeat this, as I have defeated all other obstacles in my many years. Yara, thanks to your efforts at shutting off the wastefulness of the university, the royal herbalism laboratory has obtained a tonic which grants permanent effects to its user. Esther and I are in agreement on the possibilities which this opens. It is not delusional now to say that a body could be kept healthy indefinitely. This is what I seek. This is what I shall have.”

“Our efforts have increased with our newly acquired staff,” Esther said. “The Divine King’s health is in danger, but he has time, and hope. Our priorities are shifting so that we dedicate one hundred percent of our time to curing the person most responsible for the safety and well-being of the public.”

“Yes,’ Oslian said. “The injustice of this news has not sat well with me.”

Yara and Esther both nodded. Whether from a sense of duty, due to agreement, or simply out of habit was difficult to discern.

“I have done more for this realm than any man before me. This was a nation of poverty and ignorance before I came to power. Under my guidance, schools, hospitals, factories, laboratories, and more have come into existence. The average man and woman in Vinredor has seen their wealth more than double under my rule. I have been in control of the most powerful nation in the world for the longest period of time in recorded history. Now I am to die? While others, people who have accomplished nothing in their lives, people who have wasted the very opportunities I have given them will continue to live. This is what I have earned? No. There must be a solution to this dilemma. It is only right that I live. I have earned that and more.”

He sat back down then, shaking his head. Esther went to put her hand on his shoulder, then pulled back at the last moment.

The truth of Oslian’s words is not lost on me. He is being punished while others continue to live in large part due to the improvements he has given this world. He does not deserve this, but there are many people who do.

Yara unclenched her fists. “Your words ring true, Your Excellency. And I would add, not just this nation owes you, but the world. Have not others benefitted from knowledge and developments which originated here, under your rule? The people of the world are in your debt, yet most of them are either ignorant of that fact, or resentful of it. For much of the world does not recognize you as a divine representative. When so many willfully deny the truth, there is nothing more unjust than that.”

Oslian shot up again, showing a strength that he had not displayed in months. “This is the truth of it! Yes, Yara, you have it right. Not only the people of Vinredor, but the people of the world, they owe me a great debt. Esther,” he said looking to the Royal Herbalist, “there is no time to spare. Go now and begin work on this project of utmost importance. I must hear of every step up the ladder of progress. You are dismissed, my friend.”

Esther bowed, then hurried out of the room, leaving Yara alone with the Divine King.

“Before you leave, Yara, I want you to know that your words have inspired me. When we speak again, I want you to remember them. I have been at a crucial fork in the road, and the clarity of your thoughts has pushed me in the direction I knew was correct. Thank you, Yara, my friend. My grand advisor.”

Grand Advisor. I am honored. And he has trusted me with the most secretive of information. I will not let him down.

“I am pleased I could be of service, Your Excellency. I will continue my investigation with vigor.”

“You will. I know you will.” Oslian coughed then, the horrible retching sound difficult to endure. “You are dismissed,” he said, wiping his mouth before concealing his sleeve behind a cushion.

Lydee

The psychological damage had been too much for her to withstand. For the third consecutive day, Lydee had remained in bed, only leaving the false comfort of the sheets to relieve herself and take a bit of water. She had no appetite. Her negative thoughts fueled her brain activity in a cruel cycle.

She no longer felt safe in her own home, but there was nowhere else she felt secure either. Her office had been broken into, and when she had returned home that night to see that her house had been similarly violated, she had collapsed on the floor and wept. She was still able to go through the motions of living for the next two days. Then she heard about her sister. That blow was one too many.

There were an infinite number of ways she was able to make herself feel guilty. She had not given Veabella a proper goodbye. She did not show her that she cared about her enough, not just in the last meeting, but maybe never in her life. It was undeniable now that she had never supported Veabella’s decisions, and had always acted as though she knew what was best for her younger sister.

Then again, if Veabella had listened to her, she would not be an outlaw. In which case, Lydee had no trouble blaming herself for not pushing hard enough. Perhaps she could have presented her reasoning differently. She could have tricked her into doing what she wanted. But that would be diabolical and condescending. Though Veabella would be safe now.

She should have taught classes on self-pity and how to hate yourself. There were better historians than she, but who could maneuver so deftly through any argument to find inescapable guilt?

Veabella was not the only one she was failing. Woller may already be dead. That was her fault as well. She did not reach him in time. If he was still alive, then he would not be for long. Instead of helping her friend, she lay in bed all day.

That sinister miasma of thoughts paralyzed Lydee until the fourth day of self-imprisonment, when a knock at the door brought her out of her trance.

She approached the door with a lack of caution that spoke to her extreme self-hatred, and opened it to see Richard standing before her. He had puffy bags under his eyes that made him look older and heavier. Behind him, the sun was just rising.

“You’re alive. I was worried,” Richard said softly.

“Why were you worried about me?” Lydee asked, genuinely confused.

“Last week I came to speak with you. Someone was in your house, but he or she left when I called your name. Over the past few days, I’ve come to talk to you about that, but regardless of the hour, you’ve not answered the door. Have you been out?”

“Not in a physical sense.”

“There was someone in your house, wasn’t there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why were you looking for me?”

Richard looked back to the street. “Woller,” he whispered.

“That is why they were here, I believe.”

“Do you think it was Gregorich?”

“Who?”

“The man from the royals who is investigating Woller’s disappearance.”

I need to think. I need to sit down.

“Come in, Richard. Let’s discuss this away from the street.”

Lydee nearly fell onto her sofa. She felt as though her legs could no longer support her weight, even diminished as it was after days without eating. Richard elected to sit in a chair across from her, his eyes constantly darting around the room, then seeming to fix on arbitrary locations. Head spinning from having been upright for so long, she breathed out and closed her eyes for just a moment.

She awoke to find Richard nudging her. “Are you okay?” he asked, his gaze penetratingly intense.

“How long was I out?”

“Not even a minute. Are you ill?”

“No,” Lydee said, readjusting herself into a sitting position. “I have just… not been myself.”

“I heard about your sister. I’m sorry. I’m sure she and her company are innocent.”

“So I am. I only wonder if that will matter.”

Richard hesitated a moment, then went back to his seat. “I do not mean to rush you, but I do not have much time. You see, I have been conscripted, as it were, by the royal herbalist, Esther. I will be tardy already as it is. I hope to avoid too severe of a castigation.”

Lydee felt tears welling up in her eyes, a sensation that now felt as integral to her life as breathing. “What has happened to us, Richard?”

“Our lives have been taken from us. By Yara.”

“Who is under orders from Oslian. The one who dictates everything. Why is Esther so demanding of you? Because of Oslian Vinredor, the Divine King of Vinredor.”

“The most powerful man in the world has us under his velvet slipper.”

“The most powerful man in the world…?” Lydee said under her breath. No doubt he believes he is. But The Hero lives. The truth of that will shake the world.

“You do not look well,” Richard said. “Promise me that when I leave, you will get some fluids in you.”

He waited until she nodded, then he continued. “You have not been visited by Gregorich?”

“No. You said he was investigating Woller’s disappearance?”

“That was what he told me. Do you find it strange that someone is interested in Woller all of the sudden?”

“Only partly,” Lydee admitted.

Richard leaned forward, eyes intensely focusing on her again.

“Woller came up while I was being questioned by Yara before she closed the university,” she said. “She showed interest in his disappearance, though I do not know why. Gregorich must be working for her, looking for hints as to where Woller may have gone.”

“If the Crown is looking for Woller, we need to find him first. He was not just a colleague to me. He was a friend of my grandfather’s as well. He is a good man, Lydee. The rumors about him… they never fit together for me.”

“I feel the same. Woller is in trouble and I’m going to help him. Their intimidation tactics have worked to perfection though, haven’t they? They wanted to scare me, and they did. I apologize, Richard.”

“Your response was reasonable, Lydee. I’m sure I would have done the same. We’re not used to being the subject of intimidation and threats.”

Richard had begun to move in his seat, switching the leg he had crossed and rubbing his thighs. “I have a lead I will follow today,” she told him. “I will get in contact with you when I know more. You should go now. We don’t want to raise even more suspicion.”

“Thank you, Lydee,” Richard said, standing.

“For now, just try to stay alive,” Lydee said, only half joking.

“You as well. In fact,” he said, reaching into a pocket in his robes, “I want you to have these.” He held out three glass vials containing a greenish liquid. “Just in case you find yourself in an unfavorable circumstance.”

“One of your recipes?”

“No. One of my grandfather’s.”

“Even better,” she said under her breath.

When Richard left, Lydee forced herself to start a fire and put on a kettle of water for tea. Her body demanded that she go back to bed, but she did not give in to the allure of sleep.

Sipping the tea, she ran through what she knew and what she could possibly do to get ahead of Yara, and evidently that man Gregorich as well. Though she still did not see the relevance of what Iniko had told her of Woller’s research, it nagged at her that she had done nothing with the information. The library would be her next destination.

Another knock on the door. Dread swept through her body. She knew without any semblance of a doubt that this later caller was unwelcome. I do not want to answer that. But what will happen if I don’t?

A second knock, this one louder than the first. Lydee looked over the room for an object she could use to defend herself. A fire poker leaning against the fireplace seemed the best option, but when the image of her fighting off a sword-wielding guard with a fire poker came to her mind, she decided she would be better off unarmed and therefore unassuming.

She opened the door after the third knock to find a short man with large, dark eyebrows standing in front of her. He did not look armed nor particularly dangerous.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Good morning, professor. My name is-”

“Gregorich. You work for Royal Councilor Yara.”

The man straightened slightly. Had she been in a better physical and mental condition, Lydee may have noticed a nearly imperceptible tremor in the man’s face. “Yes,” he said. “Then, I assume you know why I have come today?”

“I do. Let me ask you, Gregorich, is this your first time at my residence?”

“It is.”

“I see. What does Yara want to know exactly?”

A brief moment, then Gregorich replied. “I am hoping to find some detail which may assist in locating your friend. As of right now, there is still not but rumors, and you know how those are. I would like to ask you some questions regarding what Woller was working on just before he disappeared. What do you know of his research? Is it possible that his studies required a visit to another region?”

“I do not know.”

“That is too bad. You see, I do not want to assume the worst for your friend. He could be traveling, and that would make my job as an investigator somewhat silly, would it not?”

“You believe he is traveling?”

“I wish I did. I apologize, but as of this moment, I do not know much about the man. It does appear as though he vanished magically.”

Silence passed between them. Lydee maintained eye contact with Gregorich, the man giving a forlorn smile.

“Do you recall the last conversation you had with him?”

“I do not.”

“Could it have been regarding his research?”

“It could have. I do not remember.”

“I am only attempting to help.”

“Of course.”

“He was a distinguished professor. I have spoken to many people during my investigation, as I do my best to be thorough. Not one person I have spoken to has had a negative word to say about him. Do you think someone could be hiding something? Is it possible the professor had an enemy?”

“You would know better than I.”

“Well,” the man said, taking a step back. “I know these conversations can be uncomfortable. Perhaps we will speak again. Oftentimes, a chance encounter or event will cause a memory to loosen and a case gets some much-needed assistance. If you remember anything at all, it could be useful to the investigation, even if it appears unrelated. Until then, thank you for your time, professor.”

Lydee watched the man walk away until he was out of sight. Still weak, she returned to her sofa and sat down, a nagging feeling growing in the back of her mind. Closing her eyes, she attempted to focus on the source of that sensation. It was not long until it came to the forefront of her thoughts. He did not give me any manner of making contact with him.

Richard

The first rain in weeks was flooding the streets, converting the city of Oslidor into a muddy swamp. Silting water rushed downhill blocking Richard’s path to the royal herbalism laboratories as he attempted to begin his conscription. His enhanced vision was not helping as water poured over his eyes incessantly, turning his world into a damp nightmare. The storm had come without warning, and without a rain cloak, Richard was so thoroughly soaked that he did not believe he would ever be dry again.

What stung most was that this was his second trip to the lab that day. The first attempt to enter his new work station had been thwarted by guards demanding identification documents. Richard had not been forewarned that he would need to provide any documentation to enter the facilities. After a few terse words, he had thrown his arms up and returned home. When the rain began, he had folded his notarized tax identification paper and tucked it into the pocket of his cloth trousers. He wondered now if the ink on the paper had run to the point of illegibility.

Deciding that it was impossible to become wetter than he currently was, Richard sighed and strode into the newly formed river. He splashed his way across the nearly knee-high, foaming water and came to the gated entrance of the laboratories. Having reached his destination, the rain mockingly began to lighten to where he could see more than five feet in front of himself. Richard called out his arrival to the guards who he could now see sitting down under the roof of the guard post. One of the four guards on duty looked up at him across from the gate, stared for a few heartbeats, then went back to playing cards with his friends.

Richard bit down hard on his lower lip as he watched the bone-dry men laughing beneath the entrance’s roof. “I have the document you requested!” he yelled through the rain.

The guard who had looked at him before stared out again. Richard was sure he could see him and was being intentionally opaque. “Is there someone there?” the man called into the rain.

“Believe it or not, there is. The person who works here who you sent away has returned. Funny that, no?” Richard called back.

The guard put a hand to his ear, then said something to his companions which made them laugh. “If there’s someone out there, show yourself. Can’t see a damn thing through this blasted rain.”

Already close enough that his nose was a fingernail’s length from touching the gate, Richard did not know what the man expected of him. He looked for a bell or chime, but found nothing. Taking a deep breath, Richard crossed his arms and yelled as loudly as he could. “I’m in front of the gods damn gate!”

The lead guard pointed across the table. The man across from him slowly stood up, took his time putting on a rain cloak, and then walked over to the gate. “There’s someone here!” he yelled over his shoulder when he saw Richard. Smiling in the smug satisfaction only achievable by the dim witted, he opened the gate for Richard to pass.

Under the roof, Richard held out his paper. The lead guard spit out some tobacco juice and took the identification document. When he unfolded it, he made a scene of flipping the paper this way and that, turning it over and upside down. “What in the Depthless Sea is this?”

“A notarized tax identification paper.”

“Don’t look like it.”

Shaking now, Richard yanked the paper out of the man’s hands. The ink had smudged beyond recognition, but the wax seal remained in decent enough condition. Richard pointed to it as he held the paper up. “This seal is from the tax ministry. You’ve had your fun, now let me in.”

The guard looked back at his friends, all of who were back sitting at the table, watching enthusiastically. “Security’s tight here. I may have to run this by a few more people.”

“If you can’t recognize the seal because you’re too idiotic, that’s not my fault. I work here now and you had better let me in as I make much more money than you and I will not hesitate to demand your dismissal.”

“I could kill you right here and now and there’s not a damn thing you can do about that.”

The gate having been locked behind him, Richard realized the man was probably correct. And at the very least, he wanted to live long enough to have him fired. That being so, Richard apologized and waited until a fancily dressed bureaucrat came out to check his document. The woman gave the seal a brief look, nodded, and walked back inside.

“Right this way,” the guard said to Richard, making a sweeping gesture with his arms which delighted his friends.

There was no indication of which direction he should head after he went through the large double doors that opened into a nondescript lobby. The woman from before sat at a desk in the middle of the room, scribbling with a quill pen.

Puddles of water trailing him, Richard approached the desk. The woman did not look up even as Richard announced, “My name is Professor Richard Dosple. I am looking for the Royal Herbalist.”

The shortest pause in writing to point to a door on her left was the only response Richard received. This has so gravely surpassed my fearful expectations that I cannot believe this is anything but a nightmare.

Through the indicated door, Richard walked into a long hallway. There were four doors on each side that he could see. He turned to look back at where he had come from, then visualized the one-way conversation he would have with the woman at the desk and opened the first door on his right. There was no light in the room, but Richard could make out stacks of crates piled up to the ceiling. Upon closer inspection, the crates nearest the door were filled with green leaves. Fisilin. A necessary ingredient for any herbalism tonic. Each crate he inspected contained the same. Richard had never seen so much of the plant before. This would last me decades. Perhaps this job will be more interesting than I had anticipated.

The new door on the right led to another room full of identical crates. The additional rooms on that side of the hall were likewise packed with herbalist ingredients, but these of a variety of types. It was not until the last room on the left that Richard finally arrived at the laboratory proper.

The room was much larger than his laboratory at the university. It was well lit with oil lanterns hanging from the ceiling and in nearly every other conceivable location, making metal and glass equipment shine in the light. Richard tried his hardest to find a single blemish on the surface of the equipment, but had no success. The only people he found were two custodians who were wringing out mops. Where is everyone else? I know I’m at least an hour and a half late.

Richard cleared his throat to get the attention of the custodians. They both looked down at the water Richard had brought into the lab, shook their heads and cursed under their breath. When Richard asked where the Royal Herbalist was, the female custodian grunted and pointed to a door at the back of the room. As Richard came closer to the door, he could hear voices on the other side.

Inside, a collection of a dozen or so individuals sat around an oval-shaped table. Three of his former students, including his unofficial protégé, Rowland, were amongst the strangers. They had all been looking over at a short, stocky elderly woman who was standing by a chalk board upon which a schedule was written.

“Are you intentionally late?” the woman asked as she placed her hands on her hips.

“I had to return home for my identification documents,” Richard replied.

“What on Earth for?”

I have made an enemy today.

“The guards insisted I show identification to enter.”

“Ah,” the woman said tapping a piece of chalk in the palm of her opposite hand. “I informed Kowleitzer that the professor would be joining us today. He must not like professors. Or, he was in a bad mood. Or he is drunk. I will fix that, whatever the issue is. You are quite wet,” she added.

“It was raining harshly during my second trip through the city.”

“Now the custodians will be upset and I will have to fix that as well. I do not have time to fix everything here. That is one reason I requested you. Not to fix things, but to give me more time. I need time. I do not have enough time.”

Richard selected not to respond and instead sat in the lone unoccupied chair which was between two woman he did not know. They feigned at not being perturbed when water splashed as he sat.

“I do not have time to call you Professor Dosple. You will be Richard. Your name is on the schedule,” the woman said. “You may call me Esther. You missed the meeting, but the schedule is self-explanatory. I have to meet with the Divine King now. Please get to work. We are low on time. It is crucial that you begin working immediately.”

With that, Esther, the Royal Herbalist, shuffled across the room and disappeared through a side door.

The communication in this facility is sorely lacking.

Everyone who was sitting had already stood up by the time Esther had left the room. They passed by Richard without comment, except for Rowland, who gave a curt hello and a lifeless attempt at a grin. A moment later, only one man remained in the room with Richard.

“Esther will want me to bring you up to date with our experiments,” the man said. “My name is Carlisle.”

Carlisle, a moderately-sized man Richard judged to be in his fifties, led the former professor to the chalkboard. “Your schedule is as you see here.”

Dawn to dusk was written at the top and underlined twice. Grimacing, Richard found his name on the left, and then followed it across the board. He was listed at being in the laboratory ‘under Carlisle’s supervision’ for the entirety of his day, with a twenty-minute break to eat. He would also be attending a meeting once a week.

“Truly illuminating,” Richard remarked.

“According to the schedule, you are to follow my instructions,” Carlisle told him. “The royal herbalist has proclaimed that our top priority is to sort out the active elements and reactions in a newly acquired tonic that provides permanence so that we may apply this effect to other, more suitable existing tonics.”

“You are speaking of the tonic which I developed in the university.”

“The royal herbalist did not elaborate on the tonic’s origins.”

“I’m telling you that I created it. If you do not want to believe me, ask her directly.”

Carlisle looked to consider the offer. He made brief eye contact with Richard, then pursed his lips. “She is simply too busy for that. Follow me, please.”

His supervisor led Richard back into what he assumed was the main lab. People were sitting at desks, looking through papers, writing notes, measuring out ingredients, and adding coal to the largest furnace Richard had ever seen. The two men continued walking until they reached a counter that protruded from the wall, its surface covered with an assortment of scales, knives, and glass oil lamps.

“As I said, our top priority is extending permanence to existing tonics. Our work has already begun on analyzing the first permanence solution so that we may transfer the active reaction to our strength tonic.”

“I can simply tell you what the reaction in my solution is.”

“The royal herbalist was clear on this.”

It took all of Richard’s strength not to throw an oil lamp at the man. He wanted to barge in on whatever council meeting or planning session Esther was attending with the Divine King, and inform them that he was taking back all of the samples of his permanent vision-enhancing tonic, destroying them, and never sharing a single piece of information on their creation. If they would not give him credit for the work he did, they could go through the efforts of doing it all again themselves.

“Your task,” Carlisle continued, ignoring the lack of response from Richard, “is to measure out fisilin in increments of quarter grams.”

This time, Richard interrupted before Carlisle could finish his statement. “I am the one who developed the tonic we are analyzing; I will not be made to do mindless grunt work. I should be leading this project.”

“The project is first and foremost about developing a permanent strength enhancement. The royal herbalist developed the strength enhancement many years ago, and is therefore most qualified to lead. Furthermore, as royal herbalist, what she dictates goes without complaint, especially from newly hired workers.”

“Hired! That’s a laugh. I was not given a choice. And why is our first task focused on a strength enhancement? There are more pressing needs. There are people who have serious medical conditions which we could relieve.”

The side of Carlisle’s mouth twitched. “This is the royal herbalism laboratory. We serve the Divine King and it is of the utmost importance that he has a strong military, a force which can defeat any enemy.”

“This nation has not been at war for decades. This is a waste of time. Time which Esther claimed was lacking.”

“You are to refer to her as the royal herbalist, and her time is lacking, yours is not. And, most importantly, it is not for you to decide. Now, we need the fisilin in the said increments up to one hundred grams by the end of your shift. I have other people who need my assistance.”

Carlisle was already walking away when Richard yelled back at him, “Where do I find a change of clothes?”

“At your home, one would assume,” Carlisle said without breaking his stride.

I need to speak with Esther. I can make her see reason if I can get her alone.

That would have to wait, unfortunately. Seeing no other options at the moment, Richard began chopping fisilin leaf, a task he would have assigned to a student as a punishment for poor marks on an exam. The injustice was duly noted and would not be forgotten.

His clothes were still drenched four hours later when he felt a presence behind him. Richard turned around, the clinging of his wet shirt making the gesture awkward and uncomfortable, to find the royal councilor, Yara standing before him.

“These are not the conditions I expected to find you in,” she said.

“Yes. This work is more suitable for an intern.”

“I meant your clothing. You are wet and malodourous.”

“Oh.” He could not think of a good response for that, though he knew one was laying in wait to surface and demand his attention once he was in bed that night.

“Despite your appearance and odor, I need to speak with you. In private.”

Richard looked at his surroundings. The room was so large, with sections blocked off by walls, that he had no idea how many people were there. He could see three right now, each roughly twenty yards away from him. He had glanced back at them periodically while he was working, but they had never attempted to look his way, at least that he had noticed. All in all, it seemed he and Yara were already isolated enough for a private conversation. “I have a lot of work to do by the end of the day, so get out with it,” he said.

“It is not for you to give me orders. Follow me, but keep your distance. I was not merely joking when I said that you have a foul odor.”

She led him back into the meeting room with the chalkboard. He had, evidently, missed his meal break. He doubted he would be allowed to take it at another time even though he had worked through it.

“Sit. Over there,” Yara said, pointing across the table to the chair furthest away from her. Richard did as he was instructed, his wet stockings irritating him with every step he took.

“What do you know of the sudden disappearance of professor Woller Doclin,” she asked once he was seated.

Again? “He was my friend and colleague. But you already know that.”

“I do.”

“Why are you asking me about him again?”

Yara’s eyes narrowed slightly. “What do you mean, ‘again’?”

“Your investigator, Gregorich questioned me a few days ago. Did he not report back to you? I know the communication here is less than ideal.”

Silence. The only motion from the royal councilor was the blinking of her eyes.

“Describe this man.”

“You do not even know what Woller looked like after all of this time?”

“No! Describe this man, Gregorich.”

Richard had to think about what his response should be. Something here was not right and he did not want to get even more involved in this than he already was. Is this a test of some sort? Or have I begun to unravel another layer of mystery regarding Woller?

“He was slightly shorter than me, perhaps a few years older as well.”

“What else?” Yara snapped.

“I don’t know… I believe he wore a brown shirt. I’m not sure what else to say.”

“Describe his face.”

“I do not remember it too well. He was serious looking, I suppose. Again, I believe a few years older than me.”

Intuition, and his hatred for the woman, told him not to give the detail he knew would be the most important. Let her struggle with this. She has put me in a much worse situation.

“Have you spoken of your meeting with him to anyone else?”

“No. Why are you asking?”

“He… Gregorich… over-stepped his boundaries. If he already received your information, I will speak with him and not waste your time. But do not speak of this to anyone else. If you do, I will know, and that will be a significant problem for you. Trust me on that. Go back to work now.”

Richard got up and left without comment. He believed her when she said she would not hesitate to do him harm. What he did not believe was that she would obtain any information from Gregorich. She had been knocked too much off balance for the man to simply have over-stepped his boundaries. There was more to this than that. Yara was unsettled and confused. For that, Richard was glad. It was the only positive of his entire day.

The Old Man

Year 1378 (Present day)

The elderly man with the long, white beard and hairless pate who had spoken at the village gathering was named Trounen. While closer in age to eighty than seventy, he worked still as a fisherman and butcher. The Old Man, who was making an effort to think of himself now as Gray, had learned much from Trounen regarding the history of the village and how it had grown over the years.

