Laronius felt a burning itch grow on the ring finger of his right hand, and he knew his master was summoning him. Laronius stood perfectly still in the dark corridor as the ring on his itching finger glowed brighter and the burning sensation intensified. As the pain in his finger spread up through his hand, causing his arm to tremble, Laronius silently laughed at his own private joke.

It occurred to Laronius that if he still had any bodily fluids, he would probably be sweating from the exertion. Laronius grimaced at the thought. He had expected that there would be aspects of his old life that he would miss after transforming into what he had become, but he was surprised that it was not the aspects he had thought of that he missed the most. Indeed, sacrifices like having no heartbeat and not seeing the sunshine were hardly burdens at all, though Laronius had assumed they would be the most intolerable.

Laronius found that it was the small things he missed that bothered him the most. He found that dust was nearly unbearable now that he didn’t have tears to flush out his eyes or mucus to protect his nose. And while he was not truly thirsty, he found that his lips and tongue felt strange and rubbery without any saliva, and it was nearly impossible to whistle.

He disliked the way that even water beaded up and rolled off his skin whenever he tried to bathe himself or wash his hands. The only liquid that gave him any sensation or satisfaction at all was the blood of other living beings. Though he supposed that his new obsession with blood was all as intended, considering the curse he had volunteered to take upon himself.

Laronius did not regret his decision, however unpleasant some of the drawbacks. He told himself over and over again that the power he had gained through his transformation had more than made up for anything he had lost. And if his plans continued to their full fruition, then it would all be worth a thousand times more.

Laronius looked down at his hand, breathing hard. Now instead of trembling, his hand was twisted and bent in a disturbing contortion, and his joints had begun to seize up. With grim satisfaction Laronius threw his dark cape over his right arm and began walking in the direction where his master was summoning him. It was not the longest that Laronius had resisted his master’s call, but he had endured the time rather easily, and he was pleased with his progress.

As Laronius walked in the direction of his master, the pain in his right hand and arm subsided, and he was able to relax and flex his fingers again. Continuing at a brisk pace, Laronius began forming an excuse for his master in case he was questioned on what had taken him so long. Of course Laronius would have to think of an excuse that was not only reasonably justified, but also not an actual lie. Oh, how Laronius wished he could lie to his master, but while he was strong enough to get away with half-truths and innuendo, an outright lie was not within his power. Not yet, anyway.

Despite his seething hatred for Vdekshi, Laronius derived an immense amount of pleasure and pride in his service of the necromancer. Every grin and sideways compliment that Laronius gave in his master’s service was proof to Laronius of how far he had come since his transformation. As he continued walking he smiled in satisfaction at himself for developing the talent to hate someone and smile at them at the same time.

It had not always been this way for Laronius. His first and most cruel master had been his emotions. Before he was ruled by Vdekshi, Laronius had been ruled by passion and impulses that had often betrayed him and set him on the run. It was in one of these moments of desperation that he had first entered Vdekshi’s fortress. But it was not Vdekshi himself that had lured him there. Laronius had his true master to thank for that.

At the thought of his other master, Laronius experienced an intense feeling of nausea and dizziness as the entire corridor in which he walked began to shift and bend unnaturally. The feeling was so intense and disorienting that he had to stop and close his eyes until the room stopped twisting. Laronius knew it was a warning. The more time he spent thinking about his other master, the more likely that Laronius would slip up and reveal something to Vdekshi before the time was right, ruining his plans.

But their plans were already in jeopardy, Laronius thought to himself as the smile faded from his face. All of their careful planning, all of Laronius’ blank smiles and hollow service would mean nothing if what he had learned about Krall’s old traveling companions was true. If they managed to reach Vdekshi it could ruin everything. But how could Laronius stop them? They were already getting dangerously close, and Vdekshi was determined to meet them. “What do I do?” Laronius whispered, his hand beginning to tremble again.

Smile. Speak.

The answer was accompanied by the same nausea and dizziness he had experienced only a moment earlier, and Laronius knew he dare not doubt it. Besides, it was the same command he had received every time from his other master, and following those directions had paid off well so far. Laronius forced his wide grin back on to his face and repeated to himself, “Smile. Speak.”

As the door to Vdekshi’s chamber came into view, Laronius thought of all the times in the past he had followed the order to smile and speak to Vdekshi. At first he hadn’t known what he would say, but somehow the words always came to him before long. Even in the early days of his service when Laronius was so afraid of Vdekshi and his power, he had learned that his words had power over his master. After so many years of practice, Laronius had found that most of the time he could now flatter and goad Vdekshi without even really trying. But even on a night like tonight when his bravado was waning, he would succeed if he would just smile and speak. The thought made Laronius’ smile return in earnest.

Laronius opened the door to Vdekshi’s chamber and stepped inside. Vdekshi turned his head to watch Laronius enter. The large and powerful necromancer stomped one of his hooves and glared at him, obviously displeased. Laronius regarded his master, smiled, and then he spoke.

***

“Good evening,” Laronius said in his usual impossibly subservient voice. “You have summoned me, Master. How may I serve you?”

“What took you so long to get here?” Vdekshi snapped. He did not like losing his temper in front of any of his servants, especially Laronius, but he was short on patience and Laronius had a knack for testing his.

“I’ve been doing as you commanded me, Master,” Laronius replied, tilting his head a bit as if in bewilderment. “I have been organizing my fellow servants to gather information about the strangers who were Krall’s former companions. Was that not what you charged me to do?”

Vdekshi pounded a heavy fist on the wooden table in front of him, causing glass beakers and vials to rattle and their contents to slosh. He found it infuriating the way that Laronius could agree with someone and make them feel like a fool at the same time. “Your ring should have summoned you here several minutes ago,” Vdekshi said through clenched teeth. “Even coming from the dungeons, it should not have taken you so long to arrive. Did you travel into the forest without my leave?”

“Of course not,” said Laronius. A tone of surprise rose in his voice, though his smile remained plastered across his face. “Master,” said Laronius stepping forward, “you seem quite agitated. Do you need me to go down to the dungeon and bring back a supplement for you? Or perhaps you would like to continue our experiment with my treatments for your condition?”

“I’m not sure how many more of those treatments I can survive,” Vdekshi replied. The last time Laronius had used his sanguimancy to treat Vdekshi, it had indeed calmed him down, but it had also left him a drooling and quivering mess on the floor.

“Now Master,” said Laronius, “you know that all experiments have their setbacks. In fact, I don’t think there’s anyone who knows that better than you.”

“Enough,” Vdekshi said, waving a large and hairy hand in front of him. He could tell that continuing to interrogate Laronius would be more exhausting than it would be useful. “Tell me what news you and your fellow servants have gathered about these strangers so far.”

“Well you have to keep in mind that you’ve only given me a few rather timid spirits to work with,” Laronius began. “I try to bring you only reliable information, and I’m afraid the intelligence of those spirits is as unsubstantial as they are.” Laronius paused to laugh at his own little joke.

“Have they entered my land yet?” asked Vdekshi, casting a sharp look at Laronius.

The smile on Laronius’ face flickered for a fraction of a moment. “What, Master?” he asked.

Vdekshi held up an amulet that hung around his neck with a bright red jewel in the center. “Laronius, I order you to give me a direct and honest answer to my question. Have the strangers you’re tracking entered the borders of my land yet?”

Laronius looked away and instinctively placed his left hand over his right ring finger, visibly shaken. “Yes Master,” he said. “Your spies report the strangers entered your territory earlier today, before sunset.”

“Excellent,” said Vdekshi. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it Laronius? You are capable of giving me the answer I want from time to time.” Vdekshi did not enjoy cruelty, but he had learned that it was important from time to time to remind Laronius exactly who was in charge.

“I’m afraid I may have to give you one piece of news you don’t want,” said Laronius, beginning to regain his composure. “It seems that the two strangers were joined by someone else shortly before they crossed the borders into our territory. Someone we know nothing about.”

“Why should that bother me?” asked Vdekshi. “Did the spirits report something troubling about this third stranger?”

“That’s just it, Master,” said Laronius, the corners of his lips curling back into a smile. “Your spies would give no report at all of this third stranger. No description, no eavesdropped conversations, not even a name. It was as if they couldn’t understand what was in front of them.”

“That is very curious,” said Vdekshi, “though not necessarily cause for alarm. We will need to watch the situation with this third stranger carefully.”