Trounen was one of the village’s founders, along with Harold, who came to the land nearly two decades ago. As with his talks with Harold, Gray did not learn much regarding the motivations of the settlers, only that they wanted to be far away from civilization. That the village had grown so large, now with more than seventy inhabitants, had been unexpected, and Gray suspected, undesired by the first wave of migrants.

Gray had asked only one question regarding Makani, and had asked only after her business. The store, which doubled as her house, was solely her possession now, as her husband had died five or six years ago. Trounen had started to say something else about the woman’s past, then had carefully directed the conversation back to her work as a cobbler, which everyone agreed was excellent. Gray asked after the lad, Jaroslav as well, partially out of legitimate interest, and partially to cover his question about Makani. Trounen said the boy’s father had died two years past, killed by the frostfangs which stalked the tundra. The man had been out with three other adult males, and had been the only one to perish. Trounen did not need to add that Jaroslav had been shamed by that, but he did, saying that the entire village had tired of the young lad’s preening.

He would like me to humble the adolescent, but that would at best last until I have left, only to add fuel to his fire in my absence, Gray had thought during Trounen’s indictment of the boy.

Gray had decided on an altogether different approach for dealing with Jaroslav. He had effectively made the boy his second in command in the development of the village’s defense. Whenever there was a complaint, grievance, or insignificant question, Gray directed the villagers to Jaroslav. He balanced this by training with the boy twice a day instead of the once daily regiment for the other villagers of fighting age, a metric which was in a constant state of fluctuation.

It was one of the greatest challenges Gray faced. No one knew how many Imperial Defenders would be arriving, or for that matter, when they would come. But the village could field at most fifty-four fighters, and at times that number had gone down to forty-six. All agreed that children under twelve years of age would not fight and would need to be kept inside when the attack began. There were only eight children of that age however. The borderline cases were villagers of advanced age or, in the case of two men, those with severe physical limitations.

There were other challenges as well. Only a handful of the men had ever fought before, and that experience was questionable at best. One man had insisted he had fought for the True Brothers, a mercenary company with a long history and lofty reputation. But Gray believed otherwise after seeing the way he held a sword. Then there was the problem of arming all of those adults. Chorel, the village blacksmith, was capable enough, but he could only forge so many weapons in a day. The existing arsenal consisted of a few swords, mostly rusted from disuse, a larger number of farming implements, a good supply of spears which were used for hunting and protecting the village from beasts, and a great quantity of bows and arrows, used for the same purposes as the spears.

Gray had anticipated these issues. The village consisted of people who wanted to live away from civilization. They were not fighters or leaders. What he had not anticipated was the tedious task of managing personalities and factions within the village.

I’ve never been accused of having a silver tongue. Tried my best to put myself in positions where others did the talking. At least I have Makani and Trounen.

He had relied on those two to take Harold’s place as the unofficial leaders of the village. Makani could smooth things over and make people feel as though her ideas had been their own. Trounen simply took command when needed and ended conversations with declarations that others were afraid to criticize. They held meetings and asked for supplies while Gray and Jaroslav oversaw the military operations which consisted of constructing trenches and fortifications as well as designing plans and procedures for various circumstances which Gray believed could arise depending on the training and experience of the Imperial Defenders.

The sun had just gone down after an arduous day of work which saw two villagers collapse from exhaustion. The people were a hearty lot, but Gray knew he had to continually push them to their limits. He had already pictured the ensuing battle in his mind, and each time he saw himself left standing against a score of Imperial Defenders. He was not sure whether he could manage that anymore. Once upon a time though, he would have eagerly accepted the proposal.

Gray walked with Jaroslav from the improvised training ground back to the village proper. The boy was strong and willing to learn. Although he had started as a complete novice, he had already far surpassed the others. While they practiced out of necessity, Jaroslav trained because he wished to be a great swordsman. The difference was crucial to rapid advancement.

“Do you know how to fight with a spear as well?” the boy asked.

“I do,” Gray responded without looking over.

“May we work some with spears tomorrow?”

“No. The spears will be used by those who are not strong enough to swing swords for an extended period of time. A spear is a more defensive weapon. We will leave them to others.”

He did not have to look over to ascertain the reaction of the lad.

“My mother had been training with a spear. She is afraid of using it however.”

“There’s no shame in feeling afraid. Only in acting afraid.”

They had been sparring a hundred yards from the village and were now crossing the snowy ground toward the tavern. Gray’s meals were free now, as were Jaroslav’s, a request Gray made for the impression it would make on the youth more than for any economical reason. Jaroslav had been beaming with pride during the week that Gray had been in the village, and that enthusiasm could play a defining role in the battle to come. He wondered if the boy would be insufferable after he departed and finally continued on his intended path. He was trying his best to prevent that.

So far, the boy has picked up on every subtlety I have thrown his way. I may have initially misjudged him. His pride over his father’s failing has not made him overly aggressive. It has only left in him a desire to correct what he sees as an imbalance on the scales of his life.

In fact, Gray was beginning to like the boy. He did as he was told and always, without exception, gave his utmost effort.

“Do you think my mother will fight, when the time comes?”

“I do.”

“I hope she will.”

“If enough Imperial Defenders arrive, she will have no choice.”

The comment was not meant to frighten the youth. That it did gave Gray a chill.

These people were better off before I crossed their path. True, they were living under oppression, but where is that not true in this world? Perhaps Withigan, but then that city-state is half-mad. That is what they say, at least.

How many of innocent people will die because of me? Though, what alternative did I have? To lay down and die?

The world was a simple place until people entered the picture. That was a truth Gray had learned long ago. Yet it seemed as though he could never apply the knowledge he had gained. He had lived the second half of his life as a loner, and even then, he was still finding himself entrapped by either honor or guilt, he was not sure which. When other people crossed his path, situations were muddied by emotions from which he had done his best to free himself. It also meant that others could suffer from his failures. He had already crossed half the world for someone he felt obligated to assist, and now he had an entire village depending on him.

More than seventy lives in the hands of an old man. An old man who never learned how to communicate or connect with others. Is it arrogant to view one’s own life as tragic?

Jaroslav rushed ahead to open the door to the tavern. Gray thanked his companion and stepped into the relative warmth of the building. Business had picked up since his arrival. The unnamed tavern had always been popular with the two dozen or so men and women who found comfort in ale, but now finding oneself in the tavern at the right time was seen by some as an opportunity to exert some control over the perilous situation in which the village found itself. Gray was aware of this, which was another reason he always brought Jaroslav along with him.

The cook, Lorina, had taken Harold’s place as host of the tavern until his return. All agreed that he would be back, but the shape that the man would be in when they next saw him was another question altogether. People were never more capable of evil then when their pride had been damaged, and thugs such as the Imperial Defenders were not accustomed to showing restraint. Gray hoped the man was still able to walk and feed himself, but he did not hold out much hope for that.

Lorina had saved a table for Gray and Jaroslav. She poured them both tankards of ale as soon as they sat down. “Fish stew with potatoes this evening,” she said.

“Thank you. That sounds excellent,” Gray replied.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jaroslav added.

“I’ll add some more logs to the fire as well,” Lorina said, hustling off.

Gray could tell Jaroslav enjoyed the benefits of being at his side. Now came his time to earn his payment.

Two women, a mother and daughter, stood up from the table they had been sitting at in the back, one with a clear view of the entrance. The petitioners always waited a few moments before descending upon Gray. Long enough not to seem pushy, but not too long so as to lose the opportunity to be first in line.

“Good evening, Gray,” said the mother. “Apologies for bothering you, but my daughter and I would like to request a small change to the placements of the ditches that are being dug. You see, the holes, they end right before our home. When the fighting begins, the first place people will run to…”

“I hate to be rude, but I need a moment,” Gray said, standing up.

Jaroslav took the hint. “The placement of the trenches was chosen so as to force the enemy into attacking through predetermined, narrow avenues,” he said as Gray walked away.

Back outside in the cold, Gray headed toward the tavern’s outhouse.

After finishing his business, he took his time walking back to the tavern. He knew he was being manipulative, but still considered it his best option. And it would cut down on the complaints and petitions in the end. People would get tired of taking directions from a youth and would eventually give up on holding audience with Gray. Or Makani and Trounen would become busier. But that was a positive outcome. If Harold returned incapable of leading the village, those two would have to take on the role permanently. Best get them used to it now.

The human mind’s ability to justify its own inadequacies is incredible. And there is no lack of inadequacies here. No wonder I am so adept at this.

When he entered the tavern again, the women had left and been replaced with a husband and wife, both in their late twenties. They were two of a handful of second-generation villagers who had known no other way of life than living out here in the wilderness of North Saltion. Gray wondered what their concept of the world could possibly be. Had they any idea of the enormity of the earth?

Do I? I have spent time on three continents and a score of different islands, but what else is out there? A question perhaps for when I am back in isolation.

“He will be an orphan,” the man said to Jaroslav.

“That is more likely if both of you do not fight to defend him,” Jaroslav countered.

This was the most frequent petition- people who were scared of fighting. Gray did not blame them for being frightened. He hoped they would not have to fight and if the Imperial Defenders could not muster more than a few men, it would not come to that. But if it did, they had to be ready. The unspoken question in the air was always, what happens if we win?

Would the emperor truly concede? If not, how long until the next attack? The only positive outcome Gray could imagine was that the emperor would deem the village too costly to fight over and simply found a new settlement with access to the lake. But that would mean biting down on his pride, and based on Gray’s past experience with men and women in power, that did not seem likely.

“We understand that,” the woman said. “We were just hoping…”

“My wife and I watched him against the Imperial Defenders,” the husband said as his wife buried her face in his shoulder. “He has a skill we don’t possess. I know it’s hard for you to understand; you’re a natural warrior. I wish I had half your ability, but I don’t. And my wife is even less of a fighter. I don’t think adding her to the village’s defense will make much of a difference.”

The villagers were growing more savvy each day. Flattery and manipulation were gradually pushing sympathy aside. It was a real test for Jaroslav.

“Gray trusts me to make decisions that will protect the village. We have bows and arrows for those who struggle with hand-to-hand combat. But we need everyone.”

“Mention it to Gray, please,” the husband said after a moment of deliberation. “Enjoy your meal. And thank you.”

The couple walked past Gray who made no effort to hide that he had heard the conversation. Instead, he gave them a formal greeting and headed to his table before a conversation could begin.

“You handled them well,” Gray said, sitting down.

“Thank you.”

As if she had been waiting for his arrival, Lorina bounded across the room with two plates of food. “Let me know if you need more,” she said with a genuine smile.

Gray did not have time to give his thanks for Makani burst through the front door. “Gray! Jaroslav! Come quickly!”

Outside, she spoke frantically as she commanded them to follow her.

“It’s Olisha, she’s gone.”

“She disappeared? Has that happened before?” Gray called out, running to keep up.

“Not since she was young,” was the only reply Makani gave.

She led them across the town to Trounen’s home. The elderly man was kneeling down by the fireplace, stuffing kindling into a fire that had just come to life.

“Olisha is gone,” Makani told him.

“Who was watching her?” Trounen growled, throwing down the sticks and climbing to his feet.

“No one.”

“Dammit, Makani! It’s dark out. You know she needs to stay inside.”

“She doesn’t just wander off.”

The implication of that response froze the group.

“When did you last see her?” Trounen asked.

“Not since morning. Oh, no,” Makani said softly. She reached out to steady herself against Gray. “She said she would be going out with Lorina to hunt birds. But Lorina is in the tavern, isn’t she?”

“She is,” Jaroslav said.

“Makani, do you remember if Olisha left the village at any time since Gray arrived?”

“They’re using her,” Makani cried.

“When did she go out?” Trounen said sternly.

“She said she was hunting birds. The day before Harold was taken.”

Gray rubbed Makani’s back out of instinct, then pulled his hand away, doubting his intentions. “How much information could she reasonably tell them?” he asked.

Trounen answered, as Makani’s sobbing grew louder and more desperate. “The girl is simpleminded, but if you ask her a direct question, she can answer it accurately.”

“They’ll want to know what our physical defenses look like and what kinds of weapons we have. Even if she doesn’t know the full scope of what we’re planning, they will realize we plan to draw them toward choke points and batter them with arrows.”

“It’s not her fault, I know it isn’t,” Makani said, her voice muted through Gray’s coat.

“I don’t doubt that,” Trounen said. “She’s not capable of hatching a plan like this. They likely promised her something in return for her report. I wonder how long this has been going on.”

“What will they do with her now?”

Trounen shook his head. “They can’t send her back. They’ll know we would interrogate her to learn what questions they asked.”

“Even if they know what our general plan is, that doesn’t mean they have an option other than stepping into it,” Gray said.

Makani pounded a fist into Gray’s shoulder. “But what about Olisha?”

“We will have to hope for the best,” Trounen said. “I don’t want to seem callous, but we have other, more pertinent concerns now. The others will be increasingly distrustful. And they will question your allegiance, Makani. People are frightened, and you have looked after the girl since her parents died. They will suspect you.”

Makani’s sobbing continued as though she had not heard Trounen’s commentary.

Gray put his arm around Makani and stood up straighter. “Then they can come to me with their suspicions. Makani’s duties stay as they are.” He turned to Jaroslav. “If anyone raises doubts about Makani, you send them to me.”

“I will, sir.”

“Thank you, Gray,” was all that Trounen said. But Gray read much more into that statement. Gray knew what Trounen was thinking, and he was right.

This is all my fault.

Cupela

Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)

A few days in the laboratory had been long enough. The tension in that underground facility had been stifling. Cupela had speculated at the hatred between Hrent and Piroska and how it had broken the team so thoroughly that everyone had stopped working. Then, after further examination, the real shock was that it had not occurred earlier. Without Enfildio’s presence in the lab, the long stretches of work in close proximity were too much. Even if the five herbalists had been compassionate and empathetic, which would be a generous description, they would have cracked eventually.

Her task this day was to deliver a gift to the master herbalist’s grandson, a simple but enjoyable excursion. It was always invigorating to step out into the city, even with the horrid heat of the late afternoon, and Cupela would have liked to extend her time outside as long as she could. She was aware however, that Enfildio knew the exact amount of time it took to get to his grandson’s house, and that he was more than capable of monitoring her time away from the lab while managing half a dozen other tasks. Even among geniuses, Enfildio stood out as exceptional.

His grandson lived in the wealthy neighborhood of Peridot. Each time Cupela passed through the rows of houses, each with an elaborate marble fountain to display the wealth of their owners, she pictured herself living there when her work on the immortality tonic was complete. She enjoyed fantasizing about living alone in a large house, with thousands of square feet all to herself. She did not know if she would ever be able to live with others again after the experience of being in such close quarters with five, now six, others. And she was the lucky one of Enfildio’s assistants who was allowed to leave the facility occasionally. She felt sympathy for the others, though she never mentioned it aloud. Likely they would only take her concern as gloating. No doubt they all wished to exchange roles with her and be the one who got to experience something resembling a real life, at least from time to time. Thinking on it now, she was somewhat surprised at the lack of resentment she felt from the others. Most likely this was due to their more overt issues with each other. She had no doubt that Hrent did not like her, but his hatred for Piroska provided him with an even better target for his anger, and vice versa. Ubul would never say anything in front of her, even though she believed he was thinking it. As for Jezmavalin, Cupela wondered if she actually followed the rules. If she did not, Enfildio certainly would know. Then the question became, did he choose to punish her?

Best not to think on that. A beautiful woman lives on a different plane than the rest of us. I may not like that, but it is no different anywhere else in the world. My list of issues with Jezmavalin is long enough without adding envy to the dossier.

She thought then about that awkward man who had accosted her in the library, and had then appeared with the captain of The Blades at The Roots, a bizarre coincidence which she had hardly believed. He had looked at her in a way no one had ever done before; the way all men gazed at Jezmavalin. She should have been flattered, but instead, she had felt unease. Was that what Jezmavalin experienced when all eyes were on her? The thought was laughable. That woman always appeared to relish and encourage the attention, even while feigning indifference. As for me, well, perhaps there is only one person’s admiration which I desire.

She reached her destination and strode up the pathway to the house’s entrance. The grounds were immaculately kept, as always. Enfildio paid landscapers and servants to look after the upkeep of the residence, as the boy’s parents were both deceased.

That is his reason for this project. Enfildio does not want to see another loved one die. I wonder where I would be, and what I would be doing, if his daughter and her husband still lived? It is fascinating how one event can change the trajectory of so many lives.

Enfildio had told her the story in bits and pieces. It was obvious that recalling the details and speaking them out loud was painful for the man, and so he had shared with her what he could endure during late nights when he needed companionship more than anything else.

Cupela was not sure on the exact timeframe, but based on the age of the boy, his parents could not have died more than a decade ago. Her understanding was that Enfildio’s daughter had fallen ill and her husband had blamed himself. She was unclear on whether the man had actually done something wrong, or whether his guilt was irrational. But the woman’s illness became severe enough that Enfildio had stopped working on other projects for some time in an attempt to find a cure. He failed, of course, and she died. The unknown illness took her before her thirtieth birthday. Then, it took another life. Her husband, drowning in guilt, poisoned himself.

Enfildio contacted the boy’s great aunt and brought her to the city to raise him. He would have done it himself, but he had a more important task that only he could complete. In confidence, he had told Cupela that he would never allow his grandson to die. That promise was the origin of the hidden laboratory and all the clandestine operations which now fully encompassed the lives of seven people. She hoped it would be worth it in the end, though she was not as optimistic as Enfildio.

She knocked on the door and a boy answered.

“Hello, Richard,” Cupela said as cheerfully as she could.

The boy looked up at her, and as their eyes locked, his innocent smile began to turn to a grimace. Erden was right, then. I look as poorly as I feel.

Recalling his manners, the body looked down for a moment before collecting himself and returning her smile. As usual, he was dressed in the finest new clothes, and all in black, just like his grandfather. That had been Richard’s choice. The boy idolized Enfildio, a characteristic that he shared with Cupela, she had to admit.

“Is my grandfather coming to see me today?” Richard asked.

“I’m afraid not. He just returned home and has much to attend all at once. But he did not forget you.”

Reaching into the satchel at her side, she removed a thin, rectangular box, and passed it to Richard. The boy cocked his head slightly to the side when his eyes met the yellow bow Cupela had tied to the gift. He took the box enthusiastically and held it inches away from his face.

“I think it’s a book,” he declared.

Untying the bow and removing the top confirmed his prediction. Cupela was curious as to whether the boy knew how expensive the item was. The technology involved in printing and binding paper to a hard cover was not only new, but rare and costly. Another marvel from Enfildio’s old friend, Clarimonda. The woman is a wonder, assuming she actually created everything he claims she has.

“It’s a book on herbalism,” Richard said, flipping through the pages. The grin on his face forced Cupela to suppress a laugh. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a famous herbalist, just like my grandfather. We will work together and invent all sorts of amazing tonics. Maybe I can work with you, too,” he said looking up at her.

Divine Ones save me from remaining in the laboratory when this boy is a grown man.

“Perhaps,” she said. “What do you know of herbalism?”

The boy scrunched his face into a puzzled look. “It involves balancing the quantities of different ingredients which are mixed in intense heat.”

“Oh. I think this book will suit you quite well,” Cupela said. “Your grandfather also wants to know how your schooling is progressing.”

“It’s wonderful. My teacher, Ms. Ulfle is very nice and she knows many things. She is from northern Ebanigan though, so she complains about how hot it is here. But I like her and she allows me to play with her cats.”

Funny how children’s expertise can be so rigidly partitioned.

“Are you learning a lot? And you have been receiving high marks?”

“Yes!”

The boy looked eager for more information regarding his grandfather, but Cupela was unsure what she could say, as Enfildio had given her no order other than to deliver the package. “I have to be going now,” she said. “I’m glad you like the gift. You know your grandfather chose it especially for you.”

“I know. I’m going to read the whole thing today. Ms. Ulfle gives me one day off a week.”

That’s more than I receive from your grandfather. Though, I’m sure I make quite a bit more than Ms. Ulfle.

“That sounds like a wonderful way to pass your free time. I have something else for you which will make your reading all the more enjoyable.”

“The candies!”

Cupela laughed as she withdrew a wrapped sphere of canvas which she had kept in her satchel and handed it the boy. “From my hometown of Terizon. The sweetest treats in the world. For a sweet boy.”

“Thank you so much! This is a wonderful day!” Richard said as he looked for a way to untie the package.

“It was lovely to see you, Richard. Until next time.”

“Thank you so much for the gifts. Tell my grandfather ‘Hello’ and that I want to see him very soon.”

“I will.”

She enjoyed these visits. They reminded her of Enfildio’s softer side. Richard was a nice boy and he seemed happy, especially considering the tragedy that had befallen his parents. Whenever she would leave his residence, after dropping off a gift, giving money to his aunt (which was always done out of the boy’s sight), delivering a letter, or just checking on his well-being, Cupela wondered at the boy’s future. If Enfildio succeeded with his ambitions, the boy would have, quite literally, all the time in the world to spend with his grandfather. But if Enfildio, Cupela, and the others failed, the boy would end up passing to adulthood without having spent much time with the man he so admired, for Enfildio was always busy. If he was not in the laboratory, he was gathering ingredients, making business deals, or conducting research. He spent a small fortune on the boy, and cared for him deeply, but Cupela knew that what Richard wanted most was to be around his grandfather. She did not think Enfildio had picked up on that, and she thought it outside of her boundaries as an employee to mention it to him. Well then, just another reason we must succeed.

The errands Enfildio had her run gave Cupela the only opportunities she had to maintain her actual life, as miniscule as it was. The salary she earned was immense, and as she had no current use for the money, she sent it home to Terizon, where her seven younger siblings lived. At twenty-six years of age, Cupela was the eldest by five years, the youngest of the family but ten. Their parents had died from an influenza which had ravaged the town three years earlier. It was during that outbreak that Enfildio had discovered her.

He had tracked the illness from the port city of Tides, through Agaveton and to Terizon. He had been developing a tonic which could prevent the sickness, but the influenza spread quicker than he could create the formula, and thousands of people continued to die. He believed he had beaten the outbreak to Terizon, but he had been tragically incorrect.

Curious and highly intelligent, Cupela had taught herself to read, becoming one of the only citizens of Terizon who could do so. She had learned from copies of the town’s records when she followed her mother on her trips to clean the town hall. Her parents had been proud of her, though they did not see any practical application for her skills. Enfildio saw things differently.

Cupela had had no time to mourn, for she needed to feed her siblings. The sickness had attacked Terizon indiscriminately, taking the lives of three of the town’s councilors. Cupela stepped in to assist the remaining two councilors settle legal matters and send letters to Oslidor requesting aide. When Enfildio arrived, he was impressed that the young woman whose parents had been impoverished had taught herself to read. Over time, Cupela had grown to believe the master herbalist had also been motivated by a feeling of failure for having arrived too late to help her parents, and had seen in her the same loss he had suffered when his daughter and son-in-law had died a few years earlier. That he had taken her away from a life of poverty had forever indebted her to him. Her employment meant she could support her brothers and sisters, and so she sent them every last tenth-jewel.

The Topaz merchant district was buzzing with life at this time of day as she entered its well-worn but well-maintained streets. Cupela knew she should not be away from the workshop for long, and so she sidled past pedestrians and around carriages in a rush to her destination. Now just outside of the building, she looked up, half expecting it to have disappeared, as if she had only dreamed its existence, as she always did when she went to The Roots.

Finder answered the door, unsurprisingly, as he was the only person she had ever seen do so, regardless of the time of day or night. He gave her a short bow, and allowed her to enter. “He is at his usual table,” the man said.

She found Marshaw in the second room on the right, deep in conversation with a woman wearing a mask of dark gray with yellow adorning the edges. The two of them sat beside each other, a stack of papers, an inkwell, and a glass of brandy between them. “If I have heard nothing, then there is nothing to be concerned over. There are no records, nor any reason for suspicion.” Marshaw said to the masked woman. “You worry too much, my friend.”

He looked up and smiled at Cupela. The woman beside him may have done the same, but her face was unreadable behind the mask. She faced Marshaw again, who lightly touched her shoulder. “I do appreciate how cautious you are. But they do not allow just anyone to enter. That is a dear friend of mine. Now, is there anything else weighing on your mind?”

“Not for the moment,” the woman said as she stood. “Thank you. I will try to find comfort in my faith.”

“That is the way of it. His foresight protects us all as long as we do not waver.”

The masked woman left without another word, sliding past Cupela and through the doorway.

“I apologize if I interrupted you,” Cupela said.

“I’m rather glad for the interruption. It saved me from the same conversation I’ve been having for years. Need me for a delivery?”

“I do.”

“The same as usual?”

“Yes,” Cupela said, opening her satchel and removing a pouch of coins. “How are they doing?” she asked.

“I could tell you, or I could have them speak for themselves,” he said, leaning over. He rummaged through a bag on the floor before sitting back up and passing her a scroll.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “Who wrote this?”

“Your sister,” Marshaw said, his pride written plain on his face. “Do you know how much coin you have sent them over the years? More than enough for the youngest to pay for lessons. She wants to be like you, Cupela—a woman of letters.”

Tears began to well up in her eyes as she untied the parchment. Although she had always believed in this man who Finder had vouched for (high praise according to Enfildio) she had never known for certain whether he had delivered the money she earned. She had never wished to consider the possibility that he had been cheating her. Now she held proof of his fidelity.