“Master,” Laronius said, stepping closer and kneeling before Vdekshi, “with your permission, I would like to take some of your more powerful servants and observe all three strangers directly. I can only learn so much from lowly spirits. I fear this third stranger could disrupt your plans for the other two.”

“That cannot happen!” shouted Vdekshi, his fist rattling the table in front of him again. Steadying himself, he turned again to Laronius. “So much depends on this,” he said. “Krall’s former companions may be the key to finding the answer we’ve been seeking for years. Can’t you feel that the answer is finally getting close? No, we cannot let anything interfere with our plans.”

Vdekshi stared at the table in front of him for a long time, as if transfixed by the bubbling and steaming contents of the many jars and tubes. “Alright Laronius,” Vdekshi said at last. “You have my leave to track them personally, and if an ideal opportunity presents itself you may approach them and invite them here. But don’t take anything more powerful than a couple of phantoms with you. After all, we don’t want to scare them off.”

“As you wish, Master,” said Laronius. “I’ll gather my fellow servants and we will depart immediately.”

Laronius strode towards the hallway, but suddenly stopped in the doorway and turned around. “Master,” said Laronius, “the thought just occurred to me that the strangers are not yet very far into our territory. What should I do if they try to escape out of the borders of your land?”

“You cannot allow that to happen, Laronius,” said Vdekshi. “You must ensure that Krall’s old companions stay within our borders, by any means necessary.”

Laronius bowed low, and then turned again to exit the door. He smiled, and then he spoke. “As you wish,” he said. “By any means necessary.”

Vdekshi
Art by Ryan Salway

“What am I doing here?” Shon silently asked himself for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. He walked along at the same slow and steady pace as the green wagon next to him, rubbing his temples and focusing on the rhythmic sounds of the squeaking and jostling of the wagon wheels as the two large tauroks in front pulled it onward. Shon hadn’t been very impressed with the stocky beasts the first time he saw them, but in the last few weeks he had come to appreciate the company of the steady, thick-skinned animals. Despite the tauroks’ dim intelligence, or perhaps because of it, they had remained constant and dependable after the traumatic events of the last month, and Shon was grateful to have something so steadfast to rely on.

Shon looked at the tauroks moving along, quietly chewing on the leaves and grass they would occasionally scoop up with their bony tusks. Shon wondered if they had any idea that their former owners had died painful and violent deaths just a few weeks before. Even if they did realize it, would they even care?

Shon had always been very proud of his bright and talented mind. Though he often felt self-conscious about his thin build and completely bald head, he knew that his real strength lay in his cleverness and the magic abilities that allowed him to hear and influence the thoughts of others. Shon often thought that he could live with any physical limitation, but he could never endure an existence of ignorance. Looking at the blissfully mindless tauroks though, Shon wished for the first time that he could will himself into a state of numb stupidity.

As if in protest against his wishes for a mental sedative, the pain in Shon’s mind increased from a dull throbbing in the background to a cutting sting at the front of his consciousness. Shon stumbled slightly as he winced, and held on tightly to the staff in his hands for support. He had been incredibly grateful for the staff named Stick his uncle had loaned him, especially during the last few weeks. While carrying Stick increased the range and clarity of Shon’s magical abilities, he found that it also gave him greater control over those abilities, including managing his headache.

Shon had tried to reason with himself that the headache was the result of the changing weather. After all, he had lived most of his life in the desert town of Life’s Edge with his uncle Grodin, and could not remember experiencing an autumn as chilly as the one settling in the forest around him. But when he was honest with himself, Shon had to admit that the headache had started long before the autumn weather had set in. It had begun the day that the dragon had attacked the town of Alderfold.

Just thinking about the enormous black and purple mother dragon made Shon’s head throb. Shon had somehow used the magic in his mind to defeat the poisonous dragon, though he had no idea how, and he was afraid that the effort had somehow broken something inside him.

Shon had wanted to confide his fears in his best friend and traveling companion, Tarun, but couldn’t. As badly as Shon’s mind had been hurt that day, he was afraid that the damage to Tarun was far greater. Tarun had been with Krall, Solimar, and Piggy when they had been killed by the mother dragon’s young brood, and he was the sole survivor of that terrible encounter. Shon found it hard to believe that the three dragon hunters were really gone, but he found it even harder to believe how much the experience had changed his friend.