She had to wipe her eyes every few sentences, and many of the words were spelled incorrectly, but she made it through the message. Her family was flourishing due to her work with Enfildio, and her sister had promised she would teach the other siblings to become literate as well. It makes the long days and nights worth it. Even if we never reach our goal, I have done this.

Marshaw waited until Cupela had retied to scroll to speak again. “My agent who makes the deliveries said your family lives in a new house now, one of the largest in the town. I hope that you are able to see it soon.”

“As do I. Alas, I am too occupied with my work to even leave the city.”

“A situation with which I am familiar. Do you wish to send a message as well?”

“I will write one,” she said, her face beaming.

She left The Roots in the best spirits she could recall, her family, and her youngest sister most of all, on her mind. Now to deal with my other family, she thought as she opened the hidden entrance to the workshop.

The gloom of the descent into the laboratory was enough to make Cupela wish she had been given more errands to run. Hrent being the first person she encountered upon entering the lab amplified that longing.

“Cupela,” he said, checking the room to see if anyone else was nearby. “What is wrong with the new girl you brought here? She hasn’t looked me in the eye once.”

“She’s incredibly shy. But she’s smart. She was the top student at The Scholar’s Guild, and the next two people she beat out were not slouches.”

“The Scholar’s Guild does not impress me,” Hrent snarled. “Perhaps a century ago it was something to preen over. The papers I have read that originated there in the recent past have been self-congratulatory drivel.”

“I may have to agree with you on that. Nevertheless, I assure you Sarah’s intellect is world class. And, I should add, if she passes Enfildio’s standards, that should be enough for you.”

The short man’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, while making his posture as straight as possible. “Still, I thought Piroska was ugly. This new girl looks like a hybrid of a mule and an ostrich.”

“Marginalizing her before she out-performs you?”

A flash of anger across Hrent’s face. “You wouldn’t say that if you truly believed it,” he said, swiftly walking away.

Where are the others? No surprise that they wanted to be away from Hrent, but I do not see signs of anyone at all.

A cursory look around the lab found it empty, a rare occurrence. Enfildio had a separate chamber where he would work alone, but the others shared the expansive main space. Now more than ever, Enfildio’s assistants attempted to work in as isolated conditions as possible, meaning there was always someone in his or her room while others worked. It seemed unlikely that they were all in their rooms now though, especially Sarah who had just arrived and had so much to learn simply to catch up with the others.

When Cupela heard Hrent slam the door to his room, she began the second phase of her search. Starting with Jezmavalin’s room, she put her ear against the doors of each room and listened for any sign of conversation. Nothing at all. Until she reached the door to Enfildio’s living quarters.

Unlike the other herbalists, Enfildio’s private space consisted of three rooms. He had his own privy while the others shared, a personal workroom, and a bedroom. Cupela could hear voices on the other side of the door. It had been more than a year since the last time any of the assistants other than her had been in Enfildio’s private space. At least that she knew of. There was a perpetual shared skepticism regarding Jezmavalin’s comings and goings and it was not difficult for Cupela to imagine a man welcoming that woman into his personal living quarters when no one else was looking. Other than that, Enfildio had used the space sparingly to give demonstrations to the others, and even that had declined over time. It was in fact an unspoken rule of the facility that no one knock on Enfildio’s door unless there was a matter of the utmost importance. The circumstances here were strange enough that Cupela felt comfortable knocking. Or, perhaps her curiosity was such that normal constraints were not sufficient to prevent her from acting.

Laughter behind the door now. Cupela knocked a second time, louder. Enfildio opened the door and looked at her quizzically. “Yes?”

“I delivered the gift to Richard,” Cupela said, trying not to make it obvious that she was attempting to look past her employer to discover with whom he had been speaking.

“Thank you,” Enfildido said.

“Would you like me to help Sarah learn the equipment?”

Enfildio moved to the side slightly. Sarah was behind him, seated in a stool at a large desk. On the desk were tools of measurement, vials for holding liquids, a metal clamp used to extract liquid from plants, and other instruments and equipment which Cuplea had just alluded to.

“I see,” was all Cupela said in response to the revelation.

“Thank you for offering, but I think it is best if I do this myself. Here.”

“Where are the others?”

“Sleeping, I assume. Perhaps pouting, in some cases. The exertion of a full day’s work may have exhausted them, seeing as how it was the only activity in which they partook, other than arguing, for some time now.”

“I see. Well, I will continue with my research then. I’m sorry to have bothered you.”

“Not at all. Good day.”

With that, he closed the door. Cupela stood in place until she heard the talking on the other side of the door resume. Laughter again. For no reason, Cupela rubbed at her eye.

Veabella

They finally came to a full stop hours later. Meffas motioned for them to reign in their mounts and follow him down into a gulch which cut across the plains. The descent had been easy although the natural trench was two man heights high at certain places. Once dismounted, they were out of sight from surface level. Veabella had been unable to put together fully formed thoughts during the ride, the combination of shock and utter confusion too much for her to handle, and she had decided simply to focus on riding. It was easier and likely necessary.

Meffas rubbed the back of his neck, then looked over his crew. Even Ictorian seemed uncertain of what action to take, if any. Veabella had never seen the strong, dour man so visibly shaken. Evidently, fighting deadly beasts required a much different disposition than fighting humans. Especially when accusations had been thrown, making supposed murderers out of the hunting company.

“I know you are all hoping I have at least a small insight as to what in the Depthless Sea just happened, but I do not. I was as blindsided as the rest of you. Yes, I know that is not helping. I’m just putting it out there so we’re all on the same page.”

Veabella and the others stood motionless. A light breeze passed overhead. The horses stammered in place against the reigns which their riders held tightly.

“I see two possibilities,” Meffas continued. “The first is that there has been a mistake and we have been confused with another hunting company. I see this as unlikely for a number of reasons. First off, all of the other guild companies attended the tournament, either as participants, or spectators. Secondly, we were the only company from Ebanigan, making us unique enough to stand out and therefore difficult to mistake for another group.”

“The other possibility is this,” Meffas said, looking away for a moment. He turned his eyes back to the men and women in front of him. “We have been set up. Someone has decided to blame us for murder. Murders, in fact. Of perhaps nearly one thousand people.”

“Why?” Twig said. Veabella looked over at him. The innocence in his tone made him appear half his age.

Meffas shook his head. Two dozen heartbeats passed before he said “I do not know, Twig. I do not know why we were singled out. Right now, I hope it was simply because we were the easiest target. As awful as that would be, I can think of worse scenarios.”

“You believe we were a good choice to be blamed because we were the only company from Ebanigan,” Xopher said. “And…”

“Because we dropped out of the tournament. Aye, that is what I believe,” Meffas said.

Veabella could hear the pain in his words. He blames himself for this. The injustice of that stung her and made her eyes water. He took an unpopular action under the belief that it would save us from harm. And in return, he has made us fugitives. It is not fair.

Ictorian moved to stand next to Meffas. “At the moment, this is all speculation,” he said. “Though, I will admit I am inclined to agree with Meffas’s deductions. A foreign company could be blamed without retaliation within Vinredor. If we follow that path of thinking, we have other pertinent questions to answer as well. Who, in reality, committed the poisonings, and why would they want so many people dead?”

“Were all of the attendants the intended targets, or just a few individuals?” Meffas asked. “Did the killer or killers want everyone dead, or did they only seek to leave no witnesses?”

Ictorian nodded. “Yes. And when did the poisonings occur? When did the victims die? There are many factors here that require thought.”

“We are unfortunately in no position to find answers to those questions at the moment,” Meffas said.

“Then what will we do?” Veabella asked, surprised she had spoken the question aloud.

“We are not safe in Vinredor, that is for certain,” Meffas replied. “Our first priority is to get back home. Once we are out of the reach of the Vinredorian law enforcement, we need to meet with the guild in Goldcrest. They will have heard of the poisonings by the time we reach them. They may have more information about what happened. And from there… we will have to decide that based on what we learn. For now, we need to eat quickly and get some rest. I believe we are far enough out of the way as to avoid detection. Still, we will have to travel by night until we pass the border.”

The crew broke their stances and turned their attention to their mounts, eager to find work which they could focus on, filling their minds with what was physically in front of them, to take the place of repetitive thoughts. Veabella noticed that Donnes remained standing in place, only shifting her grip on the two-handed axe which she was leaning against.

“Are you alright?” Veabella asked her friend.

“He did save us, you know,” the burly woman said.

“Hm?”

“He blames himself for this, but he saved our lives. If we had remained in the tournament, we would be dead, too.”

“I did not think of that. You’re right. We should tell him.”

“Not yet. He is not ready to hear that yet. He still needs time to beat himself up.”

Veabella furrowed her brow. “What?”

“He’s stubborn that way. We can tell him later.” Without a further word, Donnes went to her horse, leaving Veabella to stare at her back, dumbfounded.

Over the course of the next two weeks, the landscape gradually shifted from rolling hills of patchy bushes to large groupings of beech and oak trees, the soil darker and more solid. Along with the change in terrain, the weather became more temperate. The company made as few stops to resupply as possible, and even then, only one rider ever entered a village. Veabella had always thought of Meffas as cautious, and he seemed to be growing even more so. She thought it unlikely that word had reached the nondescript villagers before they did, but Meffas would take no chances.

They mostly rode out of eyeshot from the roads, and always at night. They headed north by northwest, riding from sundown to sunup, until they finally crossed over from Vinredor into Ebanigan. Once they had left Vinredorian territory, the sense of relief that emanated from each of them was palpable. After a final night of riding after dark, Ictorian had taken Meffas aside. They spoke in private, and the next morning, Meffas announced that they would slow their pace and complete the last few days of riding on a more typical schedule.

The friends began to joke again, and conversations flowed in a manner that was reminiscent of the old days. As much as Veabella wanted to reach the hunter’s guild, she also savored this time of normalcy. She did not know what news would be revealed when they were back in the capital. The future was in flux, and she was having a difficult time convincing herself that everything would go back to the way it once was.

They rode now on the Jeweled Road, the main thoroughfare that connected Oslidor, the capital of Vinredor to Goldcrest, the capital of Ebanigan. The road’s condition did not live up to its lofty name. Neither nation wished to pay for upkeep on infrastructure that they claimed the other one benefitted from more. Of jewels, there were none to be seen. Instead, the gravel was scarred with holes that could easily break a wagon wheel.

Even with the road in poor condition, thousands of people relied on it every day. Safely within the borders of Ebanigan, Veabella still found herself looking away as they passed riders on horseback, merchant wagons packed with goods, and even people on foot. Twig and Donnes did not share her concern. They spoke loudly, often attempting to settle old bets, never once so much as shifting in their saddles when a stranger passed. Veabella found great comfort in hearing them resume their old bickering.

Two days ride from Goldcrest, they stopped in a village called Mininlor. Veabella had passed through there a handful of times in the past, and the company had even spent a night there on their way to Oslidor. Located at the edge of a forest of oak and chestnut trees, the village was large enough to support two inns. There were towns closer to the city, but at that proximity, crime became a concern. This far out, the village inhabitants would not consider crossing with armed men and women. Thus, it was a safe place to enjoy a good meal.

Veabella took point and led the company down dirt streets to the inn they had stayed at just over a month ago. It was early evening, less than an hour before sundown, but villagers were still out and about, walking home from jobs as loggers, fur trappers, and hunters. Not, of course, the same breed of hunters as Veabella and her company. The more mundane type who killed animals for meat, working a simple job that did not incur any serious risks. She doubted any of them had even been face to face with a beast the size of a horse, with fangs as long as an adult human’s fingers.

She wondered at the simple, but seemingly pleasant lives these people led. They did not go on adventures and did not have epic tales they could share. On the other hand, they would almost certainly never by mauled to death, and being framed for murder would have never crossed their minds even under the influence of alcohol.

Past a lumber mill, located between granaries, was their destination, The Foxhole. The inn was three stories tall, made out of the hard oak that was found in the nearby forest. The company had unanimously agreed to stay the night there for one reason- the food. The ale was strong, and the meal of venison and wild mushrooms they had devoured on their last trip had been worth much more than the price they paid. Veabella could not wait to sit down and see what was being served this night.

Ictorian volunteered to hobble the horses and Meffas went to work on acquiring and paying for sleeping quarters. Meanwhile, the four younger members of the company gleefully sat down in the cool first level of the tavern.

Even Xopher appears to be in a good mood. He is not usually a heavy drinker, but something tells me that he will imbibe quite a lot tonight.

Twig bought the first round, supposedly with coin that he had won from Donnes on a bet regarding the Divine Queen Sayel Ebanigan’s number of lovers. Donnes called foul on Twig’s claim that he had won. How the two intended on ever settling the bet was a mystery to Veabella.

A serving girl, looking to have just reached adolescence, brought them their tankards and told them that a meal of rabbit stew with pumpernickel bread and goat cheese would be served that night. Veabella ordered a double helping for all six compatriots, under the assumption that she would be able to eat anything the others did not finish.

“Finally a decent drink!” Twig said, wiping his mouth. “Having nothing but water for weeks was torture, and we haven’t even been caught yet.”

“Shut up, Twig,” Xopher snarled. “We may be in Ebanigan, but that doesn’t mean you need to talk so cavalierly.”

“You need to learn to relax,” Twig said with a dismissive waive of his free hand. After another long drink, he leaned back in his chair. “Meffas will sort it all out. That’s what he’s good at. See, everyone in this company has their role. Meffas makes arrangements, I’m the brains, Ictorian is tall, Veabella asks questions, Xopher broods, and Donnes looks funny. We fit together like a jigsaw puzzle.”

Donnes smacked the little man on the back of his head, producing a pathetic yelp.

“There’s a brain in there?”

“That was really hard,” Twig said, rubbing his head.

Meffas arrived and pulled a chair up next to Twig. “Three rooms for the night. Ictorian and I will share. Twig, you’re with Xopher. Vea with Donnes.”

“Did I do something to deserve this punishment?” Xopher asked.

“If he snores, just hit him,” Meffas said, giving Donnes a wink.

“The lack of respect that I receive is scandalous,” Twig remarked. “I saved us from those guards, I’ll have you know.”

“Let’s keep talk of that down until we’re in a less public place,” Meffas whispered after the others had finished sharing their thoughts on Twig’s proclamation.

As Ictorian strode over to join them, the serving girl, carrying a tray packed with so much food that it looked as though it weighed more than she did, bumped into the tall man. In a crash of clay bowls and plates, stew sprayed out onto the dirt floor.

“Let me help you,” Ictorian said, lifting the girl up in his muscular arms.

Veabella and Meffas went over to assist, as well. The liquid was forming brown rivers on the ground in all directions.

A man in a stained apron rushed over to the serving girl. “Jilana, are you hurt?” he asked.

“No,” the girl said. “I’m sorry, Cadeo. I should not have tried to carry it all at once.”

The cook brushed dirt from her elbow. “Consider it a lesson learned. No one serves for long without making a similar error. Even I have dropped more meals on the floor than I care to admit.”

He then looked at the hunters. “I apologize. I’ll have your food just as soon as this mess is cleared away. And a round of ale on the house for the wait.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Meffas said.

“But I will. Thank you as well for helping Jilana.”

A patron shambled across the room and looked down at the soggy food-covered floor. “Looks worse than what I just vomited,” he said with a laugh before taking a drink from his tankard and stumbling to the table directly behind Veabella.

Twig leaned out from his seat to look at the floor. “I’ve seen worse,” he drawled.

When the food was removed and sand had been poured over the remaining liquid, Cadeo and Jilana brought the crew’s replacement meals and they energetically attacked their stew. As they ate, the drunken man behind Veabella began speaking to himself. She was unfortunately able to make out the entire one-sided conversation.

“Soon, it will be soon,” the man blathered. “Across the sky, so that all can see it. A brightness to illuminate our dark nature. Won’t the Divine Rulers be thrilled. Deny it, distract from it, claim it as their own, they will. But it will be too late. The world will have seen. The second fulfillment!”

“What is that man carrying on about?” Xopher asked.

“I believe he is speaking of a prophecy of The Path,” Veabella answered.

Xopher scoffed. “Out loud? Even drunk I would think he would have more sense.”

At that, the man rose from his seat. Weaving slightly, he attempted to steady himself and then walked over so that he could put his hands down on the hunters’ table.

“Nothing I said is not truth,” the man said.

“Do you not know where you are?” Xopher asked. “It is illegal to support The Path in a royal country.”

“Do I know? I know better than you do,” the man said. “I lived through the purge.”

“We’re sorry for interrupting you,” Meffas said. “May I buy you a drink as an apology?”

The man nodded. “You may. But there is no need to apologize. I survived the purge, and I will survive whatever they do next. There are more treaders of The Path than they know. They will find that out, soon enough.”

“Let me get that drink for you,” Meffas said, searching the room for the serving girl.

“And one for the rest of you, to forget your troubles.”

Meffas slowly turned his body to face the man. “Pardon?”

“With Vinredor. They want you still.”

Veabella saw that Xopher had moved his right hand under the table. She hoped it would remain there.

“What are you speaking of?” Meffas asked.

“You have a secret of mine, and I have one of yours, so we are equal. Worry not, I am no fan of the Divine Rulers, so you have nothing to fear.”

The man glanced at Xopher, who sat straight as an arrow, one hand on the table and the other beneath it, staring at the drunkard.

“Forget the drink,” the man said. “I have had enough already and it is getting dark. Good night to all of you. And do not fret, The Hero watches over you as he does all of us.”

He placed his tankard down next to Veabella and stumbled out of the tavern.

“Should I pursue him?” Xopher asked.

“No,” Meffas said. “He spoke too openly to be lying. He is a follower of The Path, and the last thing he wants is attention from the authorities. Let us view that as a lesson in why we need to be discreet--- there are always people listening. Now, let’s finish our meals and go to sleep.”

Veabella went back to her now lukewarm bowl of stew. As she swirled her spoon through the remnants of her meal, she thought on how her life and the life of her companions had changed so drastically. It did not appear to be a change for the better.

Richard

Year 1378 (Present Day)

His laboratory was nearly empty. The test subjects and most of the equipment had been transported to the royal herbalism laboratory. Richard himself had been ordered to be there the next day. He was still in a state of semi-denial in regards to the entire situation. That his life had so dramatically shifted, and in such a negative direction, in such a short span of time, and from out of nowhere left him in a mental haze. He knew what was happening, but the feelings that should be associated with his situation were not fully present. He suspected the finality of walking into Esther’s laboratory would bring them forward in a torrent of despair.

His students had also been conscripted. That was the word for it. None of them were given a choice, and all had been too fearful to even ask questions. They simply followed the orders. Richard did not like the implications of that conformity. It made him question whether the university was in fact a failure. If education had not instilled a sense of skepticism and a need to ask questions, then perhaps Yara had been correct that the institution needed to be gutted.

As he looked around at the workshop and dust-covered floors, he saw that nothing that had been considered of value to Esther’s current or future research remained in Richard’s laboratory.

Except me. I think.

He was unclear on what his new role would be because no one had given him any idea of what he would be doing, other than working for Esther. Would he still be in charge of his former students? Would he be able to pursue any of his own ideas? Would he be allowed to continue with his development of tonic effect permanence? He had the feeling that he would not like any of the answers he was going to receive.

Tomorrow he would begin his work under the royal herbalist, a woman who was said to be as close to the Divine King as anyone in the nation.

And what will the Divine King ask of us? I am sure it will be distasteful. Elixirs to boost the deadliness of the military, explosive tonics which burn through flesh. Wouldn’t my grandfather be proud?

He was sitting on a box filled with papers, not wanting to finish clearing the room for fear that emptying the laboratory would help usher in the truth he wished to deny, when a voice called for him.

A man he had never seen before was approaching. He was small in stature, his only remarkable trait the bushy eyebrows that seemed to take up too much of his face. With his newly improved vision, Richard could make out a few gray hairs among the black, and a tiny pimple peeking through the top of the right brow. “Good afternoon,” he said. “I hope I am not interrupting anything.”

“No. Just cleaning up.”

“So I heard. It is unfortunate. I would like you to know though, it is true what royal councilor Yara told you, we are struggling to find funding. I’m sure that does not soften the blow right now, but I want to mention it nonetheless.”

“You’re from the Crown then?”

“Indeed.”

“Are you here to drag me to my new overlord?”

“I am not. That is not my department. My name is Gregorich. I am here on an unrelated matter. I am searching for a missing person. I am sad to say this is how I spend my days, and that those days are quite busy.”

The man had Richard’s attention now. Had one of his students fled the city? He had considered that himself, however briefly. “Who are you looking for? Someone I know I assume.”

“I believe so, yes. A former colleague of yours. Professor Woller Karuvian.”

Woller? Did that girl’s family learn of what happened? Why now?

“I did know him. I haven’t seen him in years.”

“No one has. Thus, my involvement.”

Richard did not know what to say, and if he had, he would have been too scared to say it. His nerves had already endured too much in the past week.

“Could you please tell me what you remember from the last time you saw or spoke with Professor Karuvian?” the man asked in a properly polite tone.

Richard recalled the last time he said seen his friend, and had in fact combed over the encounter in his mind dozens of times, looking for hints. But not just hints as to why Woller disappeared later that week. Also hints as to why Woller had asked him so many questions. Questions about his past. He had been unable to connect Woller’s questions about his past to the man’s fleeing the city. The rumors regarding his friend had never seemed plausible to Richard, but he had done his best to convince himself that they were true. The alternative suggested that he was somehow connected to the man’s flight.

His vision had not been enhanced at the time, but he felt as though he could recall the circumstances of the meeting with preternatural clarity. Questions about my childhood that I could not answer. Asking me what I remembered of my grandfather. Probing about a woman who used to attend to me when I was young. And all out of the blue. He had never asked me such things before. Then, a few days later, I heard he had simply vanished.

That last encounter had never sat well with him. That he was now being asked about it gave him the chills. The question now is whether to tell the truth. Who exactly is this man in front of me? What does he know about Woller that I do not?

He decided to proceed cautiously and speak honestly but not frankly. “The last time I saw Woller was at the Shark Eye. We had some drinks together.”

“Did you notice anything different about the professor?”

Richard gave an exaggerated shrug, then realized the gesture may have appeared too overtly casual. “He looked the same as always.”

“About what did you speak?”

“He asked me about my classes. I asked about his. We talked about work.”

“Anything else?”

“I’m sure we did. That was a couple of years ago though.”

“Whatever you can tell me will help. When someone is missing for such a long period of time, and no one has heard from them, well, we often assume the worst.”

“He didn’t say anything about having trouble with anyone.”

“That’s good. That’s all then?”

“I don’t remember him saying anything that made me think he was in danger.”

Richard could tell his answers were being met with a degree of skepticism. But Gregorich did not push. He wondered how many other individuals had been questioned so far. He would have to ask around, without raising even more suspicion.

Gregorich pull out a tobacco pouch and pipe from his pocket. Richard took note of the pipe’s handle. It was crafted from ebony wood, and thus quite expensive. The trees which provided that dark wood were only found on islands off the north of East Saltion. Gregorich was evidently a well-paid royal employee.

The man began packing the brown leaves without looking up. “You must have been surprised then when he disappeared.”

Careful now. “I was.”

Gregorich’s eyes remained on what he was doing. “Your colleagues as well.”

“Yes.”

A spark appeared as Gregorich struck a flint block with a thin piece of metal and lit his pipe. He finally looked up as he took a puff. “I have to say that I am baffled by this case, Professor. The story I’ve heard does not match with accounts of his personality. Then again, love does strange things to a man.”

Richard simply nodded, his eyes focusing on the smoke.

“Are you sure there is nothing else you would like to tell me?”

“I apologize, but it was a long time ago.”

“It was. I hope we can find your friend. Thank you for your time, Professor.”

Gregorich gave a half smile and exited the laboratory, a trail of smoke following him.

I need to speak with Lydee. No doubt she was questioned before me. She may have a better idea of what is going on here.

He waited before leaving the laboratory, under the admittedly grandiose idea that he may be being monitored. To fill the time, he stacked boxes in a corner and swept the floor, retracing the questions and answers that had just passed between Gregorich and himself. When he felt as though enough time had passed, he left the laboratory. If he did not sense that anyone was following him, he would seek out his friend.

As expected, the campus was deserted. Richard took his time walking the paved paths between the buildings, wondered how long it would be before activities were resumed. What form would the revised university take? Who would the professors be? What would they be forced to teach?

He halted mid-step when looking back, and saw light in a room on the second floor of Lorgan Hall. Other than the man who had just questioned him, and the students who had helped him move the laboratory equipment, he had not seen anyone else on the campus all week. No one else had much in the way of materials to export to another location. The majority of the supplies belonged to the university and were therefore supposed to remain where they were.

He did his best to look around innocuously, trusting his enhanced vision to help him see anyone that may have been in the shadows. The day’s light had faded so that a would-be pursuer likely would have deemed themselves safely hidden near a building. Not seeing anyone, he headed toward the light.

As he entered the building, he realized the light had not come from the history department. No chance in encountering Lydee here then. When he got closer to his destination, and remembered which department laid claim to this wing of the building, he grimaced. Archaeology. He considered turning back, but morbid curiosity was a powerful lure.

Noises now reached his ears. Cursing.

“This is why your society fell off the face of the Earth! Shoddily made materials!”

Richard waited outside the office, looking through the open door, curious to see how long he could remain just outside without being noticed.

Inside, the elderly professor of archaeology, Iniko, stood over a shattered pot. “A student should clean this mess! They’re the ones who placed these artifacts so haphazardly in the first place!”