Ever since he met Tarun, he had always seemed so… alive. Even though Tarun had no memories at all when he had stumbled into Life’s Edge, he had always been incredibly eager to learn, to do, and to move. So much of what Shon had experienced in the last several months had been in large part to Tarun’s initiative. It had been Tarun’s need to move on and leave Life’s Edge that had given Shon the push he needed to begin the search for his missing parents, and Tarun had agreed to join him.

But their search had gotten wildly off track. After locating the Soul Trees that were magically tied to Shon’s parents, he and Tarun had quickly hit a dead end. Shon’s hope had then shifted to Krall and the other dragon hunters when they offered to help Shon track down his parents in exchange for his and Tarun’s service in hunting the mother dragon. But that hope had died nearly a month ago along with the dragon hunters.

“What am I doing here?” Shon asked himself for the hundred and first time. The dragon hunters may have died, but at least Shon had learned some valuable tracking skills during his time with them. He still found himself demonstrating skills and habits that he hadn’t realized he’d mentally picked up during his time alone with the elf Solimar. Why didn’t he head back to his parents’ Soul Trees and begin tracking them down himself?

For the first couple of weeks after they had left Alderfold, Shon told himself that he had stayed with Tarun because his friend needed him more than ever. After his injuries and trauma at the hands of the young dragons, Tarun hadn’t been thinking clearly or acting like himself. He seemed to be in a constant state of tension, with a furious rage constantly bubbling beneath the surface. To make matters worse, he seemed convinced that his next course of action absolutely had to be defeating Krall’s old master, a powerful necromancer named Vdekshi.

Was Shon really sticking around for his friend’s sake though? Tarun had been spending more and more time by himself. He would often leave for hours at a time with Solimar’s bow and arrows to hunt deer or other animals for their meals. Just that afternoon, Tarun had run ahead, saying that he would scout out a suitable location for their campsite later in the evening, and he hadn’t returned yet.

Whether he continued on out of loyalty for Tarun or some other unknown motivation, Shon wasn’t sure. Once again he felt a sensation that there was something tugging his actions just outside of his consciousness, but this time Shon decided that he needed to figure out what it was, or he would eventually end up as unstable as Tarun had become.

While Shon was walking along, lost in thought, he found himself unintentionally picking up the thoughts of others nearby. Shon’s first reaction was surprise at the realization that there was anyone within a mile of his remote location, but his surprise turned into concern as he realized that the thoughts he was sensing were frightened and defensive. Someone was being attacked and needed help.

Shon looked around to see if he could spot any sign of Tarun returning soon. His friend was strong and had been training with Krall the orc before his death to become a capable fighter. Shon felt anxious about running into danger without him. Shon couldn’t see or sense Tarun anywhere nearby, but he did sense the thoughts he had picked up before become more panicked.

For just a moment, Shon looked at the two tauroks pulling the wagon and wondered if it wouldn’t just be better for him to continue plodding along like them as if nothing was the matter. Then shaking his head, he reminded himself that he was no dim-witted animal, and he was never any good at playing dumb. Grasping Stick firmly with both hands, Shon issued the message in all directions, Tarun, come back! I need you! He then turned sharply to face the direction that the frightened thoughts were coming from, and left the path to go running into the woods.

***

As Shon moved through the forest, he tried to clear his thoughts and allow himself to travel the smooth, graceful way that he had been able to when he had traveled with Solimar and been influenced by the elf’s thoughts. He couldn’t match Solimar’s movements like he had when they were actually travelling together, but was certainly less clumsy than he had been when he left Life’s Edge with Tarun months ago. As he continued running over roots and rocks without tripping, Shon was surprised at how quickly he had been able to pick up the pattern of movement again.

Shon realized that this was the first time he had left the road and the wagon and allowed himself to just run through the woods since the day the dragon hunters had died. He had never enjoyed running or any other physical exertion much before, but during his time with Solimar, Shon had found that it became a valuable tool in clearing his mind and focusing his thoughts. A feeling of great sadness and loneliness set in as Shon started to realize how much he would miss Solimar. Shon did not try to push the feeling away, but he didn’t allow himself to focus on it either, as he knew that Solimar would have berated him harshly for letting such thoughts interfere with his movements.