He kicked a potsherd which slid a few feet before resting before a desk. The little man crossed his arms, as if disappointed that his anger had not caused more chaos. “I’ll have to move to a new office. Good that I have so many more now.”

Richard could not stifle his laugh enough to continue his experiment. Iniko looked back at him, one eyebrow raised. “You’re here to clean up?”

“I am not. Sorry, Iniko.”

Iniko waved a wrinkled hand. “Then I will leave this here until suitable help arrives.”

“I didn’t know anyone else was on campus. They haven’t told you to leave?”

“Oh, they told me. They informed me that I had two days to vacate the premises. That was at least a week ago. Ha! I knew they would not check.”

“Are you clearing your office out now?”

“Hardly. I have work to do.”

“Classes have been cancelled, Iniko. There are no students. Everyone was ordered to leave.”

“No students, good. They were a waste of time.” He approached Richard until he was but a pace away. He narrowed his eyes and looked up. “They were only here for the credits. They did not care about learning or studying the past. They thought I could not tell. Well, they thought that at first, until I berated them. No matter though. I am better off without them.”

“The university is closed.”

“I intend to make good use of the newly liberated space.”

Richard shook his head. “What will you do if they come back?”

Iniko had turned away and was rummaging through a crate of rusted weapons. “I will nod my head and tell them that I accede to their requests. Then, when they leave, I will continue my work.”

“And if they forcefully remove you?”

Iniko paused and looked over at Richard. “You believe they care that much? Ha! They are more apathetic than the students. They just wanted the money. They do not care what happens here as long as they do not have to pay for it.”

He is probably right. Not as crazy as he looks.

“Now, instead of standing there with your mouth open like a fool, come here and help me retrieve these ancient chamber pots from the bottom of this crate.”

Richard bent down to assist the old man. “Pardon me for inquiring, but what are you hoping to learn from these particular artifacts?”

“To learn? Nothing, you dolt. I plan on placing them in the spare offices so that I do not need to pause so often in my studies.”

Never mind. He is just as crazy as he looks.

“Iniko,” Richard said, gingerly pulling a chamber pot out of the crate, “has anyone from the Crown come to speak with you about a missing person?”

“No.”

“I mean Woller. A man named Gregorich questioned me about his disappearance. Isn’t that odd? That someone from the Crown would begin an investigation on Woller two years after he vanished?”

“It might be.”

Richard stopped and crossed his arms. “Are you listening to me?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You don’t know anything about this?”

Iniko sighed. “Your friend Lydee came to ask me about Woller. She wanted to know all about the wisdom I imparted to our former colleague.”

“She asked you about Woller?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Unfortunately.”

Iniko sneered. “There are more chamber pots for you to remove,” he said, gesturing to the bottom of the crate.

“When was this?” Richard asked.

“Perhaps a week ago. I have somewhat lost track of time now that I do not have to give classes. It’s wonderful.”

That gives me an idea of how long this ‘investigation’ has been going on. I need to find Lydee. She must know more about this than I do.

Richard worked quickly to remove everything from the crate. When Iniko yelled at him, he put everything back with the exception of the chamber pots, then practically ran out of the room before he was given more orders.

Worn out from the day’s activities and the additional stimuli from his vision, his head was spinning. He would have preferred not to be able to see the stains on the ancient chamber pots with such clarity.

Despite his exhaustion, he jogged to Lydee’s house, believing time was of the essence. If he did not meet with her this night, he may not have another opportunity for some time. He had no idea what working for Esther would entail, but he had heard that the hours she put in were appalling.

When he came to the row house where Lydee lived, he was relieved to see light in the window. He knocked on the door loudly, beginning to feel impatient and anxious. From behind the door, there were sounds of movement. Then, the light he saw behind the curtain went out. The noise had ceased. Confused, he knocked again. No reply. Roughly a minute later, he heard the sound of a door opening, then closing.

Richard called out, “Lydee?”

There was no answer. Richard considered adding that it was him who was calling, in case Lydee was hiding from someone. Then, a more unsettling thought entered his mind. What if it was not Lydee in the house?

He backed away from the door slowly. Once he was sure he was not being watched, he ran. He ran and did not look back until he had left the house far behind him.

Erden

Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)

“It all appears to be in order,” Sarthak said as he paced the storage room. “Well done, quartermaster.”

Erden felt relieved until Kingsley, a step behind Sarthak gave him a mad grin, his blue eyes somehow shimmering despite the lack of light.

Sarthak stopped his examination of the supplies of crates filled with foodstuffs, blankets, and first aid materials, and faced Erden. “We will be moving out in two days,” he said. “There is but one final preparation to be made, for which you will accompany Kingsley and myself.”

Not knowing if he needed to respond, Erden simply stood in place and nodded, his right hand clenched around the vial in his pocket. Kingsley continued to stare at him intensely until Erden had to look away. When he looked back, the lieutenant was shaking his head and laughing silently to himself.

Sarthak could not hide his amusement as he explained the situation further. “We will be making a purchase of tonics. This specific concoction grants vigor, while supposedly allowing one to endure pain, to the point where he feels nothing from even a broken bone, for a time. I was skeptical upon hearing the claim, but when I heard the name of its creator, I no longer had any doubts.”

“Enfildio, the master herbalist,” Kingsley said.

The two men must have noticed Erden’s eyes go wide, for they chuckled again. “Indeed,” Sarthak said. “In this company, we rub elbows with persons of legendary reputation. In fact, we have a bit of a history of employing his creations, and they have always given us an edge. As quartermaster, you will be present to assist in determining how much we can afford, both in regards to coin and space. We will be meeting him and his assistant at the fifteenth bell. Until then, get some rest. Your first march is approaching, and it would not do for you to collapse from exhaustion.”

“And there won’t be room on any of the wagons for you if you do,” Kingsley added. “Even if you plan on shorting us on supplies, so don’t even consider it.”

“Not everyone thinks as diabolically as you do,” Sarthak said to his lieutenant, patting him on the back.

“Not everyone’s as handsome either,” Kingsley said, winking.

When the two officers exited, Erden made his way back to the barracks, falling asleep as soon as his head hit the course fabric of his pillow.

No dreams came, and had not since he began his work as quartermaster. He attributed it to a kind of fatigue he had never experienced before, one which left his body too exhausted to do more than stay alive. The scare free time he had ended up being used for sleep. Most nights he was too tired to even eat. Despite that, he was content knowing he was making incremental progress towards a life as a man of great deeds, instead of a bystander.

A soft kick to the back awoke him. He felt his body covered in sweat from the poor ventilation in the room, and his mouth was dry and irritated. A soldier whose name he did not yet know looked down at him. “Captain’s waiting for you outside,” he said, his footsteps trailing away.

It took a moment for him to realize where he was, his mind first considering the idea he was back in his parent’s home. The rank smell of the barracks gradually brought him back into the present. He opened his eyes and rolled onto the floor before pausing again, his mind completely blank. Laughter from a nearby bedroll finally broke him out of his stupor.

Sarthak, Kingsley, and two other Blades were standing just outside the barracks door.

“You have the budget?” Sarthak asked.

“Yes, sir,” Erden said, patting a deer hide wrapped notebook.

“This meeting with Enfildio is not officially sanctioned,” he said. “If the Royal Herbalist knew we were going to a private vendor to acquire tonics, she would not be pleased. And let’s not even mention how the Divine King would see this.”

“If they don’t like it, they should develop some better tonics,” Kingsley growled.

“I forgot to mention that when I was being chewed out for failing to stop this uprising. Now,” Sarthak said, looking to Erden, “this goes down on the record as medical supplies, which it is. No need to describe it any further. Understood?”

“Yes sir.”

“And no talking,” Kingsley said, jabbing an elbow into Erden’s side. “Not just for the meeting, but in general.”

Erden tried to nod as he rubbed his ribs.

They traveled out of the royal district and into the Topaz merchant district. Erden hoped that at least one person he knew would pass by now, to see him in his uniform, walking alongside the captain of The Blades. He held his head up high and pushed his chest out, doing his best to play the part. It felt good and right to be in the company of brave men, as though their courage emanated from them in waves which rippled over him. The uniform which had felt constrictive and muggy just bells ago was now a point of pride as Erden looked out over the common citizens in their white cloth tunics.

They came to a narrow building which was situated between a money-lending institution and a house of imports. No signage indicated what purpose the building served, and Erden could not recall ever having noticed its existence before, despite his frequent visits to the district when running errands.

The front door opened two heartbeats after the captain knocked, revealing a corpulent man of middling age. He gave a curt bow and gestured for the men to enter. “Welcome to The Roots. You may call me Finder,” he said. “The other party has already arrived.”

The interior of the building did not match its inconspicuous exterior. The aroma of coffee and vanilla incense filled the air, and landscapes of different regions of the world covered the walls, from the tundra of northern Ebanigan to the rumored oases of the Crystal Desert. The paint shined as the light from nearby torches reflected off its glossy texture, giving the art works a fantastical feel.

They progressed through a long hallway which opened onto several rooms, many more than Erden thought possible, each one adorned with exotic furniture. Their destination was the final room on the left, the only one which remained closed. The man who let them in rapped gently on the door, then opened it cautiously. “The Blades,” he announced to whomever awaited within, before turning to look at the soldiers. “I do want you to be aware that you are here only due to the word of the master herbalist,” he said. “In most cases, the presence of armed men is unheard of and… undesirable. I assume I need not say more.”

“We understand, and are grateful for the exception you have made for us,” Sarthak said.

Although he did not look pleased, Finder gave another bow and stepped aside. As Sarthak, Kingsley and the other two men found seats, Erden entered the room. Seated at the far end of a long, cherrywood table sat an older man in a black top hat and cloak. That must be—

The thought ended abruptly when Erden saw who was seated on the man’s left. Cupela.

She looked at him for a moment, her face puzzled. When recognition struck her, Erden could see her posture stiffen. He was about to greet her before she turned away to face Enfildio.

No doubt she could put the pieces together as to what had happened to lead Erden here. Oddly, he did not feel any anger toward her. He never had. Though he had not put focused thought on it, he could now recognize that he was thankful that he had been dismissed from the library. Cupela might feel guilt and pity him, as though he had no other option but to enlist. For Erden, a fog had been lifted from his life, revealing a sunnier horizon that nearly blinded him with its brilliance.

He was unaware of how much time passed before Kingsley cleared his throat, drawing Erden’s attention. The lieutenant gave him a threatening look, then motioned to the chair next to him. Erden moved to take the seat with an enthusiasm only exercised by one who is nearly delirious from lack of sleep, or inebriated.

“My apologizes for our late arrival, master herbalist” Sarthak began. “I know you are a man faced with many demands.”

“I am,” Enfildio replied. “Let us be on with this.”

It took a few moments for Erden to have enough awareness to recognize that he did not know if the meeting had even begun. Now afraid that he had missed crucial information, he wished only to be ignored for the duration of the negotiation. If he were to be called upon to speak, he did not think he would be able to respond intelligibly.

Sarthak and Enfildio went back and forth, discussing figures and quantities. Ever charming, Sarthak did his best to procure a bargain, but Enfildio knew he held the upper hand, and so the company ended the negotiations with less than they had hoped for, at a higher price.

Cupela did not speak for the entirety of the meeting, and each time Erden ventured a look her way, her eyes were fixed on Enfildio, though the rigidness her posture developed the moment he turned to her told him that she could sense his gaze. He had wished to speak with her, but now he believed her reluctance to acknowledge was not solely due to what had occurred at the library. She does not want Enfildio to know see that she knows me. He could think of two possible explanations for that. One was that Cupela did not want Enfildio to think she had a relationship with Erden. That felt false however. That Cupela idolized the man was easy to see, and although he was much older, he had an air of authority about him which Erden did not doubt any woman would find appealing. Erden was no threat to this man.

Therefore, it would have to be the second possibility- that Cupela feared Enfildio learning that she had a relationship with anyone, even if it was devoid of romance. Yes, that felt true, and it frightened him. He suddenly came to an understanding of why he rarely saw his old friend. She no longer had a life of her own. She was as property to this older man. And she has no issue with that. She would do anything for him. It was a disquieting thought.

“Thank you for your time, master herbalist,” Sarthak said as he stood. “Perhaps one day circumstances will be such that we can meet openly.”

Enfildio forced a harsh laugh as he too left his seat, Cupela following his lead immediately. “That day will never come. You do not know Oslian and Esther as I do,” he said. As he swept his cloak over his shoulder, he called for Finder.

The heavyset man appeared in the doorway, and surveyed the room. “Yes, master herbalist?”

“We are done here. Please have six crates of the tonic delivered to the usual location, and give the address to the quartermaster there,” he said gesturing to Erden.

“Of course. Thank you for your patronage, as always.”

Cupela followed in Enfildio’s wake, her steps in time with his despite how much longer his strides were. As Enfildio stepped out of the room, Cupela looked back. They locked eyes for an instant, and Erden saw her mouth the words, “I’m sorry,” before turning away without breaking stride and disappearing into the hallway.

He did not think he would ever see her again. It was in the moment of despair that he had the realization that he was in love with her.

Lydee

Her reaction to Yara’s announcement that the university would be closing had surprised her. She thought she would be distraught. Instead, it had given her motivation. Her cause was to find Woller, and without her classes to tie her down, she could relentlessly pursue this new obsession. Lydee knew the reality of her dismal situation would hit her hard eventually, but until then, she would focus all of her energy into a cause she believed was increasingly critical.

The difficulty she was having now was in forming any type of connection between what Iniko had told her and a conceivable reason for Woller’s disappearance. It was well within the realm of possibility that there was no link. As unlikely as it seemed to her, there was a chance that the rumor surrounding Woller’s sudden departure was in fact the whole truth. She intended to start there.

The student’s name was Fayvin. She had taken two of Lydee’s classes before graduating, the second one after Woller’s exit. Lydee had done her best not to signal to the young woman that she knew about the rumor, remembering how uncomfortable she had been as she looked out over the class, taking pains to look the young woman’s way no more or less often than her other pupils. She doubted that her efforts at subterfuge had succeeded, and more likely than not, they had been sniffed out on the very first day of class. Vea always said even a child of three could read my emotions on my face.

The university records still listed an address for Fayvin, and with any luck, she continued to reside there. Lydee took a long route to the Concord district where Fayvin lived, attempting to delay the intrusive and overly personal interrogating she was about to conduct. She walked down a street crowded with market stalls and vendors hawking local produce. It was late in the afternoon and the swarms of insects were nearly as vexing as the repetitive droning of the salesmen. She swatted at a cloud of gnats and scratched at her neck, unsure of whether anything had actually bitten her, or if the visual stimuli had provoked the feeling of irritation on her skin.

The stalls were mostly empty of product at this late hour, save for overripened breezeberries and cactus fruits which made the swarming insects all the worse. As she turned a corner which led to Fayvin’s neighborhood, she was startled by the abrupt ending of merchants. She stopped and looked around there. On both sides of the street, the walls were covered in papers. Notices, or warnings, depending on one’s perspective. All displaying the same message: His second prophecy, the prophecy of trust, would be fulfilled soon. The sky would alight in a display of his glory and foresight. Whoever had placed these had been bolder than usual, plastering the papers high enough up one wall to cover a mural of the Divine King.

As isolated as she was now, she felt as though she was being watched. A trap? To catch followers of The Path? If the royal families had believed those who walked The Path had been defeated, the magnitude of that ignorance had been revealed since the start of the year. The divine monarchs would not sit idly by and be humiliated, which meant retribution of one sort or another. She hoped the faithful were prepared for that inevitability. She did her best to continue in the direction she had been headed, careful to walk at an unhurried pace.

The jeweled had acted out of fear when the first prophecy was completed, for they knew their stranglehold on the continent’s population would falter if The Path could be proven true. She worried that this year would see more violence, and worse atrocities considering the prophecy would be even more public than the first one, four decades earlier. Revealing the truth comes at a high cost. And doesn’t that prove one of the integral messages of the faith? That humans commit horrendous acts, even against good people. Especially so, even.

Once again unmindful of her surroundings, her thoughts had taken her past Fayvin’s house. When she finally realized where she was, she looked up and blushed at her own aloofness. Still feeling as though she may be being watched, she nervously turned around and casually walked back to the row house whose address matched the one she had acquired from the university. At the door, she paused, sensing that something was amiss. Scanning the exterior of the house, she found the proof of her uneasiness. The door was standing upright, but the hinges had been broken off. She looked down and saw splinters of wood on the ground. Her eyes widened as she took a step back and turned to see if anyone was watching her. What has happened here? What, and when?

Seeing that there was no one in sight, she knocked gently on the door. When, after an excruciatingly long wait, there was no reply, she knocked again, louder. Still no sound from the other side of the door. Again she looked around her and could see no one. Biting her lip, she moved the door to one side, squeezing through the opening. Once inside the house, she shifted the door back to cover the empty space.

There were no signs of a struggle, except on the floor directly in front of the door, with more splinters lining the entrance rug. This is too much of a coincidence. The same day I look for Fayvin, there are signs of a forced entry.

A cursory search of the house showed nothing else of note. She did not know of any way to determine when the break-in had occurred. She knew that Fayvin worked as an accountant; perhaps her employer had seen her that day. Maybe she was still at work, and was unaware of the violation that took place. Lydee wanted to believe that was the case. More than she could articulate, she wanted to believe that this was in fact a coincidence. A coincidence. That is what the royals will say when the prophecy is fulfilled. But who will believe that? Who believes in the innocuity of coincidences? She knew she did not.

A few hours later, Lydee was walking alone across the university campus. Fayvin’s supervisor had informed her that the young woman had missed work that day, a rare occurrence, she assured her. On the grounds of the abandoned campus, Lydee felt vulnerable in a way she had never experienced. She did not know where to go or what to do to rid herself of the sensation, but she did not want to go home yet. She did not want her feeling of being watched to follow her into her private residence. After a half an hour of aimless roaming, she decided to head to her office, where at least she would be in an enclosed space. And, truth be told, she needed to begin clearing it out anyway.

She lit a lantern in the lobby of her department’s building, and went up to the second floor. Looking behind herself as she unlocked the door to her office, she double-checked to make sure she could not see anyone in the gloom.

Inside the office, she was pricked by the now increasingly familiar feeling that something was not right. Her growing sensitivity to that sensation frightened her. She did not see anything that had been moved, and nothing was missing from the shelves. The dim glow from the moonlight, and the brighter light from the lantern were more than sufficient for this personal setting she had memorized long ago. If something was out of place, she would notice it as soon as her eyes passed by its location. Everything was as it should be. Nevertheless, the dull pain of dread remained with her.

After checking the shelves and the chairs, she went to her desk. She carefully slid open the drawer, not wanting the force of the motion to unintentionally shift an object’s position. She had been looking for slight adjustments, an object which had been lifted in a search and then returned so that it sat in a new direction. The condition of the drawer sent her heart racing. Pens, papers, stamps, all scattered haphazardly. What to make of this cavalier display?

The office was searched, and no effort was made to cover that up. Because they rushed out in fear of being caught? Or they found what they were looking for and do not believe they can be tracked? Or, worst of all, they want me to know they have been here.

The last option struck her as the truth. She could come to only one conclusion; Fayvin had been kidnapped and her own office had been searched, all for the same purpose. She also knew who she was up against. The royal councilor, Yara. And she is ahead of me. Woller, I am failing you.

Year 1378 (Present Day)

The chancellor, the professors, even the students were all a sad, yet comical mixture of aloof arrogance and pompous self-importance. They all spoke of lofty ideals, but they could not produce results. That was what happened when you lived on other people’s money, with no stipulations. Yara was glad the university would be gutted. It was a well-deserved fate.

With one victory behind her, it was time to focus on a potentially even greater one. She strode along the campus grounds, delighting in the quiet of the area, on her way to the building which housed the history department. That professor, Lydee, knew more about the missing man, her new target, the former professor, Woller. He had been an acquaintance of the Divine King’s many years ago, but Oslian had never held an audience with him during Yara’s tenure on the council. That itself was worth noting. It was typical for anyone with even the slightest connection to a ruler to ask for favors or attempt to exercise influence. Added to the fact that Oslian was shaken by Woller’s disappearance, Yara believed finding the man, and delivering him to Oslian, would lead to her being given the title of Grand Advisor. The position had been vacant for years, but Oslian had made it known that he was willing to fill it if he believed someone had earned that privilege.

Her agents had done preliminary research regarding the ex-university employee. Multiple sources said he had fled in shame after a romantic relationship with a student had been revealed. The woman had since graduated, and still lived in Oslidor. Yara had not wanted her questioned directly, believing subterfuge the best course for her investigation. Agents were currently watching her, but they had nothing of note to report. She had decided that she needed to take more personal control over the investigation.

As Yara entered Lorgan Hall, the aesthetic value of the university briefly entered her thoughts. Each individual building was an architectural feat, the limestone columns their distinguishing feature, but the way they were insulated from the heat of the city their true genius. The large hallways and high ceilings gave a visitor more relief from the constant sweltering conditions outside than even the palace did. When considered along with the library as a singular artistic work, it was startingly impressive. That it had been wasted so was worthy of punishment.

The professor’s office was closed, and through the window, Yara could see no one was present. That the professor was absent was for the best. Yara knew the woman would not be forthcoming with information, especially given the resentment she surely felt. Yara had intended to see if she could uncover more details without overtly mentioning Woller’s name, but she knew that would have been unlikely to provide much. The history professor could be an important source for Yara though. Her agents had reported that the two professors had been close friends. She took a key ring off her belt and unlocked the door.

The last time she had searched the room, it had been with a different purpose. This time, her first destination was the desk. Its drawers were immaculately organized, quill pens lined up evenly, inkwells securely placed. Yara debated making her presence known by rearranging things, but decided that it was best if the woman did not know a new search was underway.

After a thorough search, Yara concluded that there was nothing of value to her hunt in the office. Woller’s old office was converted into a storage room, so there will likely not be clues there either. His old house had been occupied since he left as well. This roadblock to her ultimate triumph was quite vexing. An intriguing idea formed in her mind. What if she were to make it clear that she was looking for Woller? His old friend may believe he was in danger. All Yara would have to do would be to have the professor followed. She smiled, then went back to the desk.

Freed from having to hide her intentions, she could go a more direct route. The former student, Fayvin, who was rumored to have been involved in a romantic relationship with Woller had made a mistake by staying in the city. She would have to pay her a visit.

The woman was employed as an accountant for a textile manufacturer. A position that could have been acquired without four years studying history and art. Her residence was situated in a middle-income Concord district in the north of the city, a section of the city in which Yara had never spent much time. From poverty to wealth in the blink of an eye. A lesson for others to learn from, though they would choose to ignore it, instead insisting it was luck. And that is why the people from my former life have achieved nothing.

Before striding up to the door of the row house, she quickly glanced back across the street. The three guards who had been tracking the young woman were standing in the shadow of an alcove from a building housing a corner store. She then put her hand in her pocket for a final check that her whistle was still there. She wondered if she would have to sound it, and what the fear in Fayvin’s face would look like when the guards came bounding in, armed and eager to inflict harm. Yara’s mouth showed the hint of a grin as she climbed the steps. Four loud knocks on the door. Sounds of movement from within.

The woman who opened the door was stunningly gorgeous, with unblemished skin and large, bright eyes. Yara immediately hated her. “Can I help you?” she asked.

“Indeed. My name is Yara and I am on the royal council. I have come to speak with you.” When the woman simply stood there dumbfounded, Yara reached into one of her pockets and presented a golden sigil of the royal house- a piece of solid gold in the form of the royal jewelry. The actual precious stone that Oslian wore was an amulet of violet and crimson, roughly the size of a large man’s fist, which appeared to shift in color depending on the angle from which one viewed it. The replica that Yara and the other councilmembers carried was only a fourth of that size, but it could not be mistaken for anything else.

Yara chose to sit in the first room on her right, in the largest chair. Fayvin came after her and sat across from her. “May I offer you a cup of tea?”

“I will pass,” Yara said. “I can tell that you have been unable to ascertain why a member of the royal council would visit you.” She looked at the beautiful young woman and saw how she wilted under the unrelenting gaze of someone more experienced and powerful. Yara was curious as to the reaction she would get from her next question. She waited a moment to allow herself to savor the anticipation. Then, she struck.

“When was the last time you spoke with Professor Woller Karuvian?”

Fayvin’s eyes widened. She tensed the grip between her hands and shut her eyes. Yara enjoyed her discomfort, especially because she had caused it.

“Two years ago.”

“When did you last receive a communication from him?”

More hesitation. Then, “Before he left.”

“Left?”

The former university student looked up, confused. “He left the university two years ago.”

“And never attempted to contact you?”

“No. Not that I am aware of.”

“Even though you were lovers? He left you to manage the scandal alone?”

The woman said nothing.

“One aspect of my role as a member of the royal council that I particularly enjoy is having the legal right to arrest anyone I deem suspicious. I have exercised that privilege before.”

Tears were now streaming down her Fayvin’s reddened face.

“He told you never to mention your illicit relationship. What do you think of the implication there? That you accept the consequences of what happened, while he escapes?”

“It… it is not what you think.”

“What do I think?”

“I can’t…”

“If not here, then in a dungeon. I assure you though, you will tell me everything I want to know.”

Yara reached into her pocket and removed the whistle. “Do you know what will happen when I blow this whistle? Three armed guards will break down your door and seize you. Then they will blindfold you and take you to a prison cell. I would prefer not to sound the alarm. Not for your sake, but because I want the information right now.”