As the grief washed over Shon, he felt a glimmer of insight flutter past his consciousness. He could vaguely tell that it had something to do with Tarun, his own grief, the uncharacteristic rage that was driving Tarun toward revenge against the necromancer, and Shon’s apprehension about the doomed path they were on. Shon shifted his thoughts to try and capture the insight, but as soon as he did it zipped away, leaving Shon unable to put the different pieces together. No sooner had Shon allowed himself to be distracted by the thought than he found himself tripping on a root, and sprawling forward on the ground.

Shon groaned and rolled to his side as he tried to brush the dirt and debris from his hands and clothes. The magical red cloak his father had left him seemed unaffected by the fall, but his pants were very dirty and had a small hole in one knee. Shon began to scold himself for his foolishness, but stopped abruptly when he heard raised voices coming from a few feet away.

“Hurry up and give us the rest!” said a loud, harsh voice. “Do it now! Or you’re gonna be sorry!”

“I already told you I would give you the rabbit,” said another voice. The second voice sounded calmer, but Shon could tell it had an edge of nervousness to it. “You and your friends are obviously very hungry and I can always get another one. I’m quite handy with this sling of mine.”

“You put your hand anywhere near that sling and I’ll run you through!” shouted the first voice. “And what do you mean ‘give’ us the rabbit? You see this sword? This sword means we take what we want. And I told you we want your clothes and that fancy stick of yours.”

Shon quietly crawled on his hands and knees towards the voices and came to the edge of a clearing. Through the leaves, Shon could see a young man with light brown hair probably no more than five years older than Shon himself. He wore simple, but sturdy looking traveling clothes and carried what looked like an intricately carved walking stick. Surrounding the young man were three men with scraggly beards and long hair, dressed in dirty and threadbare clothes. One man was holding an axe, another was holding a spear, and the man between them was holding a sword. The weapons all looked rusted around the edges, and by the way the men were holding them, Shon had the impression that they had only recently been acquired. Shon could sense fear emanating from all four individuals.

“Take the rabbit,” said the young man with light brown hair. He was gesturing to a skinned and roasted rabbit cooking over a small campfire. “You and your friends will feel better after you’ve had something to eat. I can’t spare the clothes, because they’re the only ones I have.” Though Shon could tell the young man was obviously frightened, his expression was calm and even friendly.

“And the stick?” said the man holding the sword. “I’ll bet I could get a pretty good trade for something as pretty as that.”

“The stick is not available,” said the young man, his expression suddenly turning serious. “You would have to kill me first.”

At the word “kill,” Shon could sense the fear in the three men turn to panic, and then grim determination. The men were desperate, and they were angry that the robbery was not going to plan. While there was little outward change in the men, Shon could sense that inside their minds, they were resolving themselves to kill another person to get what they wanted, probably for the first time in their lives.

Realizing he had no time to think before disaster struck, Shon jumped to his feet and burst through the trees into the clearing. “Do I smell roast rabbit?” Shon asked loudly as all four men turned to look at him. “I sure hope so, because it smells delicious.” While the three men with weapons turned their attention to Shon, the young man with light brown hair began to slowly back away from them.

“Who are you?” shouted the man holding the spear.

“Me?” said Shon. “Well, I’m just an old friend of, uh…”

“Seth,” said the young man.

“Right,” said Shon. “You see, me and Seth are old buddies. We go way back!”

“I think you’re lying,” said the man with the sword.

“Well yes,” said Shon, watching Seth inch farther away from the men, “I suppose I am. But on the bright side, hopefully the lie was distracting enough to snap you out of murdering someone in broad daylight just to get a fancy stick.”

“Actually,” said the man with the sword walking towards Shon, “I’ll bet we could get a lot more for that fancy red cape of yours than that stupid stick anyway.”

The three men began advancing quickly, and Shon reacted by casting a spell he had taught himself a couple of months ago that used his mental magic to redirect the thoughts of others back at themselves, but with a slight delay that made it difficult to speak or act clearly. At first the spell produced the desired effect of making the men stumble and become confused, but Shon realized that something was wrong when he felt a surge of rage build among the three men.

“He’s got magic!” shouted the man holding the axe. “I’ll bet he’s one of the lackeys of that death wizard that’s been ruining the whole region!”