Yara put the whistle in her mouth.

“There was no relationship!” Fayvin yelled. She sobbed in jerking spasms and wiped her runny nose, while Yara leaned back and took in the display.

Unexpected. But, I believe, the truth. Just as Oslian suspected. Which means, the man was hiding something even more damning. The question is, what does this woman know? Now that the lock has broken, we will see what it was concealing.

“A respected professor lied about having a relationship with a student, then disappeared without telling anyone. That sounds preposterous.”

Fayvin dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve, but the tears did not slow down. “It’s the truth. He asked me to spread a rumor. He said he needed me to do it.”

Yara leaned back in her chair. “Of course, that sounds so plausible.”

“I swear it! Please, I don’t want to be put in a cell! I promise I’m telling the truth!”

“Why would he want a lie to be spread about him?”

“All I know is that he said he needed to leave and that he did not want anyone to find him. He said it was necessary that he have a reason for running away.”

There is a certain genius to that. I am beginning to understand why Oslian fears this man. Though there is much more to this than his intelligence. Unfortunately, investigating Oslian’s history with the professor was not an option. The divine king would not tolerate anyone digging into his past.

“Why did you do this for him?”

“He was a good man. And…”

“He paid you?”

Fayvin nodded.

“Now, think carefully. What else did he tell you? I must know everything. You would not like keeping secrets from me.”

“That’s it! I swear it!”

“Very well.”

The whistle sounded.

Fayvin looked up, pure terror on her face. “What? But I told you everything!”

“Yes. I know. And I can’t have you doing the same for anyone else.”

Cupela

Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)

She sat on one side of the long wooden table, Enfildio on her right, a stack of papers, an inkwell, and a quill pen between them. On the other side of the table sat the three candidates. The one who had taken the lead the night before sat in the middle. He was named Henry, and he had a confident smile which may have been endearing if it was not so omnipresent and forced. On his left sat the other young man, Visin, who followed Henry’s every move, as though he did not have a mind of his own. On Henry’s other side was the young woman, Sarah, who had only looked Cuplea in the eyes once, and had immediately withdrawn her gaze, almost as though the intimacy of eye contact had burned her.

“I thank you all again for travelling such a great distance for this opportunity,” Enfildio began. “Even here, over five thousand miles away, the reputation of the Scholar’s Guild of Hon Rin is unparalleled. Nevertheless, I would like to present to you a series of questions, so that I am sure I have the best person for the role.”

The body language of all three graduates shifted with Enfildio’s final sentence. The information they had been given had been written carefully to state that the master herbalist wished to work with the finest of the Scholar’s Guild. It had not stated that he only ever intended on giving a contract to one of the three scholars. Henry’s smile had faded, his jaw now clenched. Visin looked as though he had been told he had but one week left to live, while Sarah had taken her hands off of her lap so that they hung to her sides, her body looking lifeless.

Enfildio continued on, either indifferent to their reactions, or truly incapable of reading the room. “Cupela will be asking a series of questions ranging in subject. I would hear from each of you.” He turned an expressionless face to her then. “First question, please.”

Cupela took the top sheet of paper from the stack and flexed her hand before coating the tip of the pen with ink. She had read over the questions beforehand, practicing the inflection she would need to deliver the lines without hinting at her personal perspective. She breathed out silently, then read the first question. “How does one protect oneself from interpreting results in a way that is favorable to one’s ego?”

She looked at Visin first and nodded. Sitting up straighter, he replied, “I can think of two possible safeguards. One would be recording data solely with numbers, for numbers are less emotional than words. The other is having more than one person keeping records, which would help to temper any single set of results.”

Cupela wrote his response as quickly as she could. When she had finished, she looked to Henry. He did not hesitate. “If it is possible, the person recording the data could be separate from the rest of the study, or ignorant of what the result signified. In that case, the data would be much more likely to be free from the taint of bias.”

After writing the second answer, Cupela raised her head and waited for Sarah to speak. The young woman sat motionless in her chair, except for her mouth, her lips closed but sliding back and forth as she stared at the table. “Eventually, the person conducting the experiment will see the results, and will take from them whatever he or she is able to justify,” she said. “The trouble isn’t the numbers, or the data, it is the conclusion which is drawn. Only once the results have been implemented in a practical manner will the truth be revealed.”

The woman spoke in a monotone voice, as though she were reading, though Cupela was sure she had not truly been reciting a verse. When she finished recording Sarah’s response, she looked to Enfildio, who did not look back at her as he said, “Next question. For Henry first, this time.”

When she looked down at the second question, she paused, for it had not been one that she had reviewed. Reading quickly, she deducted that Enfildio must have written it that morning, while she was still asleep. She nearly grimaced when she imagined the expressions that would greet the question. This all passed through her mind in the span of a few heartbeats, not long enough for the room to become even more uncomfortable than it already was.

“There are many myths surrounding an army which fought with indestructible weapons and armor,” she began, knowing full well that her unease was coming through on some level. “The origin of the material varies based on the account. One states it came from within a mysterious lake, another that it was born from volcanic activity. What all accounts agree upon however, are the physical aspects of the material. It did not burn, it did not crack under pressure, it did not so much as dent or get cut by sharp objects. It was also light enough to be useful. Thus, it was employed in the crafting of weapons and armor. The soldiers who took advantage of this equipment became undefeatable and would have conquered the known world if they had not befallen a tragic fate, the details of which depend on the version of the tale you read.”

She looked up from the paper for a moment, looking over the candidates, as though she half expected they would stand up and leave as she was speaking. Confirming they remained, she finished the question. “Do you believe that such a material could exist?”

An amused look on his face, Henry sat back in his chair. “We have that story in Hon Rin as well. It is presented as a tale for children. I believe it is a lesson on hubris, more than something which should be taken literally.”

When no one spoke, he added, “It is a valuable lesson, of course. When one thinks they are invincible, that is the moment they have lost their sense of reality and are most vulnerable.”

Sarah responded more promptly this time. “There is no law that prevents the creation of an indestructible material.” Cupela waited for more, but Sarah did not feel obliged to add to her statement.

Visin, squirming in his seat, cleared his throat twice before speaking. “Pardon,” he finally got out. “I believe it is best to be skeptical of all claims until there is evidence to warrant a belief, and the more outrageous the claim, the more solid the evidence needs to be. Though, I suppose I am open to the existence of many possibilities, granted there is sufficient evidence.”

Enfildio had not said a word during all of this, and Cupela now believed he did not intend to speak until the interview was completed. A quick glance his way revealed that he was staring off into an indeterminate point. A brief sigh, and then she looked down to read the next question.

The whole ordeal lasted four bells, and left Cupela feeling drained. Enfildio had indeed remained silent for the duration of the process, which she knew had begun to agitate Henry and worry Visin. She was unable to read Sarah, and the woman’s dry responses never changed in inflection or directness. When the answers to the final question had been spoken, Cupela simply said, “That is all,” and waited for Enfildio to retake the reigns.

Without making any sort of gesture, he began speaking to the group. “Visin and Henry, I thank you for your time. I apologize for having brought you such a great distance only to send you back, but I need to be sure of certain characteristics of the people I employ. I will, of course, pay for your journey back to Hon Rin. You may wish to remain in Oslidor, however. It is a growing city, and there are many opportunities for both of you here.”

He stood up then and made a show of dusting off his top hat, which he had placed on the table at the start of the interview. “Sarah, we will speak of the terms of the employment when we are in transit. Follow me,” he said, sweeping his long, black cloak up behind him.

Cupela gathered materials as quickly as she could, and exited the room with Sarah, leaving the two young men alone at the table, dumbfounded.

She sat beside Sarah as the carriage rolled along the rough streets on its way out of the city. The woman beside her had not asked any questions, though Cupela did not know if it was due to fear or respect. She wished to put Sarah’s mind at ease, but knew in what was to come, it would be Enfildio who would need to do the speaking. The herbalist scribbled on a piece of paper and held it out for Sarah, who took it and read it without a word.

“That is the salary I offer, per year of employment.”

The young woman was shaking, and this time, Cupela knew why. She had never seen such a vast sum before. Even for a graduate of the world’s most prestigious institute of learning, to be offered such a tremendous quantity of coin, without having ever toiled a day outside of a closed environment, was startling. There would be a price to pay, however, and it was perhaps more overwhelming than the salary.

“I have no experience with herbalism,” Sarah whispered.

“I am aware,” Enfildio said. “I can teach you all that you need to know. What I require is a flexible mind of great ability. There are other requirements as well, but those will have to wait until we reach my workshop. Until then, I want you to think on what you need to live a comfortable life.”

She cannot know how literally he means that.

The carriage left them just south of the city. Beyond the city walls, there was nothing in sight except for cacti, rocks, sand, and a series of hills stretching out like knuckles upon the horizon. They walked in silence, each one carrying a pack. Although she was wearing the loose-fitting, white tunic which was common in the region, the heat made Cupela wipe sweat out of her eyes every fifty paces. Sarah began to lag behind, her clothing ill-suited for the climate. Ahead of them, Enfildio strode onward in his black cloak, in defiance of the elements.

After they had been traveling on foot for a third of a bell, they came within a few paces of one of the nondescript hills, roughly the size of a two-story building. At this distance, a fissure in the rock of the hill could be seen. The cut looked natural enough, and to one passing by, it would not attract undue attention. Enfildio halted to study the hill, and then the surrounding area, before placing his pack on the ground, and turned to face the two women.

“Understand that this conversation could only be held away from prying ears. Sarah, the salary which we agreed upon earlier is not accurate. You will be receiving three times that amount, annually. Why would I hide that from you? Because what I require from you is extreme. And, as you will soon see, on a scale that has never been attempted before.”

Cupela had known this speech would come. It had to, or else Sarah would not be allowed to enter the laboratory. “Sarah,” he said looking down upon her, “you do have one last chance to take another path. I can promise that you will not be physically harmed, or touched in any way during your employment. However, I will tell you, the demands placed on my employees are monumental. Most people would not accept working under these specifications. I know that, and I am content with it as well. I cannot tell you everything you need to know until you consent to work for me, no matter what I demand. What say you?”

He is not as aloof as he appears. Mentioning that she will not be touched is proof of that. He has empathy, he just chooses to be direct and efficient regardless of the circumstances.

“I consent,” Sarah said, looking up at Enfildio.

“I expected as much. You are more like me than perhaps you are aware. The contract is as such: you will receive three times the amount that I told you earlier, for each year of service that you provide. The years of service are solely dependent on the success of this endeavor, and my approval of your work. The first stipulation is that you are unable to leave the laboratory, for any reason, without my consent. Additionally, when you do leave my employment, you will not speak a word of what occurred during the time you worked for me.

It is likely that you will not exit the laboratory until the project is complete. Other than Cupela, who is my personal assistant, none of your compatriots have left the laboratory since they entered. For some, that has been more than two years.”

If Sarah was astonished by Enfildio’s words, she showed no sign of it. She had nodded twice, but otherwise had not moved.

“Know that there are spacious living quarters. You will have a private room in which you have a bed. There are shared spaces for cooking and eating, but the majority of the space is the actual laboratory where you will be working, seven days a week, sixteen bells a day, unless I say otherwise.

That is what I meant by ‘extreme.’ This level of secrecy is necessary due to the goal we are pursuing.” Enfildio paused and scanned the horizon. He slowly made a circle where he stood, peering off in every direction. Upon completion of this safeguard, he resumed speaking.

“The purpose of this laboratory is simple. We are working to develop a tonic that grants immortality.”

The words hung in the air, filling the space between the three herbalists. Cupela was relieved to have the secret revealed to Sarah. It meant she could speak to the woman more openly, without fear of hinting at something that would lead her toward information that Enfildio wanted to remain within a closed circle of people.

She remembered when the idea was first presented to her. She had already been working for Enfildio for a number of years, and had worked with him to develop herbalism tonics that enhanced human capabilities such as hearing and smell. Enfildio also had her run mundane errands for him, and when needed, care for his family who he would often forget to attend to. Herbalism was a new field, but during those first few years, it was almost mythical. People had almost no understanding of what it was, and rumors ran wild about the effects of the tonics, and the herbalists who created them. During those early days, and even now, she was enthralled to be working with someone who many considered to be the ultimate master and pioneer in the field.

The discussion of something greater than mere enhancement had been delivered by Enfildio to Cupela away from his other employees. Her first thought was that they would fail miserably. The idea of immortality seemed at best childish, and at worst delusional. But Enfildio sold her on it with his enthusiasm, his insistence on immortality being the pinnacle of human achievement, and his assurance that she was a critical piece of the puzzle.

He then informed her that he would begin seeking out other individuals who, like her, had the intellect, discipline, and dedication that the project would need. That the most ambitious of endeavors would require more than two people, was unsurprising to Cupela. She knew the amount of time that it would take to find ingredients, check variables, analyze results, and make adjustments was astronomically high. Enfildio scoured the world until he had not just one, but five capable assistants. Together, they had made remarkable progress.

“Word of this cannot reach the outside world,” Enfildio said. “If another herbalist learned what we were working on, he or she would stop at nothing to obtain our research. I mean that literally. An herbalist who believed we were closing in on immortality would not hesitate to eliminate us to acquire what we know.

After we have achieved our goal, our silence will continue. The ramifications of our success would have impacts that we cannot foresee. And on a more mundane level, we would be sought out. Hunted, in reality. I will not allow that to happen.”

Sarah’s gaze had remained steadily on the master herbalist over the course of his speech. She had stared at him, nodding and taking in his words as he explained his thinking. It was clear to Cupela that the young woman fully understood that Enfildio was not exaggerating. Their task was the most ambitious undertaking in human history.

Enfildio moved aside and gestured to the hill. “With that out of the way, welcome to your new home.”

Cupela assisted him in moving the rock. They put their hands in the fissure, then pushed to the left. The rock jerked slowly until a dark opening, roughly as large as a carriage door was revealed. Cupela stepped into the space and reached up onto the rock wall. She pulled out a torch which Enfildio lit with a flint kit that had been hidden in a recess of the wall.

The light revealed a staircase that headed underground. Once they were all behind the false door, Cupela closed it behind them and Enfilido led them down the steps. The smell of the laboratory struck Cupela harshly. A sensation of stress overtook her, the feelings overtaking her to the point where she needed to stop and place both of her hands on the handrail for a moment before continuing on. She did not believe Sarah noticed it, as Cupela was bringing up the rear. That was best, for her reaction was evidence of the monumental struggle the young woman had just entered.

The walls were solid, gray rock until they reached the ground floor. On level ground of paved stone, the walls had been fortified with wood which had been painted white to give the effect of additional light. The entirety of the laboratory and the living quarters was filled with lanterns which burned at all times of the day. The expense of the oil alone was staggering. The monetary totality of the project they were working on was more than most villages saw over the course of a century.

Doors separated the various rooms of the facility, and did an excellent job of keeping sounds from drifting from one quarter to the next. The room they were in was empty, but broke off to the left, right, and straight ahead. Enfildio lit another lantern that had gone out, a sign that either his assistants were preoccupied with their work, or had been careless in his absence.

Or, they have actually killed each other finally. Cupela thought on that. She was not sure she did not wish for it.

They passed through the doorway directly ahead of the staircase. As they walked, Enfildio began speaking again. “I will introduce you to your new family. Assuming they are all awake. I already have my suspicions regarding their work ethic while free from supervision.”

They entered the main room of the laboratory. More than double in area to most houses in the city, it also had two smaller rooms that were accessible through doors. The laboratory was well lit, with more than thirty lanterns on the walls and hanging from the ceilings. Mirrors also worked to reflect light. Although they were underground, it was as bright as noon on a sunny day. The light was quite different than sunlight however. Cupela knew it took some time to adjust to the surroundings and for one’s body to make sense of the situation it found itself in.

The floor of the room was perhaps the least cluttered area. On the tables, glass beakers were laying on their sides, some with liquid that had pooled out onto the tabletops. Papers and quill pens were scattered across every surface, some in large stacks that leaned precariously against walls or containers. The acrid stench of the room nearly made Cupela’s eyes water. The precise organization she recalled when she had pictured the room in her mind’s eye was a mocking contrast to what she now saw.

Worse, the room was void of humanity with the exception of the three individuals who had just entered, and a lone man hunched over on a stool, asleep with his face on a pile of papers.

Enfildio silently walked over to the man. He reached into his trousers’ pocket and withdrew a leather shaving strap. After a brief examination of the item, he stretched it to its limits. Then he lifted it above his head and swung it against the back of the seated man’s neck.

“Ahh!” the man screamed, reaching back to cover his neck. “Who in the Depthless Sea did that?”

He looked up and met Enfildio’s eyes.

“Enfildio!” the word was said as though it were a prayer yelled during a temple service. “You have returned.” The man looked about the room, then stood up. “Thank goodness for that.”

Cupela’s eyes narrowed. Hrent. The man was the most disingenuous person she had ever met. He would attempt to squirm his way out of this. Later, he would tell the story of this encounter in a way that would present himself in a much different light.

“Where are the others?” Enfildio asked.

“In their rooms,” Hrent answered.

“This is what you have been doing since I left?”

“No. No, of course not. We had a momentary set back. Ask the others. They will… enlighten you.”

Enfildio ran his hand down from his mouth to his chin. “Gather them,” he growled.

“This is not typical,” Cupela said, looking over at her new companion. “That was Hrent. He is not always easy to get along with, but he does work diligently. He said something happened, and I believe him. You have to understand, when brilliant, ambitious people have spent years together in isolation, it can wear on them and create tension. Enfildio keeps us all in line, but with him gone… well, we will see, but I do not expect it will be good news.”

Sarah’s eyes had widened. Cupela quickly added, “I promise you, this is an aberration. I have never seen the laboratory like this before.”

Cupela wanted to reach out and touch Sarah to help put her at ease, but she knew that gesture would have the opposite effect. Accordingly, she began tidying up while she waited for the others to return.

The procession began arriving through the door. First Ubul. Cupela considered him to be her closest thing to a friend she had among colleagues. In reality, in her whole life, seeing as though she did not have many opportunities to meet or interact with other people. Ubul was taller than the Hrent, who was well below average height, but not as tall as Enfildio, who was a few inches over six feet in stature. Both Ubul and Hrent were in their late thirties, but Ubul appeared older. His eyes were sunken in his face, but he smiled when he saw Cupela.

After Ubul, a woman who seemed to create a physical pull on the attention of the others walked through the doorway. Beautiful to the point of being unjust, Jezmavalin was a force to be reckoned with. Her slim frame was accentuated by luscious curves. Her long dark hair maintained its luster despite the conditions of the laboratory. When she sauntered past Sarah, the discrepancy in their appearance struck Cupela as viciously cruel. The recent graduate, whose gaze had been seemingly frozen to the floor, looked up at her new colleague. Cupela saw Sarah’s jaw drop ever so slightly before she quickly shifted her view back to the cold, grey stone of the laboratory.

“Enfildio,” the gorgeous woman said. “Finally you have returned. We have had need of you.”

The elderly man fought back a smile which he turned into a grimace. “I look forward to hearing about your progress.”

The next person through the door was Hrent. His arms were crossed, his expression perturbed. “She says she will be with us momentarily.”

He was, Cupela knew, speaking of Piroska. Cupela had worked in close proximity with that woman for more than two years, but she had never had a true conversation with her. Piroska spoke mostly by making demands of others, and then speaking the rest of the time to herself. Cupela had never felt even remotely comfortable around her, but she could not deny her brilliance. Enfildio had chosen his assistants based on their intellect, and in that respect, he had chosen well. Cupela was constantly struggling to stay with their thinking and not fall behind in their rapid analyzation of data and the repercussions of what they had discovered. This was, she believed, the greatest collection of minds in the world. The issues came from, well everything else about the people Enfildio had collected.

Ubul approached Cupela and put his arm on her shoulder. “It is good that you are back. Enfildio as well, sadly. The last two days have been rough. We have not made much progress. Hrent and Piroska have been at each other’s throats, and Jezmavalin has done nothing but lounge in her room. It has been trying, to say the least.”

At least a sixth of a bell passed before Piroska entered the room. That time had been spent in near total silence. Cupela had continued to clean. Ubul and Sarah had pitched in, but they had not spoken. Jazmavalin strode closer to Enfildio and had whispered in his ear. Hrent had stood motionless, arms crossed.

Piroska was a mess, as usual. Her hair shot out in multiple directions, and she was barefoot. Upon crossing the threshold of the doorway, she looked over at Hrent, then to Enfildio. “Enfildio,” she said. “You should cut your losses and kill Hrent. Our progress would double without him.”

Enfildio straightened and moved to the center of the room. “Quiet, Piroska. I will give the orders around here.

Hrent had opened his mouth before Enfildio spoke, but wisely chose to keep his comment to himself.

The master herbalist surveyed the group before him. “I do not care at all about your petty feuds. I do not care who was to blame or whose feelings were damaged. This ends now, and it will not continue. The condition of this laboratory is a disgrace. It will be back to the way it was by this time tomorrow. Also at that time, I will have a full, written report of your progress since I left.

“Your new colleague is from The Scholar’s Guild in Hon Rin. Her name is Sarah. While the laboratory is being repaired, and the report is being constructed, I will introduce her to our equipment and supplies. Do not speak to me until both of your tasks are done. Cupela,” Enfildio said, shifting toward her.

“Yes, Enfildio?”

“You will acquire a book for me, and then you will assist your companions.”

Cupela assented with a quick nod.

“The rest of you, to work, immediately. You have lost time to recover, and you will recover it quickly. Sarah, come with me.”

The new assistant followed Enfildio to a door on the right of the room. Cupela looked over the remaining people in the room. She could tell their minds were racing. Hrent’s eyes were narrowed on Piroska, who returned the look with a crazed glee in her eyes. Ubul snorted, then went over to a cabinet where various tonics were kept. He pulled out a vial of dark orange liquid, a vigor tonic. He downed the liquid in one gulp before tossing the glass vial into a basket of similarly discarded objects. “Back to business.”

Jezmavalin pushed herself up from the wall she had been leaning against. “That could have been worse,” she said, yawning.

Home at last.

Erden

Year 1348 (Thirty Years Prior to Present Day)

He had expected to be dismissed from his position. What he had not anticipated was the lengthy interrogation that proceeded his removal from the library staff.

The Lady had asked him so many questions that he could not remember even half of them. They had all been accusatory in tone, most focused on who Cupela was, and why she needed to access the basement. What startled him most however, were the multitude of questions Udesip had asked him about his own life. With whom did he associate? Was he being paid to collect information? Had he stolen documents from the library? Was he a spy?

When she gave him leave to speak, he told her exactly what happened. Cupela had not explained her actions to him, and he was ignorant as to her reasons for acting with such urgency. Voice cracking, hands wiping sweat from his forehead, he knew he appeared more culpable than he truly was. As for whether he was believed, he could only guess. The Lady gave him nothing, her face hidden from his appraisal.

As the interrogation continued, he became increasingly fearful that he would be passed along to a greater authority, perhaps for criminal charges. Instead, The Lady ordered him to never speak of the incident. He was told to leave the library, and never to return. And though she did not threaten him, he knew that he would not dare defy her again.

When he arrived home early from work, he found his mother on the patio behind their rowhouse, hanging clothes to dry. Having been forbidden to mention the circumstances behind his dismissal had proven to be a blessing in disguise, as he was able to invent a story about quitting his position without feeling guilty for lying to his mother. When she questioned what he would do with his life now that he was out of work, Erden said he had a plan, but that he wanted to keep it to himself until it was on steady footing. Of course he had no plan, but the thought of suffering through another interrogation, this time from his parents, gave him no other choice than to weave a somewhat plausible tale.

Over the next few days, he left the house each morning before his parents awoke, passing the day roaming the city streets, racking his mind in an effort to conceive an actual plan. On this day he had paused by the docks of the Quartz District, hoping an ocean view would inspire him.

The breeze quickly wiped the sweat away from his forehead as he passed dock workers unloading shipping vessels and fishermen bringing in the day’s catch. In his right hand, he flipped a small object end over end in mindless habit. Since he had found the glass vial, he had not been separated from it for a moment. It brought him a bit of comfort, though he was not conscious of its effect. Whenever he did catch himself playing with it, he would put it back in a leather pouch for safe keeping. Moments later, it would find itself back into his hand, and the motion would start again.

He reached an isolated section of the dock and sat down, legs dangling over the water. Looking out onto the horizon, what came to mind was not a possible employment opportunity, but tales he had read of explorers who sailed into uncharted territory. Though he had never been more than a mile from the shore, he could summon the images of sailors working the decks, a lookout spying land in the distance, his call sending the others rushing to the sides of the ship to see if they could catch a glimpse of a new world. It was a scene full of excitement and possibilities.

As his one journey out to sea had seen him getting sick and having to ask the captain of the tiny boat to turn back around before the docks were even out of sight, he did not think a naval life was for him. It did however instill upon him a desire for adventure. Instead of reading of heroes and great deeds, I should be living the role.

Of all the stories he knew inside and out, the tales of soldiers were his favorites. Incredible swordsmen who never shied away from danger, their lives took them to exotic foreign lands where they encountered wonders of which the commoners could never dream. Each day brought the potential for something new, whether it be a challenge to overcome, or a prize to be won. And never did those heroes cower in the face of danger. Meanwhile I flinch at the mere thought of Udesip. Well, no longer.

It was decided. He would become a soldier.

Less than a bell later, Erden walked through the Royal District, his hands clenched in fists, until he arrived at the barracks of the Royal Protectors. The two men on duty at the entrance gave no sign of acknowledgement as he approached and then halted but a few feet away.

“I am looking for the recruitment office,” he said with more bass in his voice than usual.

“I’m looking for the end of my shift,” one of the guards replied.

“Yes… well, could you please point me in the right direction?”

The man lazily lifted one arm and pointed behind Erden, who looked back, then at the two men again. “Do you have the address?”

“No.”

“How does a man typically go about doing this?”

“Use that line with the ladies, do you?”

Blushing and stammering, Erden felt the intense urge to flee. But he did not want to waste the burst of adrenaline he felt, and so he pushed further. “May I speak with a ranking officer, please?”

“Sure,” the second man said. “Oi, Sergeant,” he howled back through the door of the barracks. “Come out here.” He smiled as an enormous man wearing naught but a pair of brown pants opened the door and looked out.

“Demon’s balls,” the man said. “What do you want?”

“Boy here wants to join the ranks.”

“Great. Send him to the recruitment office in the Topaz District. Maybe they’ll turn him into someone who can do a damn thing on his own without calling me.” With that, he slammed the door.

The two guards looked at each other and laughed.

“Thank you,” Erden said.

“Our pleasure,” the first man replied. “Hurry up, and might be they’ll make you a sergeant.”

Erden made to move when he noticed the two men’s backs straighten and their eyes go wide. He looked back to see three soldiers approach. Sticking out from each of their backs, just to the right of their faces, were sword pommels. Erden’s breath caught in his lungs as the men drew closer. “Lieutenant Kingsley, sir,” both guards said, giving firm salutes in unison.

“As you were,” the middle of the three newcomers said. Erden could see that he was at least twenty years older than the other two, though still an imposing figure, his trimmed beard covering a formidable jawline, his shoulders broad and strong. He and the other two Blades passed Erden without a second thought, until, drawing deep on his diminutive reserve of courage, Erden cleared his throat.

“Lieutenant Kingsley,” he said, drawing the attention of all five of the men. “It is an honor to meet you. I would like to offer my services to The Blades.”

The two guards laughed until Kingsley looked back at them gravely. Then, turning to Erden, he spoke. “It’s rather bold to request entrance into the most elite military company in the world. Though, that may be in your favor. Most men would never dare to suggest such a thing, and daring men may be who we’re looking for.”

A glance passed between the two soldiers on the lieutenant’s sides, but went unnoticed by Erden, his eyes fastened on the man who he had addressed. “There is, of course, a trial for initiation. One that most do not pass.”

“I’m eager for the challenge, sir,” Erden said.

“It’s not a matter of wanting it,” Kingsley continued, a gleam in his eyes. “It’s a matter of skill.”

A mile outside of the city walls, a gust of warm wind blew the sandy soil into Erden’s face where he held his hands up to shield his vision from the glaring sun. He felt as though he had not had a drop of water in years, his throat was so parched from the heat and his nerves. It had been two days since he had spoken with the lieutenant, and Erden was unsure the man would truly show himself. Then, just as the sun hit its apex, three figures made the descent over the final hill, the rustling of their steps the only sound other than the howling of the wind.

Each man carried upon his back a two-handed sword, yet only one of them was wearing any protective gear—a mail jerkin and leather gloves. Erden recognized the lieutenant, while the other two men were strangers. One was a tall, muscular man who began chatting with Kingsley. The other was a much younger man, but also sufficiently physically imposing, at least in comparison to Erden. A few paces away, the men halted. The lieutenant inclined his head slightly toward the man with whom he had been speaking. “Here he is.”

“Greetings,” the man said. “Kinsley tells me you are looking to join our operation.”

Erden kept his face as stern as possible. “I am,” he said.

“Excellent. My name is Sarthak. I am the captain of The Blades. I assume that Kinsley informed you as to our induction process.”

“He did.”

“Wonderful,” Sarthak said with a smile. He lightly elbowed the lieutenant, Kinsley, in the side. “I knew promoting you was a good idea.” He turned back to Erden. “Well then, let’s be on with it. We are in the middle of a war after all.”

The third man shifted into a fighting stance. Sarthak gestured to him. “This is our newest recruit, Roliher. He is young, but a strong swordsman. No doubt you spent countless days working on your swordsmanship before requesting entrance into our ranks.”

“No, sir.”

Sarthak shrugged. “More of a natural talent, then.” He looked back to Roliher. “Whenever you’re ready. As always, the first man who yields or falls to a knee loses.”

Oh, shit.

The young swordsman jolted forward and swung his weapon before Erden could fully lift his sword to block. The blunted blade slapped him hard across the chest. He crumbled to his knees, the wind escaping his lungs. Dropping his sword, he wrapped his arms around his body and rolled onto his side.

Sarthak walked forward and looked down on him. He held his hand out, but Erden was in too much pain to move his arms.

“Hmm…” Sarthak started. “Roliher, your place within the company is secured. You may return to the city. Kingsley, please assist our friend here.”

Roliher marched off without a word. The other two Blades lifted Erden up to a standing position. Sarthak righted him to halt his wobbling. “Your ambition caught my attention, I have to admit. And when Kingsley told me you took the bait and truly believed the story he invented, well, I was even more curious. So, I asked around about you. It turns out you worked at the library shelving books.”

Erden nodded.

“Then what made you think you could become a Blade?”

Erden grimaced and bit down on his lip. He swallowed, the action causing a not insignificant amount of pain. “I wish to become more than I am, to convert myself into a man of strength and honor. I want to belong to a brotherhood, and to see the world I know so little of.”

“A noble intention. You have never fought with a sword before, have you?”

“When I was a boy. Though it was made of wood.”

“I appreciate your honesty,” Sarthak said, holding back a smile. “You are not a typical recruit, as I am sure you have recently ascertained. However, that is to your advantage, and ours. Erden, we have plenty of soldiers. We are likely, man to man, the strongest fighting force on this continent. We do not need you to fight for us.”

Oh. I should have put more thought into this.

“However,” Sarthak continued. “We could, nevertheless, make use of you. Our company’s quartermaster has wished to retire for many years, but I have needed him to stay on. However, now that we are back in the capital, where his family resides, I feel it would crush him to have to leave them again. If you work with books, the position of quartermaster, one of letters and numbers, should suit you well, yes?”

Erden beamed. “It would suit me quite well.”

Sarthak let his full smile out from its hiding and stuck out his hand. “Your boldness and honesty have won me over. Welcome aboard.”

Erden shook the captain’s hand, then Kingsley’s.
“And by the way,” Sarthak said. “Dueling a new recruit is not our induction policy. Kingsley simply wanted to have a laugh at your expense.”

Not the heroic start I hoped for.

He put a muscular arm around Erden, perhaps unintentionally driving home the point that the young man was out of his element. The captain’s voice seemed genuine however, and his presence was working to put Erden somewhat at ease. “Kingsley is always good for a distraction, but we have duties to attend to. You included, Erden.”

At the barracks, Sarthak led Erden into a room packed with at least two dozen wooded crates filled with miscellaneous pieces of armor and variously sized swords. The captain lit two lanterns that hung from poles and crossed his arms, surveying the mess.

The items that Erden could see were filthy. Mud and other substances were stained on nearly everything. Even to his untrained eyes, it was clear many of the objects were broken. Blades were badly nicked, hinges were bent.

“The most immediate need we have is to sort through the equipment we have taken during this campaign,” Sarthak said. “I’m afraid it will be tedious, but what it lacks in glamour it more than makes up for in dullness,” he laughed. “Don’t worry. Most of your duties will consist of paper work, but now and again there will be some heavy lifting. When you are done with this, find me and I will introduce you to our blacksmiths. They will appreciate not having to deal with me so directly, so you should not have any issues getting quickly acquainted. Paper and ink are on the table. There’s food in the room on your left. Do you have any questions?”

“Sort the equipment so that helmets are in one group, vambraces in another? That sort of categorization?”

“Precisely. Use your own judgement if there are any ambiguities. I have other tasks to attend to, but I won’t be difficult to find,” Sarthak said, turning to leave. He stopped and looked back at Erden. “Oh, and your salary will be equal to that of the regular infantrymen. You will of course be in charge of payments, so no worries regarding obtaining the money. I apologize for leaving you with this as your introduction to the company, but I have some business to attend to with the 10th battalion. It unfortunately requires my undivided attention. Farewell.”

“Farewell.”

Not wishing to reflect on the decisions that led him to a room full of junk, Erden got to work.

He had no way to mark the passage of time, but the sky was pitch black by the time he was done. He took only one short break to eat and use the latrine, and had worked with his usual focused dedication. In truth, it felt good to be working, as though it made his position in the company more real, and his goals that much closer. The task had been simple enough and as long as he was not in charge of cleaning the materials, he considered it a positive experience. It would be useful to become more familiar with martial equipment after all.

The barracks were empty with the exception of a few guards. Believing he would not get a straight answer from them, and not wanting to look lost on his first assignment, Erden did not ask where all the other soldiers had gone. When he stepped outside, he began to hear noises. Cheering. He headed towards the sound.

The noise led him around the back of the building and onto a cleared area which he took to be a training ground. At least two hundred soldiers formed a massive circle in the center of the open space. Along the fringe of the group, he saw the standard featuring the crossed swords of crimson on the indigo background which represented The Blades raised high in the air, and on the opposite side, another flag of indigo with a mailed fist of crimson, a sigil with which he was unfamiliar.

Erden pressed into the crowd and sidled through. Cheers continued on all sides, sometimes followed by laughs or preceded by gasps. In between the cheering were calls for wagers, words of encouragement, and some rather inventive cursing as well. Closer to the center of the circle, Erden could hear the clang of steel. He stood on the tips of his toes to peer over the final few rows of soldiers. The crowd stood back from a clearing roughly thirty yards in diameter. In that cleared space were eight armed men. Seven of them wore plate armor. Of those, five held short swords and shields. The other two were equipped with two-handed axes. Across from that group stood another soldier. He held a two-handed sword and wore cloth shirt and leather trousers.

The group of seven men were all breathing heavily. They spoke amongst themselves, but Erden could not make out the words. Suddenly, they spread out to encircle the lone soldier on the other side of the clearing. The man watched them with an almost apathetic lack of regard. When they had fully surrounded him, they rushed forward.

What Erden witnessed next took his breath away. Not so for the majority of the other spectators who were hollering and jumping up and down. The man in the middle slid under and between two of the attackers. He popped up behind them and swung his sword against their helmets, knocking them out cold. Two more men charged him. He parried their attacks effortlessly. He then dodged a blow from a shield and kicked that man to the ground. He grabbed hold of the sword arm of the other attacker and twisted it. The man screamed loudly enough to be heard over the crowd, and went to his knees, gripping his arm.

The man who had been kicked to the ground recovered and joined the other three attackers. They slowly approached the lone swordsman. This time, he surprised them by jolting forward. He chopped at one of the axe wielders on the outside, then spun around him. From behind, he hit the man in the head with the pommel of his sword. That man staggered into one of his companions. The swordsman swung hard against the second man’s left arm, which bent horribly backwards.

The crowd, which had sounded mostly in favor of the lone swordsman had shifted completely to his side. They cheered uproariously with his every move. He dashed to the remaining two men. With swings to quick that Erden could not track them, he disarmed both men of their weapons. With an upthrust, he knocked the shield out of one of the men’s hands. Weaponless, the two men went to their knees and begged for mercy. The swordsman obliged.

The noise from the crowd had begun to hurt Erden’s ears. A few men ran into the circle and lifted the swordsmen onto their shoulders. They paraded him around while the rest of the crowd cheered. The swordsman had a slight smile on his face, but appeared to be mostly indifferent to the hoopla.

As the spectators dispersed in various directions, Erden was able to find Kingsley. He took a long drink from a clay jug and laughed to himself. “What was all that?” Erden asked.

“That was Abraham.”

“The one man against the seven?”

“Yes. A minor workout for our champion,” Kingsley said before taking another drink.

“Who was he fighting? And why?”

Kingsley looked at Erden and gave him a wild grin. “The commanders of the 10th had some impolite words for our captain. Abraham didn’t care for their words or their tone. They set some of their guards on him. You would think they would have learned by now, seeing as how he’s saved their asses so many times, but officers aren’t always the smartest people. After he took down their guards, a few of their best soldiers challenged him to a fight. That was them you saw getting embarrassed in front of all these people.”

“I’ve heard of him. I heard he defeated a dozen men at once. I didn’t know if it was fact or fiction.”

Kingsley wiped his mouth. “You do now.”

“I do.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Do you know where the captain is?”

“No, but I can guess he’s trying to smooth things over with the 10th. They may be idiots, but we do have to work with them. Follow me. I should be checking on him anyway, being as how I’m an officer and all.”

They stopped in front a building which was identical to the barracks in which The Blades were housed. Four guards blocked the entrance and did not seem inclined to let them pass.

“Lieutenant Kingsley of The Blades,” Kingsley told them.

“No one is allowed in. Orders from the marshal,” one of the guards replied gruffly.

“Then send a message to Captain Sarthak. Tell him I’m waiting outside.”

“In a few minutes,” the guard said. “Right now we’re busy.”

“Busy being assholes,” Kingsley said loudly enough for whoever was inside of the tent to hear.

The guards all put their hands on their weapons. In response, Kingsley crossed his arms and snorted. Before tensions could grow further, the flap of the tent was pushed open to reveal Sarthak. “Get in here before you get yourself killed,” he said to Kingsley before closing the flap again.

“See,” Kingsley said. “I’m an invited guest.”

The lead guard sighed. “Place your weapons on the ground. All of them.”

Kingsley unstrapped his sword belt and let it fall onto the grass. He then pulled out a staggering number of knives from hidden compartments under his shirt, inside his trousers, and even in his boots. “If you take even one, I’ll sick Abraham on you,” he said with a feral grin.

They found their way to the Marshal’s war room. The officers of the 10th were seated behind glasses of wine at an enormous wooden table. Sarthak stood on the right of the table. Next to him was the lone swordsman who Erden had seen before. Abraham.

“I apologize for my tardiness,” Kingsley said, saluting the seated men.

“I do not recall inviting you to this gathering,” the man seated in the middle of the table said. He looked over at Sarthak. “Who are these men?”

“That is my lieutenant, Kingsley and our quartermaster, Erden.”

“And what are they doing here?”

“I asked them to retrieve me if I was taking too much of your time. I have a bad habit of dragging things out. Thank you for following orders,” he said looking to Erden and Kingsley. “Quartermaster, this is Marshal Jouse, the commanding officer of our campaign against the rebels.”

Marshal Jouse’s gaze swung to Abraham. “I did not believe I would have to inform anyone of who was in charge, or how they are to treat their superiors.”

Abraham did not speak or show any reaction to the comment. His eyes had been on the marshal since the man began speaking.

The marshal waved a servant over to refill his glass. “This will not happen again. Your point was made, whatever it was. If there is another incident of gross disrespect, there will be serious problems. Is that clear?”

“It is,” Sarthak said.

“No,” Marshal Jouse snapped. “I want to hear from Abraham.”

All eyes shifted to the swordsman, who, Erden realized, was still wearing his two-handed sword on his back.

“Understood, Marshal,” Abraham said.

Back outside of 10th barracks, Kingsley collected his weapons and the four Blades headed toward their camp.

“He is correct that a military operation can only have one leader. We will continue to follow his orders and show him respect, as it is our duty. He knows he cannot win without us, and that no other company is capable of replacing us in the field. If he did not believe so, he would have doled out a punishment, or at the very least given a true ultimatum. When the war is over, that is a different matter entirely. Once this partnership has ended… well, we will see.”

The Blades continued their walk, Erden mulling over the captain’s last words, and wondering why they made him so uneasy.

The Old Man

Blankets thrown off the bed in a fluid motion. A sword slicing through neck and vertebrae. Screams. More slicing. More blood. More dying. It was over in less than forty heartbeats. Three bodies laid on the floor. Blood covered the old man’s sword. Now there were only the sounds of his breathing.

The attackers in the bedroom had failed, but he suspected they had not come alone. He slowed his breathing until it was no longer audible. He did not hear a sound. That could mean any number of things, but one was certain- something had happened to Harold. There was no way the man could have slept through the carnage that just occurred.

The old man stepped silently into the main room of the house. There were two windows on the far side of the room, but curtains had been drawn over them, making it too dark to see more than a hand’s length in front of him. He had stayed in this residence for three nights now, and therefore had a mental map of the layout. Moving to where he knew Harold’s room was, he pushed the door open. A single window provided enough light for the old man to see. No one was inside. Blankets lay on the floor. Harold’s boots were there, but so were wet footprints. They led into the room, formed a puddle by the bed, and then led back out.

He considered the windows in the main room, but caution bred from experience told him not to step into their view. The old man had never feared sword fights, but he had different feelings as to projectiles. It was going to be a long, cold night. He sighed and returned to his room to get dressed.

Properly protected from the deathly cold, he ventured outside. In the moonlight, he saw two men standing behind a crumpled form lying in the snow. Both of the standing men were armed. One with a two-handed sword, and the other with a spear, the tip of which looked dark with liquid.

The man with the two-handed sword spoke. “I was told you were a great swordsman. I was also told you were quite old. I weighed these two seemingly contradictory pieces of information in my mind, and chose to have more than one plan. Now that I see you, I am surprised that it appears as though both of the statements I was given were accurate.”

The old man said nothing.

The man who had spoken, an Imperial Defender, the old man inferred, pointed with his weapon to the form on the ground. “Harold here views himself as this village’s representative and protector. The other villagers act as though he is both of those. I think you would agree with me that his current situation suggests the latter of those titles is not fitting.”

Again, the old man remained silent. He did nothing other than blink.

“You killed three men, all of whom had once made their living as assassins. Harold assured us that you were asleep. This suggests the description of your martial prowess was not exaggerated. I am curious to see it myself. I will, but not tonight. Tonight, I will be taking Harold with me. He will get another chance to witness your skill as well, when we return.”

The man had been speaking with a voice louder than necessary given the distance between him and the old man. It now became clear why, as villagers appeared outside their houses. Their eyes were all on the scene in front of them.

“When we return, we will come in force. Crimes against Imperial Defenders must go answered, and the vengeance will be tenfold. You have made bad choices, old man. Your selfishness has doomed these people to a lifetime of hardship.” He then turned in a full circle, spreading his arms out as he spoke. “Do not attempt to flee. If you do, you will be pursued and killed. There will be no more freedom in your future. You may thank this old man for your sentence.”

He then grabbed Harold by the collar of his shirt. The man was alive, but unconscious. His face had been badly battered, and blood stained his shirt where the fabric was cut. The Imperial Defender looked at the old man. “One step my way and he dies.”

The old man considered that. Across the street, in the doorway of a small house which he knew doubled as a workshop, a woman watched him. And in her eyes, the message was clear: “Do not let Harold die.”

The old man looked back at the Imperial Defenders, nodded, and sheathed his sword. The man with the spear dragged Harold by his arms and set him down harshly on a sled which was attached to a short, stocky horse with thick brown fur. Then he pulled two blankets out of a pack and tossed them onto the unconscious man. All the while, the other Imperial Defender had been walking parallel to Harold, eyes on the old man. When they were more than fifty yards away, the two men swung up onto the saddles of two more of the sturdy horses, and rode out of sight, the sled pulled along in their wake.

The old man stood motionless as Makani approached him. On all sides, villagers murmured and squirmed, pulling their coats or blankets tighter to themselves to fight the gelid wind that defined the nights this far north. Makani looked older than she had before. Beautiful though. More so now that she seemed so vulnerable. The implication of that thought did not sit well with the old man. Nor did the thought that he was being swayed into changing his plans out of feelings and circumstances he had no control over.

Now what choice do I have? None, if I want to be able to sleep at night. This is an untenable position. I have time, do I not? The doctors all said she had years. Yet I will feel guilt. I know the truth of this, and it is that I will not be able to rest no matter what I choose. He wondered then, not for the first time, whether the world would have been better without him. He concluded in the affirmative. But that is not one of my options. So, time for yet another battle. To deliver more death. The only thing I have ever been good at. So be it. If I bring suffering whether I act or not, I shall act. It is what I do.

“What will you do?” Makani asked.

“Will my boots be complete by the end of this day?”

Her entire body appeared to droop as she looked down. “They will.”

“Good,” he said. “I will need them. We have work to do to be prepared for their return.”

Makani looked up, tears in her eyes. “You will help us?”

He wanted to reach out and embrace her. Instead, the old man simply shrugged. “I will fight. It is what I do.”

The intimacy of the exchange had narrowed his world so that he did not notice the approach of another villager. The young man who had first spotted his arrival. The muscular youth halted a good distance from the two older individuals.

“I do not blame you,” he said. “You only did what the rest of us have been afraid of doing.”

The old man and Makani looked at the youth. Neither spoke.

“My name is Jaroslav,” the young man said unprompted. “I have a strong sword. It was my father’s. I would use it as you use yours. To defend the village.”

The old man did his best to maintain a body posture that would not reveal his sadness. “In the morning then,” was all he said.

The old man then went back to the room he had been given free of rent. He was sure the complexity and tragedy of the situation he was in would have prevented him from sleeping. But the certainty of having made a decision won out, and he slept through the rest of the night.

The sun was only beginning its ascent, ochre light casting its warmth onto the snow, when the old man had looked out the window to see Jaroslav swinging his father’s sword, a look of grim determination on his face. The old man had sighed and gone to the door, slowly opening it before revealing himself so as to give the youth time to strike the pose he knew he would want to give as his first impression.

Jaroslav did not disappoint. He managed to sheath the sword onto his back and have his arms crossed when the old man finally appeared in the doorway. “I am ready for my training,” he said, putting more bass into his voice than had been there before.

The old man kept a neutral expression on his face. “First we need to gather everyone in the village. There are many decisions to be made and I am not the one to make them.”

“They’ll listen to you and take orders. Everyone is scared. They’re looking for a leader.”

“They’re going to be disappointed. I’m a fighter and I can train others to fight. I know how to build defensible positions and traps. But I am not a leader.”

Jaroslav looked puzzled. Obviously the idea of someone not desiring power and control had never entered his head. The old man could understand that. The lad lived in a world where the strong did as they wanted. The most powerful man Jaroslav could imagine was likely the self-proclaimed emperor of North Saltion, and he would have been the richest man as well. Who would not desire that? It was not the first time in the old man’s life that someone had given him a confused look due to his denial of command. On this hill, I stand strong. And here I will have my way, as they have no alternatives.

An hour later, the entire village was gathered in the tavern. It was the largest building, and it had the added benefit of being filled with a certain substance that gave those who did not want to speak something to do.

The old man had sat waiting as all of the adults, and children as well, filed in. Each person who entered looked at him. A few gave him angry looks, but the majority of the expressions that faced him were like the one that Makani had given him that night. Looks of pleading desperation.

When the tavern was full, drinks began to be poured. Men and women drank in near silence, the only voices those of the children who were not old enough to sense the feel of the room. Villagers would steal glances at the old man, but no one approached him. He was curious to see if anyone would take Harold’s place. That no one attempted to spoke volumes. He was also searching the crowd for another reason. And in that endeavor, he made no progress. After an uncomfortable and lengthy period, the old man gave in and stood up.

“Those Imperial Defenders were well-informed. That is a concern. And until it is addressed, and then resolved, we have no other business.”

Now there was chatter. I cannot solve every problem myself. Harold, it is a wonder that you did not look even older.

Not wishing to speak again, the old man sat back down and waited for someone else to take the floor. Eventually, a clanging sound from the bar slowly drew the crowd’s attention. The talking petered out until the only sound came from a hammer hitting a skillet. All eyes were now on Makani.

“Who left the town after Gray arrived?”

No response. Then, a hand was raised. A woman ten paces from the old man. “I went to gather wood.”

Another hand in the back of the room. “As did I.”

More hands. More people who had acquired firewood, fish, or meat.

Then a voice arose in the middle of the crowd. A white bearded villager who looked to have seen a decade more than the old man. He had removed his hood to reveal a hairless pate. He had been seated, but was now standing. “Lots of suspects, it appears,” he said. “If we attempt to find out who tipped off the Imperial Defenders, we will tear this community apart. I see only one course of action. From this day forward, no one can be outside the village for long enough to deliver another message and no one leaves alone. At least until we are rid of the Imperial Defenders.”

The old man had anticipated pushback to that plan, but none came. Perhaps that mystery will still reveal itself, depending on how our preparations go. If the guilty party believes we can win this fight, they may never let the truth of what they have done come to light.

The old man was pleased with the start of this gathering though. Two potential leaders here. With that beginning to take form, the old man could assume his role. He would initiate the defense of the village.

Veabella

The dozen olive trees provided the best coverage they had found after a day of searching. Combined with the scattered hills on the sides, it was a less than ideal location for spotting a quarry without being seen first, but Veabella was confident that they would remain undetected long enough to surprise their target.

She sat on a thick branch in the tallest tree, two man heights above the ground. The dryness of the past year thinned the leaves so that she could easily see for a great distance. Hidden in the grass were Simon’s spring traps. Their spiked edges had been dusted with dirt to prevent any glare. The sun was high in the sky, and they would need the light. The contract said the beast was the size of a pony, and that it moved like a blur. She put the viewing glass up to her eye again and scanned the horizon. Still nothing. Then, a figure on the crest of a hill. A human, albeit a small one. Running. Also, screaming. Twig.