“Well we may not be able to kill his master,” said the man with the sword, with a murderous glint in his eye, “but we can at least show this scum what happens to someone who messes with our home and families. Get him!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shon could see Seth pick up a stone to put in his sling. But as the three men ran towards him, Shon could tell that even if his aim was good, there would be no way for him to loose a stone before the men got to him. Shon raised his hands in the air at the men and shouted, “Wait, stop! I don’t work for any death wizard!” but he could tell the men would not hear him.

Suddenly there was a yell and a loud crash of branches behind him, and a large figure rushed past from behind Shon. The man with the axe had already been thrown through the air and crashed into a tree before Shon realized that it was Tarun that had come crashing onto the scene.

Tarun had always been unusually strong, but Shon couldn’t believe how quickly and brutally he dealt with Shon’s attackers. The man with the spear rushed at Tarun, but at the last moment Tarun grabbed the spear and yanked it from the man’s hands. Tarun then snapped the shaft of the spear in half before kicking the man in the stomach and knocking the wind out of him.

“Demons and warlocks!” shouted the man with the sword, rushing at Shon again. “Die!” The man was only one step away from Shon when Tarun tackled him.

“You will not hurt my friend!” screamed Tarun as he lifted the man into the air by his neck. Despite how effortless the exertion looked, Shon could tell that the burst of strength and speed was taking a toll on Tarun. The injury on Tarun’s forearm, which hadn’t healed properly, had opened back up and was starting to bleed again. Tarun had not told Shon how he had gotten the injury, but with the blotched and swollen appearance of the wound, it made Shon worry about its seriousness.

“Tarun, you can put him down now,” Shon said. “His friends are running off, and it looks like he can’t breathe. I’m safe now.” Shon could tell from the intense and furious expression on Tarun’s face the he hadn’t heard a word he had said. “Tarun!” he shouted. “Enough!”

Suddenly a rock came zipping through the air and hit Tarun in the shoulder. Shon turned to see Seth already swinging another stone around in his sling. “That was a warning,” said Seth. “I really don’t want to have to aim the next one at your head. These rocks can be pretty dangerous when they move fast.”

Tarun turned his face towards Seth, and Shon could tell he had finally gotten Tarun’s attention, though he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing at the moment.

“Look, these guys attacked me and your friend here, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to die,” said Seth, his voice becoming gentler. “They’re just poor farmers who are desperate because of what’s happening around here. I’m sure they all learned their lesson today about robbing the innocent to get by. Just let him go.”

Tarun dropped the man to the ground, who began coughing and sputtering before quickly running away. Tarun then stalked toward Seth, and for a moment Shon was afraid that Tarun would either punch or choke him. But a moment before Tarun could lay a hand on him, Seth stepped forward, put his hand on Tarun’s injured arm and quietly said the word, “Almetesi.” Instantly, there was a blinding light under Seth’s hand, and for the first time in weeks Shon could sense the rage inside Tarun start to subside.

When Seth took his hand away, the open wound had been closed and all that was left was a thick purple scar. “What was that?” Tarun asked, feeling somewhat lightheaded.

“Just a word,” said Seth. “In our language it roughly translates to ‘peace’ or ‘mend.’ Do you feel any better?”

Tarun nodded and Shon stepped forward to inspect the freshly healed wound. “That’s quite an impressive bit of magic,” Shon said. “We’ve been bandaging that injury for weeks and couldn’t get it to stay closed.”

Shon extended a hand towards the young man. “I guess we’re lucky we bumped into each other,” said Shon. “What did you say your name was again?”

“I am Seth the IV,” said Seth, shaking Shon’s extended hand. “And luck had nothing to do with it.”

Roff sat up in the darkness feeling lightheaded and confused. His body felt stiff, and he realized he had been lying awkwardly on a stone floor. Where was he? It was not the first time that Roff had ever woken up in unfamiliar surroundings, but it always left him feeling angry. As a mercenary, he was accustomed to setting the terms of a confrontation, and he didn’t like the idea of someone having an advantage over him.

He patted his hands on his vest and pants. He could still feel his small pouch of coins on the inside of his vest pocket, so he hadn’t been robbed. But his sword, dagger, and crossbow were gone. Whoever had disarmed him had even managed to find the small carving knife he kept in the inside of his left boot.