“The rascal’s found it,” Donnes said, somehow commenting from the ground before Veabella had a chance to open her mouth. She can’t even see anything from down there…

“From the southwest,” Veabella said. “And he’s in a hurry.”

The four hunters on the ground moved to position themselves behind trees, disappearing from sight without a word between them. Veabella could no longer see any sign of them, but she could hear the cranking of crossbows being readied, then the placement of bolts. They were now arranged in a semi-circle, with Veabella in a tree that stood in the center. They waited in the relative silence of the grasslands. A silence broken only by Twig’s hollering.

“Oh, shit! Oh shit, oh shit!” he yelled between breaths. He reached the hill and collapsed onto the sharp grass. “They weren’t exaggerating. That thing is quick.”

Meffas poked his head out from behind a tree. “Then how are you still alive?”

Veabella could hear Xopher groan and then Donnes laugh. “You had to ask.”

“It’s eating,” Twig said, regaining his wind. “It took the bait, no problem. The trail will lead right up here.” He rummaged through a small pack at his hip, pulled out a reddish-brown chunk of meat. “I’ll set this right by my dear friend, Donnes.”

“It’ll be the last thing you ever do,” she growled.

The little man considered that, then took the wiser course of action and placed the meat by his feet.

Veabella looked back through the viewing glass. There was nothing on the horizon. She turned about in a full circle, but there remained nothing of note. Below her, Twig had moved to hide behind Donnes. The crew waited, the only sound a slight rustling of leaves in a gentle breeze.

She looked over to see Xopher unstopper a glass vial and drink the light green liquid within. Veabella reached down to the pack at her hip and untied it. She pulled out a glass vial of her own and removed the cork.

I hope I do not need this, but better to be safe.

She recoiled slightly at the taste. Bitter, the flavor an approximation of grass and dirt, she wished she had her canteen with her as well to cleanse her mouth. A few moments later, she felt the effects of the tonic, as a bolt of energy rushed through her body, and time slowed down perceptibly.

“You were dropping bait as you ran up here, yes?” Xopher asked Twig. “Not your stupid playing cards?”

“I would never drop those,” Twig replied. “They’re too valuable.”

Veabella could not see the others, but she had no difficulty imagining their expressions.

“Shut up, both of you,” Meffas growled. “If you have tonics, pop them. Let’s not get cute here.”

Someone made a retching sound, and then there was silence. Veabella could hear her heart beating, and felt as though she could feel every change of direction in the breeze. The new tonics they had purchased had been promised to increase adrenaline as well as focus. It was clear that at least the latter was true.

They waited for an indeterminable amount of time, the sun only slightly shifting its position as Veabella continued scanning the area. Then, from the same direction that Twig had appeared, a new figure was out in the distance. As soon as she saw it, it was closing. Much quicker than Twig.

“I see it!” she said, louder than needed. “It’s three hundred paces away.” Three heartbeats passed. “Two hundred.”

She put the viewing glass in her pants pocket, pulled her bow off her back. She nocked an arrow and trailed the beast. It had slowed down some, as if it sensed that something was amiss. The description of its size had been accurate. It stood on four muscular legs, the paws at the ends of those legs eggshell-colored claws at least three inches long. Its body appeared slick, covered in an eerie mixture of brown and dark green felt-like fur. Two large, golden eyes sat in the reaches of its dark face. But the feature that captivated Veabella’s attention was its jaws. They seemed to encompass three fifths of the creature’s head. The teeth were only slightly smaller than its claws. They were stained red. The beast had halted and was sniffing the air.

It should not be able to smell us. They had taken precautions against detection. Their clothes, and their bodies, had been covered with dirt and grass, and they had chosen a spot where any wind would be deflected by the hills. All the beast should be able to smell was the venison in the traps. Still, its apprehension was clear.

What was never stated in the contracts was the animal’s intelligence. A difficult attribute to define, for sure. Veabella also suspected most people did not consider that different species, and even individuals within a species, could have greatly varying intellect. It would have been nice to be able to anticipate a target’s ability to problem solve and react to different situations. The animal before her struck her as particularly keen. It seems too easy, doesn’t it?

They still had more tricks though. From the cover of one of the olive trees, a faintly perceptible rustling sound flitted to Veabella’s ears. It was followed by another, sharper sound. A kind of scratchy cry. The beast’s head turned. Before Veabella could react, the animal was behind the tree where the sound had emanated.

Damn! She shifted in the tree, dismay and embarrassment flooding over her. But there was not any time for self-pity or reflection. A crashing sound was followed immediately by loud slashing. She saw Xopher rush forward to where the animal and Ictorian were entangled, still out of her view. Xopher had his two-handed sword drawn and held at his side. Ictorian stepped back out of the coverage of the tree. One of the beast’s claws was stuck in his shield. It was another of the crew’s dirty tricks- shields made of wood that was softened by oil. The process made the object giving enough to be punctured, but strong enough to hold onto whatever broke the surface.

Ictorian’s strength was being tested. He sheltered himself behind his shield, as Xopher lunged forward and cut a sweeping arc with his two-handed sword. The blade bit into the animal’s shoulder. It yelped, an awful sound that made Veabella want to cover her ears. But she already felt as though she had botched her role in the engagement, so she instead loosed an arrow. It struck the animal in its rib cage. The other members of the crew emerged into her vision as well. However, their efforts were in vain. The beast dislodged itself from Ictorian’s shield and jumped horizontally, away from its attackers.

It would have stood a better chance in a direct fight. Its back left paw landed in a spring-loaded trap, the mechanism closing with an appalling crunching sound. Then the crossbow bolts hit. Small flames ran up the beast’s hide, accompanied by a slight hissing sound from the poison Twig had been bragging about. The beast made to howl, but when its jaw moved, no sound emerged. Again it attempted to voice its discomfort, but was unable to, its jaw shifting position awkwardly.

Donnes approached from behind and delivered a devastating blow with her two-handed axe, severing the beast’s back right paw. It stumbled and the bulky woman lifted her weapon again and chopped, this time right through the target’s neck. Its head fell to the ground, blood spurting, then decreasing to a drip.

Veabella remained up in the olive tree. As her heart slowed to its normal rate, she was able to take in the scene on the ground. The gruesome spectacle evoked an unexpected sympathy for the dead animal. Do not forget that it killed tens of humans. Still… the fight did not seem fair. It had been a forgone conclusion in their minds that they would kill the beast. Even if Ictorian’s whistle had not attracted it, they had other means of manipulation. Then again, that was the point of her occupation, was it not? To kill a target without being killed herself?

The true significance of what she had just seen played out was the brutal effectiveness of her crew. We could have won the tournament. The thought presented itself for the first time. She had never truly considered it before. Meffas began hunting before I was born. He must know how effective we are. And he still withdrew us. Why? Veabella had picked up bits and pieces of Meffas’s history over the past two years of working for him. She knew he did not like to talk about his past, and that he had suffered great losses in his life. She had a few suspicions, but had never followed up on those. What was particularly curious to her was that she had never been told not to ask. None of her crewmates had stopped her, or even given an overt hint that there was a line of inquiry she could not pursue. Nevertheless, the silence surrounding what had happened to their leader kept her questioning at bay.

Thinking on Meffas’s act of withdrawing the crew from the tournament left her feeling isolated for the first time she could recall. She felt as though she did not know her comrades as well as she had previously believed. It was true she was the newest member of the crew. What she wanted to know most of all now was, did they not trust her in particular, or was trust something that they held onto tightly regardless of the company they kept. The thoughts flooded her mind and overtook her, the truth of that revealed as Meffas stared up at her.

“Are you alright, lass?”

“Yes. Sorry,” she said, shaking her head. The older man nodded and turned back to where the others stood, huddled over the dead body.

Veabella waited for a comment on how she had failed to react in time to the animal’s attack. The comment never came however. And that fact put her mind at ease. Even if there remained secrets that the others were still reluctant to share, they treated her with kindness. I have to be patient. Twig and Donnes looked to her then and smiled. Their infectious grins buried any doubts she had. She climbed down to meet her friends.

Xopher had bent down to touch the corpse when Twig yelped. “Don’t touch it!”

Xopher halted. “For how long?”

“That I don’t know,” Twig admitted. “We’ll have to have Donnes touch it first to be safe.”

“Ha, ha, little man,” Donnes remarked. “Maybe I’ll just pick you up and plop you down on it.”

Meffas sighed. “We have to recover the head or else this was all a waste of time. I assume the poison cannot seep through burlap.” He paused as if expecting an answer.

“Uh, I think that should be fine,” Twig said.

No one moved to discover whether Twig was correct.

“Very well,” Meffas said. “Let me get this over with.” He walked away toward the supplies that were hidden behind a pile of rocks. Twig looked at Xopher. Xopher looked back at him. Then they both raced to beat Meffas to his destination.

It turned out that the poison could not harm someone through the burlap. Twig pulled out a tiny book and rifled through its pages to find that the poisonous dust had to enter the body to deliver its effects. Meffas ordered him to reread the book on their way back to Oslidor, at which time Twig informed him that he could not reread it, as he had never read it before in the first place.

Their journey back to the city was pleasantly uneventful. Veabella enjoyed the company of her crewmates and appreciated having uninterrupted time with them. As they approached the city walls, Veabella was riding next to Ictorian, but conversing with Twig and Donnes who rode ahead of them. Meffas and Xopher brought up the rear with the supplies.

“Yes, it could have,” Twig was saying. “I have no doubt about that.”

“Whether you doubt it or not is not reassuring,” Donnes droned.

Veabella had to raise her voice to be heard over the clopping of the horse shoes on the road leading into the city. “It would be a challenge to hit one with an arrow or a bolt. One point in which everyone agrees is how remarkably fast they were. And if that was the case, then who is to say it could not outrun the cloud of poison the bolt puts out?”

She thought Twig would have to think about that for a minute. He responded quicker than she anticipated. “Then the shot would have to be in its face. I could make that.” He turned around in his saddle. “You could too, Vea. Trust me, my modified bolts would stop a demon. If they’d had them back then, there wouldn’t have been so many deaths.”

Ictorian had been silent for hours. He was typically immune to Twig’s boasting, but he was unable to maintain his indifference this time. “You are assuming the demon ever actually existed.”

Now Donnes had turned around as well. She listened quietly as Ictorian, sensing eyes on himself, relented and continued with his thought. “The demon was said to be in Vinredor and was seen only by the eyes of the Vinredorians. And who is said to have finally slain the demon? Oslian Vinredor. A man who had never so much as raised his own weapon, before, or afterwards.”

Veabella considered that. It was not a new suspicion. However, having been born and raised in Vinredor, she had at least accepted the veracity of the demon’s existence. Too many people who were still alive claimed to have seen it.

“Perhaps the demon did exist, but its description has been exaggerated over time,” she posited.

“Perhaps,” Ictorian allowed. The three younger hunters waited for him to add to that response, but the tall, serious man no longer felt the obligation to speak.

Twig did not feel similarly. “What I always wondered,” he started, “was if there was one of these, nearly four decades ago, why has there never been another one?”

Veabella looked up to Ictorian. If he felt a sense of victory from that comment, he did not show it. She had to admit, Twig’s comment poked more holes into the tale. She thought of Oslian Vinredor slaying the demon which had viciously killed hundreds of people. The image she conjured up felt hollow. Then again, the old man she had seen in parades would have been much younger at the time.

Her train of thought was ended abruptly as a group of riders rode out of the city gate. That was not unusual, but what was strange was the speed at which they were moving, riding in fact at a full gallop. Ahead of her, Twig and Donnes steered their mounts to the side of the road. The riders would reach them in a few dozen heartbeats.

Veabella and the others pulled off to the side of the road as well. As the riders grew closer, Veabella could make out uniforms. City guards. A score of them. I wonder what happened.

The guards slowed when they were but a half a hundred paces away. Then, they fanned out, forming a circle around the hunters.

The guard who remained on the road in front of them spoke. “Meffas Yolhindar. You and your entire crew must remove and put down all weapons in your possession. In the name of His Excellency, the Divine King, Oslian Vinredor, I hereby declare you under arrest for the murder of the companies and attendees of the Fifth Hunting Tournament of Oslidor.”

What? How?

“This is an obvious mistake,” Meffas said. “As you can see, we did not even attend the tournament. We were out on a hunt, as the trophy we carry can easily prove.”

“The charges are murder by poisoning,” the guard said. “You will of course be given a trial. But now you must place your weapons on the ground.”

Veabella looked over to Meffas. His eyes were narrowed. She realized then that neither she, nor any of her companions were in their full armor. Her bow was on her back, and weapons were accessible to each of them, but they had been caught completely by surprise.

Meffas stared ahead at the lead guard. “To me!” he yelled, drawing a hidden throwing knife from his vest and flinging it at the man. It struck him in the shoulder and he recoiled. Next to Meffas, Xopher and Ictorian had drawn their swords. Meffas charged forward on his horse, the others following immediately.

The guards on their other sides were slow to react. A moment later two rushed to their commander as the others withdrew their weapons and began a pursuit.

The horses burdened with their supplies were left behind. Veabella did not know where they were headed. She prayed Meffas did. In her peripheral vision, she saw Xopher knock the sword out of the hand of one guard, and then kick another away. She turned to see the man fall off his horse and two of his companions turn back to assist him. The other pursuers were under fire from Twig’s crossbow. A bolt slammed into a shield, and a flame engulfed the metal. Veabella could just make out the poison cloud. The riders pulled up in front of it, and steered their mounts away, yelping in confusion. Moments later, the crew was a hundred paces away, the guards back in the distance seemingly having given up on the chase.

The city’s guards were going to send us to the dungeons. Thank The Hero we escaped. But where can we go? We’re fugitives, though we are innocent. Aren’t we?

Richard

He was alone in the laboratory. As much as he would have liked to have an audience, there remained a large enough part of him without the full confidence that this would yield the intended results. The human body is identical in all of the most important respects he told himself for the hundredth time since he had made his final decision. Reason had taken him this far, to the precipice of a potentially world-altering advancement. It had worked in other species, that he knew without any doubt. Would it work on humans? Who better to attempt the maiden voyage than its creator?

He sniffed the mouth of the open glass vial. It smelled the same as it had the past twenty times, a combination of vinegar, salt, mint, and clover. The animals never complained.

He had cancelled classes that day in an attempt to force himself to get over the final hurdle. He reasoned that he had a sufficient level of integrity to only cancel classes for the most important circumstances. Therefore, to not rest on his laurels, he needed to complete his experiment today. He had been in the laboratory since just after dawn, and the sun was beginning to go down now.

What finally compelled him to follow through on his plan was another conviction of his. That if he could prove the efficaciousness of his tonic, he could save the university’s herbalism department, and even the entire university, from being gutted and put under the direct supervision of the royal council. The image of the councilor, Yara, was clearly formed in his mind. He tipped the vial back into his mouth.

The liquid was somehow even more acidic than he had feared. It burned his tongue and then his throat. The sensation lingered for a few moments, but its horrid taste disappeared from his mind within less than a minute, as he felt the intended effect of the tonic begin to take hold. In front of him, and on the periphery, his vision became heightened. If he focused, he could see the grains of the wood on the table, or the individual sediments of the limestone walls. To be expected though. The question was, would this effect last?

A tonic that improved the imbiber’s vision had existed for well over three decades. It was in fact one of the first tonics to enter the public consciousness. The novelty of the effect, combined with the numerous practical applications, had made the concoction popular. It fetched a high price on the market, making its inventor a wealthy man. That inventor being Richard’s grandfather.

However, the effect of the tonic, like all other herbalism tonics, was temporary. Even in high doses, the user’s vision could not be heightened for more than half an hour. That still gave one time to see when there was little light, or give a person who could solely make out shapes a chance to see their loved ones again. The tonic was a laudable success. What Richard had done, he believed, was extend that effect indefinitely. And with that, the world would be forever altered.

What he had invented was only the beginning. Proof that an herbalism tonic could have a permanent effect would shatter previous conventional knowledge, and create a second herbalism revolution. Richard’s recipe would be in high demand, and herbalists around the world would be working all hours of the day to improve upon it and adjust it so that it would grant its effect to other herbalism tonics. That would be the beginning. In time, well, the possibilities were staggering.

If it did indeed work on a human. Richard stood, shifting his gaze to see the world that had been hidden around him. The room was still lit well enough that he did not need any visual enhancement to do his work, making the power granted by the tonic almost overwhelming. He felt as though his sense of vision was under assault, the light in the laboratory now bright to the point of stinging his eyes. It showed that there were too many details he had never considered, and which he now realized should have remained that way, their presence distracting. He had ingested vision tonics before, but never under normal lighting conditions. The tonic would be an incredible boon to those with vision problems, and it would allow one to see at night. But here and now, he was beginning to wish the effect would only be temporary, as he was having great difficulty seeing his surroundings in the manner he needed, without distractions.

It had been a typically portioned dose of two ounces. At his weight, the effect would normally begin to wear off soon. He sat down and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked at the clock on the wall, another sign of the advancements of the age he lived in. Herbalism and mechanics, the two forces which were propelling civilization forward. Just a minute more and he would pass the expected duration of a vision tonic. He closed his eyes again, and held them shut longer, as long as he could before curiosity overcame him.

One eye slowly opening, then the other. He could see the individual strokes of paint making up the numbers on the clock. I’ve done it!

He did not sleep that night. In the streets of Oslidor, he sought out unlit alleyways, investigating what only nocturnal creatures could see, witnessing the world which was hidden at night, a world indifferent to the light of day. He walked out past the city walls then, unerringly following horse tracks in the silty soil, his only purpose to test the limits of his enhanced vision. When he reached the banks of the Prime River, he waded out until he was knee deep in the dark water. Fish! Two, three, four… incredible…

That night felt like his first in a new land. When day finally broke, he ran back from the river to his home, carried on the winds of euphoria. At home, another place with heretofore unnoticed intricacies, it took him another few hours until he was able to keep his eyes closed and drift off to sleep, dreaming of what he would tell his colleagues and students.

When first he opened his eyes again, it was late afternoon. The shock of his intensified vision jogged his memory, and he happily got dressed and was out of the house in mere minutes. Rowland must know first. I’ve kept the secret from him for too long, and he knows I have been hiding something. But oh, will he be surprised by this! Then I shall tell Lydee. Likely she will desire to imbibe the tonic as well. That will have to wait some time, but she will understand.

He reached the center of the university campus in no time at all, partially because he had been nearly sprinting, but also for a separate reason. There were no students walking the grounds. The campus was deserted, silent. Pushing open the double doors of Lorgan Hall, the building which housed the herbalism, mathematics, geography, and history departments, he heard the first whispers of a human presence. His pace slowed as his heart rate increased.

His improved vision was forgotten. The mystery of his surroundings overshadowed his awe and enthusiasm. The voice became louder as he walked down the hall and reached the stairway. He stepped up the stairs as lightly as he could, attempting to make out the voice and its message. A female voice. Somewhat familiar, though he could not place it.

He stepped onto the upper floor and began to understand the words he was hearing. “Effective immediately.” That voice. That smug, flat affect. The royal councilor. A sudden torrent of anger and adrenaline rushed through Richard. He increased his pace as he headed toward the voice. Once in the lecture hall, he saw two dozen university staff members standing in a semi-circle around the royal councilor, Yara. Their eyes met across the room. A smirk appeared on the councilor’s face, chilling Richard with its humorlessness. A few staff members turned to watch him as he joined the gathering.

“Professor, thank you for representing your department,” Yara announced to the small crowd.

“I was unaware I had been summoned,” Richard mumbled.

“Perhaps Chancellor Cuvond did not extend the invitation.”

Richard looked over to Chancellor Cuvond. The woman kept her gaze ahead at an indeterminate point. The lines on her face startled him. He was unsure whether she had always looked so aged, or it was only his augmented vision. Seeing the obvious defeat in her expression and stance struck him in such a profound way that he felt almost violated.

“I will do you the favor, Chancellor Cuvond, of informing Professor Dosple of the unfortunate news. Master herbalist,” Yara said, the sarcasm in her voice another assault on Richard’s senses, “due to circumstances of which you are already aware, all university activities are being placed on an indefinite hiatus. This includes classes and the funding of the staff. The royal council will assist His Excellency, the Divine King Oslian Vinredor, in the lengthy undertaking of restructuring this institution so that it may one day again provide its intended services. Until then, the campus must be vacated. I am sure you understand the necessity of this regretful decision.”

His first impulse was to argue, present a counterpoint, but that quickly dissipated. Her words had stung him, but at a deeper level than he cared to admit. The university, his home, was being closed, but the greater insult came from the revelation that the herbalism department was not considered important enough to even attend the meeting. Depthless Sea, even Iniko is here. The old man was standing on the side of the group, head down in a book, seemingly unaware of his surroundings. My researching and teaching at this university have gone complete unnoticed. Or worse, dismissed as useless. He was sure Yara intended to hurt him, and the others as well. He suspected she was ignorant of the hurt her actions caused others to inflict upon him. She could not have planned that slight, no?

For a terribly lengthy period of time, no one spoke. Other than Yara, no one seemed willing to look his way. In fact, he was sure they were avoiding looking anywhere other than straight ahead. A rage began to rise up through Richard. Possible slights over the years flowed through his mind, mostly half-formed. A collection of feelings more than actual moments. For how long had he and the herbalism department, been considered a joke? The heat of his anger made his face feel flushed. His hands were in fists at his sides.

Through the fog of rage, an idea presented itself in his mind. Paradoxically, he now found himself in an opportune position. I can save the university. A spark of something else was alight as well. This was the perfect audience with which to reveal his discovery. Individuals who would understand the labor and intellect that went into such an advancement. People who would have no choice but to recognize, and appreciate, what he had done. Also, people who would then be indebted to him. But I will not abuse that. I only want what I have worked for. Appreciation.

He stepped forward then. “This is regrettable,” he conceded. “I have no doubt that there are many in this room who have attempted to persuade you against this decision. And, I also do not doubt that you have given a well-researched retort to each of their arguments. I understand that the long-term benefits of the education of the populace is somewhat intangible.” He saw that he had the full attention of the room. Save for, of course, Iniko, who had not looked up, and may have been asleep on his feet. “You asked me before, Councilor Yara, about my department’s contributions to the field of herbalism. I have to admit that, at the time of your inquiry, I was not fully truthful. I did, in fact, withhold some rather relevant information.”

Richard scanned the crowd of professors, deans, and researchers in front of him. Chancellor Cuvond looked away under his glance. He also saw his friend, Lydee. She looked to him as if pleading for a revelation that would save the university. He raised his eyebrows slightly in recognition.

“You look at me now, and I am sure I appear as I did when we last met. You, however, do not. Yesterday, I took a tonic of my own devise. This particular concoction is one that augments the user’s vision. Likely many of the people in this room have used it before. Yesterday was when I drank the tonic. Today, right now, my vision is as improved as it was minutes after I tipped the vial back into my mouth.”

He paused to see the recognition pass from one person to another, even in Yara. He was pleased to see that she fully comprehended the significance of his statement.

“And if you see me tomorrow, my vision will be the same. Improved. Permanently.”

Yara opened her arms. “That is excellent news, professor. I could not be happier to hear that you have made such a miraculous advancement in your field.”

“Thank you,” he said, finally allowing a smile to break through.

“I am especially pleased,” Yara continued, “because your work will so greatly assist the royal herbalist, for whom you now work.”

“What?” The smile vanished so quickly that it may never have been witnessed.

“You and your students have been gifted the opportunity to work for the royal herbalist. She is glad to have the support as she is quite busy. The details of your position will be delivered to you shortly. You are fortunate, professor. Unlike your colleagues here, you will not have to find a new line of employment.”

Yara walked forward, the crowd parting before her. “I have other duties to attend to. Fear not though, I will be back on this campus. The task of restructuring the university so it may provide useful services to the nation has fallen to me.” She halted before the door and looked back at the university staff. “Though, I should add, that may take some time. It is not a priority at the moment. I will get to it eventually, however.” With that, she exited the room.

I succeeded and failed, all at once. She has completely stolen my life from me.

Lydee

The sound of a large object falling onto the floor and breaking apart told her she was close to her quarry. She hurried down the hallway, purposefully looking straight ahead. On her side, boxes, tools for excavation, and potsherds lay haphazardly placed. All were covered in dirt, and many in dust as well.

I recall that Woller spoke highly of the man. However, Woller also spoke of him as though he were much older, and my friend was anything but young. Perhaps his senses have left him in the intervening years. She couldn’t help herself from taking a quick glance at the floor, her latent curiosity proving too strong to resist. Never mind. Some of these items have clearly been here for years.

She reached her destination and paused to mentally prepare herself before making her presence known. “I will have to take my time when considering who to blame for this,” a voice said from inside the office. Hero guide me.

“Greetings, Iniko,” Lydee said, making her voice as cheerful as she could.

A tiny old man was on his hands and knees on the floor, sifting through clay sherds. His white hair was wild. The reddish-brown dust on his clothes and face only accentuated Lydee’s fears. “Historian,” he nodded. “Have you been standing there long?”

“I only just arrived,” Lydee said.

“Not a candidate for guilt then,” Iniko said before returning his gaze to the floor. “No matter. I have more students than usual this semester.”

“May I have a minute of your time, Iniko?”

“If you return it afterwards, yes.”

Lydee frowned. Then the old man looked up, brushed himself off and stood. “A joke, of course,” he smiled. “I will enthusiastically find another manner in which you may repay me for my time.”

“Yes… well. I will be quick, I assure you. I only wanted to ask a few questions about an old friend of ours.”

“Who?”

“Woller.”

“I liked him. He appreciated my work. At least, he said he did. I assumed he was not being facetious. He saw the value in what I do- no! What I invented! What I brought into being!”

“I was under a similar impression,” Lydee said. “The two of you collaborated on a paper some years back, yes?”

“Indeed, we did. Our disciplines are intertwined. That is what I have been attempting to get across. My work is connected to so many other subjects.”

“Yes, Woller spoke along those lines. Iniko, what do you know of Woller’s disappearance?”

“He disappeared?”

“Yes. Roughly two years ago. Did you not notice his absence?”

“I assumed he had died.”

“Um, I do not believe that to be what occurred. There are rumors as to his sudden departure. Rumors that he had a covert relationship with a student.”

“If it was covert, how do you know about it?”

Lydee grinded her teeth. “Woller… undersold your intellectual prowess.”

“They all do. Let me give you another example so that you may avoid the same error of judgement in the future. You have been investigating our friend’s disappearance, and have come to me to see what I may know. As to his love life, I know nothing. The idea of sleeping with a student is repulsive, and, I believe, highly unlikely.”

“For him or for you?”

The old man shot her a nasty look. “Both. Now, while I may know nothing on that front, I know much about many other subjects. You would like to know what Woller and I spoke about the last time we were in each other’s company?”

“Please.”

“That I remember well. I will also remember this conversation well, so do not insult me more than you already have. And wipe that look off of your face! The nature of our conversation regarded his research at the time. This was, as you had mentioned, roughly two years past. He came to me requesting to view artifacts from the early days of the Xu dynasty. I, of course, had many. And I still do as I refused to allow him to take any out of my sight.”

“Do you know specifically what he was researching?”

“I do. But I will now make you wait for interrupting me.”

The scrawny old man folded his arms and stared at Lydee. She broke eye contact and scanned the room. It was filled with dusty artifacts. There were domestic items such as plates and pots, mostly made of clay. There were martial objects as well, swords, shields, and arrow heads. She could not deny it was an impressive collection. Standing there, surrounded by objects that were possibly thousands of years old, she felt as though she were coming to a true appreciation of Iniko’s work. Maybe if the man shut up, he would have more converts.

A few minutes passed and then Iniko unfolded his arms. “That seems a sufficient amount of time for your punishment,” he said. “Woller informed me that he was researching prices of luxury goods during that time period. He wished to see if the units of measurement had been the same in those days as they are in ours. They were, in fact, identical. Curious, no? That so much would remain constant over such a long period of time? No human has been known to live more than a century, and yet, society appears relatively stable. As if there were a guiding hand, helping us along.”

Lydee chose to keep yet another comment to herself. This one, however, was not an insult born of frustration. This comment was a belief that she held. The Hero still lives. And his words guide us. You may not yet acknowledge that, Iniko, but I believe you, and many, many others will before this year is out.

“That is what I know of our friend’s studies,” Iniko said, without a hint of suspicion towards Lydee’s silence. “That is what I know,” he continued unabated, “but not all that I believe. I have deduced that Woller was curious as to the effects of the much-maligned tariffs that have crippled Xu’s economy. He would be interested in learning the effects of tariffs in Xu’s past so as to make a comparison.” He then paused for a moment, a frown on his face. “Are you sure he is not deceased?”

“To be honest, I am not. But I believe he lives. And until I find evidence of his death, I will continue as though he is still with us.”

“You spent the time of your punishment looking over my collection. A fraction of it, in truth. I see you have come to the inevitable conclusion that archaeology is a noble and important pursuit. However, you may not take a single object with you. Is that understood?”

“Yes. I will do my best to fight the urge to steal.”

“As will I, to inflict another punishment for that cruel barb.”

Lydee had already begun to slowly back out the door. “Thank you, professor. When I find Woller, I will inform him as to your kind words.”

“If you find him alive, you may add that I am pleased he is not dead.”

Lydee waited for the elderly man to get back to work, then left as quickly and silently as she could.

The Old Man

The old man lay in bed, unable to find any relief in sleep. Harold had explained much to him that night. The people who had migrated this far north had arrived here, at the northmost village in the known world, to escape their pasts, a sentiment with which the old man well understood. Harold had not elaborated on that subject, and he had not asked any questions. What he did learn about the denizens of the village was that they quickly came to find that the isolated and barren area surrounding the lake was not as it originally appeared.

The problems had started with predators who stalked the land at night. Although the land was barely hospitable for humans, there was more animal life than they had believed possible. Vicious felines larger than tigers who were virtually invisible in the snow made their home there. Their translucent fur made for impossibly warm coats, but they could not be taken down by less than five men. The villagers had named them frostfangs on account of their enormous canines.

The animals had been used to feeding on behemoth, but slow-moving herds of herbivores the locals referred to as peelers, for their habit of stripping the bark from trees. With competition from humans, the frostfangs looked for new sources of meat. People began being picked off at night. The hunters were silent and their jaws were so large that they could kill an adult human before he or she could scream. A curfew was set in place, and the villagers made plans to leave the lake.

But while decisions about where to go were under discussion, a miraculous discovery was made. Among the fishing nets dredged up from the lake bottom was a slimy, purple plant, similar in appearance to seaweed. At first, nothing was thought of it, other than a slight curiosity over the color. However, as the harsh winter of that year continued, and food supplies dwindled, people naturally began to wonder if the plant was edible. It turned out to be more than just edible.

As Harold described it to the old man, the plant had strong medicinal properties. That first winter, a fever had cut a deadly swath through the village, killing nearly a fifth of the inhabitants. But a pattern had been recognized. Those who had eaten the lake plant had survived, and in fact, displayed lesser signs of fever than those who had not partaken.

One day, a woman from the outside world visited the village. She inquired after the plant and paid handsomely for a large supply. Then, she simply left without saying more to anyone, never even giving her name. She had headed north.

She returned months later to purchase supplies. She also informed the villagers that should they need healing, she could assist them. She had built a cabin for herself some twenty miles north of the lake. The denizens found that the woman’s offer had been humbly spoken. She healed all but the worst conditions, and never asked for payment in return.

During all this, the predations of the night stalkers had slowed with the taken precautions, but the threat still remained. Nevertheless, people were reluctant to leave their new home, fearing any other destination would see the same problem. It was then, in that period of relative calm, that a more sinister problem arose.

A man who styled himself as “The Emperor” sent men to protect the village. From what they protected the villagers, it could not be determined. They shied away from hunting frostfangs, but the price they demanded for their generous service was high. Taxes were collected each month, and the option of leaving the region was forcefully removed. The emperor wanted the lake plants, and he needed people to gather them for him. The animal attacks had been replaced by human oppression.

The plant that had gone from curiosity to a sense of salvation ended up chaining the battered people to the area. Individuals who had fled society in the hope of finding freedom now faced a tyranny against which they were helpless. The Imperial Defenders took whatever pleased them, and acted more savagely than any wild beast. Hopelessness overtook the village. People who came down with sicknesses that the herbalist to the north could cure chose the easier path of death than that of a healthy life of abuse. A dark cloud had swallowed what was supposed to be a haven. Until the old man had fought back.

After relaying the story, Harold asked the old man for assistance. “You have skill with a sword. Skill that I have never witnessed before. There are five more ‘Imperial Defenders’ who haunt us. If you could help us… be free of them, we could leave here and start a new life. When they do not hear from Virson, they will come to investigate. Please, stay until we have rid ourselves of them.”

The old man took his time in responding. He did not want to get involved. I am not a savior. I fear I have already made this mess worse than it was. Since when have my actions ever caused more than hurt?

“I will stay until my new boots are finished,” he finally said, adding no other comment or justification. He could tell Harold gave great effort to concealing his disappointment, and perhaps sorrow, but he said nothing.

He already had someone to save. A child whom he had sworn to care for. Though he knew it was not likely untrue, he would justify his actions by telling himself he did not have time to stay and solve this village’s problem. He had to keep moving as time was of the essence. Even one lost day could prove fatal. That justification did naught to help his sleep that night.

The old man waited until sunrise to leave his bed the next day. He planned to pass the day as efficiently as possible, only interacting with people who could sell him much needed supplies. Hopeful that the cobbler could work more rapidly than she had told him, he checked in on her that afternoon.

When she answered his knock at her door, he adverted his eyes, then cursed himself silently for his cowardice and ill manners. “By chance do you have a better sense of when the work will be completed?” he asked, eyes lifting slowly to meet hers.

She gave him a playful grin. “Impatient?”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate your honesty. Come in out of the cold.”

Her workshop doubled as her dwelling. The unadorned wooden walls were dark with soot from a constantly burning fire. The intimacy of being within a few paces of her bed made him uncomfortable. More than six decades of life and I am in some ways as innocent as a young boy. How long has it been since I have lain with a woman? I do not care to calculate that.

“I’ve only been able to begin this afternoon,” she said. “There is no change in my estimation of time, I’m sorry. If you want boots that will not let you down in this land, you will have to wait.”

He had not truly expected a different answer. He knew himself well enough to know his motivation for the inquiry was more personal. Still, he had not formulated a plan. He suspected his did not hide his unease well. He suspected correctly.

“I considered whether I should thank you for what you did,” the woman said. “I think I should. Thank you. What is your name?”

“You are welcome. You may call me Gray.”

“That is not your name in truth?”

“It is not.”

“I see. You were a soldier?”

His hesitation was immediately noted. “Never mind,” she said. “You do not owe me an answer. And it is not as though I know the stories of most of the people here. I believe you will find yourself among like-minded individuals in that regard.”

Part of him wished for the conversation to continue. That half warred with the half of him which wanted to be alone, far away from where he was. Knowing he would have more opportunities for awkward interactions with this woman, he decided to take his leave.

“I’ll not steal you from your work, then,” the old man said.

“Thank you again,” the woman said. “My name is Makani. It is my true name.”

The discomfort he felt was interrupted by a knock on the door. Makani excused herself to open it and in walked a woman who looked to be in her early thirties. It was a miracle she had been able to knock, her arms were so full of scraps of aged leather.

“Let me help you with that,” Makani said as she grabbed half the load and placed it down on her bed. The younger woman followed her lead, then stood, apparently waiting for direction.

“I think this will be enough. Thank you, Olisha. Could you check the storage for wool as well?”

The old man caught the woman, Olisha, looking his way, then quickly withdrawing her glance. “I will. I think I saw some in there just now.”

“Thank you. Gather whatever you can find, please.”

Olisha quickly shuffled out the door, never making eye contact with the old man.

“Sorry about that,” Makani said. “Materials can be hard to come by and I don’t have enough time, so Olisha lends a hand when I ask. She’s a kind girl, but rather simple. You see, I asked her to bring leather and wool earlier this morning. Hopefully she will remember this time.”

Unsure how, or if he was expected to respond, the old man nodded.

“Well, I suppose I’ll get back to work. There is still a lot to do,” Makani said, brushing aside the hair that had clung to the sweat on her face.

“Thank you… Makani,” the old man said.

“I’m happy to be of service.”

He nodded again, then left.

The old man passed the remainder of the day and night in his room in Harold’s house, periodically looking at a portrait of a woman he was beginning to feel as though he had betrayed.

Veabella

Year 1378 (Present Day)

“Since when was this shield so damn heavy?” Donnes growled for the tenth time. A few paces ahead, Veabella chuckled to herself. Leaving the bar area before Donnes and Twig was always a wise move.

The hunting crew traveled the beige cobblestone streets of Oslidor’s Mines industrial district, which distinctly lacked a mine of any type. Pedestrians did their best to walk in the shadows provided by the larger buildings, none wanting to be in the heat of the sun. Veabella had grown up north of the city, near the border between Vinredor and Ebanigan, and was not accustomed to weather of this nature. The sweltering afternoons of Oslidor were oppressive, especially beneath the weight of her gear, and it was still only morning.

Behind her, Donnes continued a steady string of complaints, while Twig was struggling to compose himself enough not to vomit. He wore an oversized pack that looked all the more gigantic on his small frame. It was filled near to bursting with gadgets he had created.

Meffas had rounded up the crew at dawn and given them the details of the contract he had acquired. It was a typical job, and no one had given a reaction to the news. They were now on their way to purchase equipment from the inventor, Simon Howswilder, and Veabella knew Twig was hoping to impress the man with his own works.

She walked between Meffas and Ictorian, the latter dwarfing her. The two of them always seemed to find a way to be standing next to each other, each gaining an unspoken benefit from the relationship of protector and protected. Ahead of them was Xopher, who had not spoken at all since the night before. Veabella knew he was still brooding over their withdrawal from the tournament, and she was empathetic to his disappointment as he had been anticipating displaying his skill in front of an audience, especially peers. She had no doubt that the only reason he held back his disapproval of the decision was because of a deep deference for Meffas. There was a story behind the younger man’s respect for the crew leader, but despite her many clever attempts to uncover it, it remained hidden from her. She suspected she was the only one who was not privy to that information. They’ll tell me eventually. Perhaps it would pay to stay out later with Donnes and Twig…

On both sides of the street, masons and carpenters toiled under the sun. Sweat poured down their faces and backs, leaving damp stains on their loose cloth shirts and pants. Veabella had not been in the capital city of Vinredor in years, and its hustle and development were in stark contrast to Goldcrest, the capital of Ebanigan, where she often found herself between contracts. It was exciting to see new buildings being erected, and to walk through a city where there was not a single unpaved street. She wondered if her sister had noticed these advancements, or if she had been too engrossed in her research to appreciate the world around her.

As they turned a corner, a paper which had been stuck to a wall caught her attention. “The Hero walks The Path,” it read. “Behold the fulfillment of His second prophecy when the sky is alight.” Lydee is not the only one with heavy expectations for this year.

For her part, Veabella was still skeptical. She knew her sister was an expert on historical matters, and she had assured Veabella that the first prophecy had in fact been fulfilled as was predicted. Nevertheless, she found it difficult to believe. Perhaps her sister’s assurances had had the opposite effect. The message had been printed in ink, a bold move considering how expensive the use of a printing press was. Veabella wondered if that detail was intended to be noticed.

Ahead of her, Xopher had halted before a large wrought iron gate. Two guards in full chainmail armor equipped with short swords stood in archways on either side of the gate. Though they could not have been unaffected by the heat, they showed no signs of discomfort. Beyond the gate was a marvelous fountain where water flowed out from the mouths of tropical birds made of white marble. Although the city was virtually free of grass, and the few strands that could be found were yellow and dry, the estate was covered in luscious a luscious green carpet, the like of which could not be found naturally within a fifty miles radius.

While Meffas approached a guard and spoke with him in private, Twig and Donnes finally arrived next to Veabella, the former leaning down to rest his hands on his knees. “If I were to rush the guards, do you think they would kill me?” Twig asked.

“I can kill you if you’d like,” Donnes offered.

“You should have told me earlier,” Twig moaned.

Meffas looked over and motioned them forward. A guard opened the gate and the hunting crew was escorted inward. A woman in a flowing silk dress awaited them at the fountain. “The master will be with you shortly. Please follow me,” she told them before leading them into the main building.

The vestibule was mercifully cooler than the outside, but the calming mood of the exterior was instantly replaced with a frenzy of activity. Men and women rushed through the room, disappearing behind doors, carrying crates of books, scrolls, maps, and tools. Empty spaces on the walls between framed paintings added to the sense of chaos. Veabella could hear the sound of carriage drivers bellowing orders on the opposite end of the estate.

The woman who led them into the building had told them to wait and then walked through a side door. A few moments later she returned without speaking and now stood beside the crew, completely still with her hands behind her back, staring at the door. Donnes and Twig slightly swayed in place, everyone’s eyes on the passing workers.

They waited for more than two hours before being allowed to go further into the mansion where they waited another half an hour. Finally, they were led into a room with a long rectangular table and a dozen chairs. At the head of the table sat a man in his fifth or sixth decade of life. He wore a dark green tunic with an elaborate design of golden colored leaf prints. Directly in front of him on the table was a strange stone, roughly the size of a brick which emitted a faint, white light. The inventor’s eyes were fixed on it until the door closed behind Veabella and he finally looked up to make eye contact with Meffas. “How can I help you, Meffas, my old friend,” he said, his attention clearly still being pulled away by the stone.

“We’re in need of more of your spring-loaded traps. The large ones. Also flame bolts, we could use quite a few of those,” Meffas replied.

Simon Howswilder removed his custom designed lenses and set them on the table. He bit his lip before speaking. “I wish you had arrived sooner. I may have one or two of the traps left here, but the rest of my arsenal is in transit.”

“Why’s that?” Twig asked. Meffas turned and gave him a dirty look, making the skinny man flinch. Simon clenched his fists before answering.

“I am moving my operation to Withigan. Therefore, at the current time, I do not have access to the majority of my merchandise.”

Veabella could tell Meffas was curious as to the inventor’s reasons for moving out of royal territory, but she also knew he would never risk being untactful. Twig did not share those reservations. He did, however, have the sense not to ask directly.

“Simon,” Twig said, “I made some modifications to a few of your traps.” He began untying one of the many pockets of his pack, then reached in and pulled out a crossbow bolt. It looked like the typical flame bolts that Simon had developed nearly a decade ago, the tip wrapped in animal hide to protect the flammable substance which covered it. The flame-producing tonic which coated the tip of the bolt was not the only aspect that separated it from a normal crossbow bolt however. The tips were removable and a tiny brass wick hid inside. When the bolts hit their target, the wick would light, and the tip of the ammunition would explode in flames. It was an invention that had made warfare more deadly, but due to the cost of the coating, it was mostly used by hunters on lucrative contracts. The only notable difference between this bolt and the others Simon created was a slight incision on the shaft of the bolt. Twig held it up proudly. “I hollowed out the shaft. Inside is a poisonous dust. On impact, the flames will reach the dust and explode. The poison paralyzes whatever it touches. The idea is, for the larger targets that don’t go down in one hit, the poison has a chance of spreading into the eyes, throat, or even lungs.”

The little man displayed an enormous grin. Simon nodded. “Very clever.” His view returned to Meffas. “Have my assistant gather whatever you need. It’s the regular price, even with the current drop in supply.”

He stood up then and made a nearly imperceptible bow to the crew leader. “Perhaps our paths will cross again in the future. Withigan is the land of opportunity. I believe Vinredor has lost an invaluable asset. But that is their concern, not mine. Good day, Meffas.”

With that, he lifted the glowing stone, tucked it under his arm, and exited the room. The woman in the silk dress had been present for the entire exchange. She cleared her throat to grab Meffas’s attention. “Come with me, sir. I will show you what the master has in storage.”

The rest of the crew then left and waited by the fountain. Veabella could not help but stare at Twig. He somehow appeared even smaller after the curt response from his idol. Those bolts were more than merely clever. A poison that can be delivered in that manner could be monumental. And that was only a fraction of what he’s created!

She walked over to her friend and put her arm around him. “He was just in an awful mood, Twig,” she said. “He wanted to say something even ruder, but the brilliance of your work stunned him.”

“Thank you, Vea,” Twig said without looking up at her. Though Veabella was only average height for a female, she had a good hand’s height over her crewmate, a fact she never brought to his attention, though she was sure he was constantly aware of it. She could not recall having seen him so hurt by another person in the past. While the little man was often the butt of jokes, he gave as well as he received, and always appeared to laugh off every comment. It was clear that the indifference shown by Simon had stung more than the much crueler intended remarks of others.

Twig shook his head and finally looked her in the eyes. “Just one more person who overlooks us. We fly low, but it won’t always be that way.”

“It wouldn’t have been if we were still in the tournament,” Xopher said, his back to them. The man then flinched and walked away from the others. Hero, what a miserable visit to the city this has been!

While the crew ate a lunch of fried fish and rice at a small open-air establishment, Veabella asked permission from Meffas to seek out her sister. With the excuse of wishing to speak about the notice she had seen in the street firmly in mind, she bounded across the city to the university. She did not like the way things ended with Lydee, and she wanted her to know she was no longer in the tournament. Moreover, she had seen a lot of herself in Twig and how he looked up to Simon, and though she knew she was going back in the hopes of kind words or a compliment, she could not help herself.

She asked a group of students who were no older than her for directions to the history department, and headed in that direction, the discrepancy between their scholar’s robes and her hunter’s trappings just on the edge of her awareness. There was still time for her to change course and take that path, she knew. Nothing would please Lydee more, yet I recoil from that choice. In truth, am I going to see her to rub my lifestyle in her face? To show her I will never bend to her wishes? Would she even attempt to sway me again? Am I looking to find out if she still cares enough to try to save me from myself?

She shook her head as she entered the building the students had indicated, an unconscious attempt to leave her doubts outside. Once in the hallway, she had no sense of which way to go, and so she followed the lone voice which echoed down to her. As she stepped close to the room from which it sounded, she recognized it as her sister’s. She peeked into the room and saw Lydee standing at a pulpit in front of a modest arrangement of perhaps ten students, their hands working steadily to copy her words.

“With a singular exception, the soldiers perished in the fire,” Lydee said to the class. “But their journals have survived, and many were even delivered to our own library. These are the types of primary documents on which you should base the majority of your research. Delivering an argument from firsthand accounts, especially those which were incidental and therefore without the bias of a secondary author’s opinion, is a stronger position than regurgitating another historian’s ideas. Furthermore, you never know what you may encounter, especially when you consider that many documents in our archives have never been read.”

The professor paused for a moment, then slowly turned to look at Veabella. Lydee gave a polite nod, then motioned for Veabella to enter the room and join the class, which she did, taking a seat behind the students. She watched and listened until the class ended, impressed with the confidence with which her sister spoke, and aware now that just as Lydee had taken no interest in her career, she had paid no attention to her sister’s calling until just this moment.

We do not look alike, either. Lydee with her hair short and neat as always, and I with a bird’s nest of tangles, tidy only when it is in braids, and even then, there are leaves and pebbles strewn about. No one would ever take us for sisters.

When the students filed out of the room, Veabella stood up and went to where Lydee was gathering the books she had open on the lectern. “That was interesting,” Veabella said.

“Thank you. We will see if any of my students follow through with my advice. They tend to prefer the easier route whenever possible,” Lydee said.

“Most people do.”

“Not us.”

“No. That’s one way we’re similar, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure there are more as well,” Lydee said, forcing a grin. “We’ll simply have to look harder.”

“I wanted to let you know our company withdrew from the tournament.”

“Why is that?”

“Meffas says it’s an unnecessary risk.”

Lydee only nodded at that.

“We have a new contract though, so we’ll be leaving the city in a couple of hours.”

“I hope it goes well. Safely. And, lucratively, of course.”

“Thank you, Lydee.”

There was another uncomfortable pause, the likes of which their conversations had been characterized by over the past few years. Veabella made to speak, but Lydee beat her to it. “I would like to apologize for being so… cold,” she said. “I’m concerned for you, but instead of making you feel as though I care, I fear I have come across as condescending and distant. I do not know of another way to reach you though, for I do not wish to be manipulative.”

“I think I could say most of the same to you,” Veabella said.

Another long pause.

“Have you seen the messages throughout the city?” Veabella tried. “The ones about the prophecy?”

“I have!” Lydee said, her voice finally sounding alive. “They get torn down quickly, but they show up again the next day. They’re putting the idea in people’s heads, so that they will realize what they are seeing.”

“What will it be, exactly?”

“A great light. That is the best description we have. There will be a great light in the sky, but it will not last. I only hope it remains visible long enough that it cannot be denied, even in the three royal nations.”

“And once the second prophecy is fulfilled?”

“There will still be two more, of course. But people will be ready for them. That’s the idea, I believe; that each prophecy builds momentum to the next one.” When she finished speaking, Lydee looked over her shoulder, then walked to close the door to the room. “He will return soon, Vea. It was a long time before the first prophecy was fulfilled, and it has been forty years since the last one. Each one will be closer together, so that the wave of support grows with them. At least that is what I believe. But it makes sense, does it not?”

“It does,” Veabella said.

“I know. We will have to wait a bit, but I think it will be in our lifetimes. The Hero will return, and we will be fortunate enough to be witnesses.”

“I’m happy for you.”

“For all of us, Vea, not just me. This is for everyone. The Hero will unite the world. That’s why he is doing all of this. It’s not just so that I can be proven right.”

“I know. I just meant I’m happy that you will get to see it.”

“Oh. Yes. Thank you.”

“It’s this year, isn’t it?”

“Yes. It could be any day now, but it will be before the year is out. That is definite.”

“When the sky lights up, I’ll be thinking of you, Lydee, no matter where I am.”

“And I will be thinking of you, Vea.”

Neither sister moved, and the moment passed without comment. “I have to be going,” Veabella said. “It was nice to see you as more than just my sister. I was impressed.”

“Thank you. Maybe one day… well… I hope you’re safe, Vea. I mean that with all my heart. Be safe and listen to Meffas at least. He seems to have a good head on his shoulders, for a- never mind. He seems to be a good man.”

“Thank you. I will.”

“Goodbye, Vea. I hope you visit again soon.”

“Goodbye, Lydee. I will.”

As soon as she was back outside, she felt the tension she had not realized was there begin to melt away. How could it be that speaking with family was more stressful than killing deadly animals?