As Roff’s eyes adjusted to the dim light of his surroundings, he could see that a few feet in front of him was a wall of ornate, but solid looking metal bars. Past the bars there was a stone archway leading to a hallway with a faint blue light. Down the hallway, Roff thought he could hear sounds of howling and screaming, but it may have just been some unseen draft playing tricks on his mind.

Roff suspected he was in some kind of prison, but he didn’t remember doing anything recently that would have gotten him arrested. At least nothing that anyone else would know about. But what could he remember? The first thing that came to his mind was the girl with the strange piercings and tattoos. What was her name? Trish? Tresh?

Roff felt a sharp pain in his temples and his head began to swim as he tried to recall the details of his encounter with the girl. He remembered she was pretty, but he couldn’t remember exactly what she had looked like. She had been dancing alone in the tavern and invited him to have a drink. She had been very interested in him. Or at least she had been very interested in the job that brought him to this part of the country. Had they talked about anything else?

There was something about the girl’s dancing that Roff had liked a lot. Even now sitting on the hard stone floor his heart started to pound as he thought of the way she had moved her hands and hips in rhythm with her feet. It was like she had put a spell on him. Too late, Roff realized that was probably exactly what she had been doing.

She had asked him to come with her on a walk in the moonlight. Roff had been more than happy to follow to somewhere more private than the tavern. Except it hadn’t been. Soon after they had gotten out of sight of the tavern, Roff had tried to wrap his arms around the girl in an embrace, and that’s when someone else had showed up.

It was clear from the grin on the man’s face that he wasn’t the girl’s husband or father, but he did seem to know her. Was he perhaps her brother? No, his skin had been much paler than the girl’s. Why did the pale stranger look so happy to see Roff? His unnerving grin was the last thing that Roff remembered seeing before waking up on the cold stone floor.

Anger began to boil up inside Roff and he could hear the blood pounding in his ears. He grabbed the metal bars in front of him and tried shaking, but they held firm. He grunted and his muscles rippled as he pulled and struggled against the bars. He rammed his shoulder into them, but they would not budge. He kicked hard, imagining what he would do to the young woman if he ever saw her again. “I’ll get you, you stinkin’ little witch!” yelled Roff.

“You’d better save your strength,” said a deep voice behind him.

Roff spun around, realizing for the first time that the room was much larger than the dim light from the hallway had revealed. Out of instinct he reached for his sword, but then quietly cursed as he remembered it wasn’t on his belt. Roff brought up both fists menacingly and shouted, “Who’s there?”

“Calm down,” said the voice from the shadows. “I’m not going to attack you.”

“Are you a prisoner here too?” asked Roff, his fists still raised.

“I suppose you could say that,” said the voice, very calmly. “I have been here for a very long time. Why don’t you sit down on that bench over there and we can talk?”

“I think I’ll stand,” said Roff. “Why don’t you come here where I can see you instead of sneaking around in the shadows?”

“I’d be happy to come over,” said the voice. “It’s just that humans tend to get… agitated… when they see me before we get to know one another. I thought it would help you stay calm if we spoke a little first.”

“You mean you’re not even human?” shouted Roff. “Alright, that’s it! You step out where I can see you now, and no sudden moves!”

“I told you to calm down,” said the voice in a tone that was soft but firm. “There’s no need to shout. I’m stepping forward now.”

Something hard and heavy hit the stone floor in the darkness, and then again, and again. Roff realized that the sounds were getting closer to him, and it dawned on him that what he was hearing was footsteps. His fists dropped and he backed up until his back hit against the metal bars behind him. The unearthly blue light from the hallway cast strange shadows as it passed through the ornate bars, and it took Roff a moment to clearly make out the large and hairy shape that was emerging from the shadows in front of him.

In front of Roff stood a black wooly minotaur that was twice his size. The minotaur was dressed in black robes with gold accents, and his hair was braided with several intricate ornaments that lightly tinkled when he walked. Rather than having the usual straight horns and long muzzle of a bull, this minotaur’s horns were curved close to his head, and his nose seemed pressed flat against his face. It occurred to Roff that the minotaur reminded him of a musk ox he had once killed while hunting in the icy north.

Roff slowly inched his way over to the bench in the other corner of the cell and sat down. “You’re a minotaur,” he said quietly.

“Yes,” said the minotaur. “And I’m glad to see you finally took my advice and calmed down.”

“Calm down?” said Roff, careful not to let his voice rise again. The last thing he needed was to be splattered against the walls of the cell. “You don’t talk like any minotaur I’ve ever met before. For that matter, I didn’t realize minotaurs could talk.”

“How many minotaurs have you met?” asked the minotaur.

“Well actually just you,” replied Roff. “Though I had a buddy once who claimed he and a few others once killed a minotaur that was terrorizing a village.” Roff then realized what he had said and hastily added, “Uh, no offense.”

“No need for apologies,” said the minotaur. “Unfortunately, most of my kind come by their reputation honestly. My people are something of an exception, however. We are called the Minovous. Or rather, we were when there were more of us. I’m afraid our brotherhood has become much smaller.”

“Brotherhood?” said Roff. “You some kind of priest or something? Your clothes remind me of a priest.”

“A monk,” the minotaur replied. “I once belonged to a monastery that was charged with protecting the world from a great evil.”

“No kidding,” said Roff. “Well maybe you can give me a few pointers for when I get out of here. I’ve been hired by some villagers to kill a guy they say is evil incarnate. Now I’m pretty good at bashing heads in, but if you’ve got any kind of holy mumbo jumbo that can help me out, I’d be happy to hear it.”

“Hired to kill, you say?” said the minotaur. “You are an assassin, then?”

“Do I look like the sneak around type?” asked Roff. “I like to think of myself as an adventurer for hire. Though I’ve been known to answer to being called a soldier of fortune or mercenary in a pinch.”

“I see,” said the minotaur. “And who is this evil incarnate you seek to kill?”

“Some kind of death wizard called Vdekshi,” said Roff. “Apparently the creep has been stealing corpses and scaring the locals for years. You ever heard of him?”

“Indeed,” said the minotaur. “We are currently in the dungeon beneath his fortress.”

Roff began muttering a string of profanity under his breath as he walked back over to the ornate bars. He grasped the metal bars again and began to throw his full weight against them, grunting and shouting as he did so.

“I think you should sit back down,” said the minotaur. “That isn’t doing any good, and you should save your strength.”

“Why?” asked Roff with a panicked look in his eyes. “Do you know a better way for me to use my strength to get us out? Come on, you said you’ve been here a long time. Any idea how I can escape?”

“It wouldn’t do any good,” said the minotaur. “Just sit down and try to relax. I think I’ve got an idea to help you be calm.”

“Calm? Relax?!” shouted Roff. “Do you know what the locals say about this guy, monk? They say if he catches you he experiments on you and drives you mad. Then, once you’re good and crazy he steals your soul and adds your dead body to his collection of undead slaves. Is that what you want, monk? You want to spend forever as a huge ugly skeleton or walking corpse?”

“I’ve heard the rumors,” said the minotaur. “But there is nothing you can do about that right now. If you don’t calm down soon you’re going to pass out again and then you’ll be worse off than when you arrived here.”

Roff began pacing back and forth in his cell, his breathing became shallow and his head started swimming again. Then in the darkness he heard a low mild rumble. The sound wasn’t terribly loud, but he could feel his insides vibrate as the pitch subtly rose and fell. The sound seemed to resonate from his head down to his knees. When Roff turned around he saw that the minotaur’s eyes were closed and the sound was coming from deep within the minotaur’s throat. Roff took a deep breath and sat down on the bench again, much of his panic having been shaken loose by the vibrations.

“That was an ancient chant from my old monastery,” said the minotaur. “The whole mountain would shake when we sang together, and he would help keep us calm and focused when the whispers would start.”

“Whispers?” asked Roff.

Just then, Roff saw shadows moving across the walls of the cell and realized that someone was walking towards them from the hallway. A moment later, Roff saw the tall pale figure that had been with the young woman in the woods when he had been captured.

“You!” shouted Roff, jumping to his feet, all thoughts of calm and relaxation rushing from his mind. “I’ll kill you!”

“Not likely,” sneered the pale man. He flashed his wicked grin at Roff, sending him into another rage.

“Your timing is as horrid as ever, Laronius,” said the minotaur, with a great sigh. “I believe I clearly stated I did not want to be disturbed.”

“My apologies, Lord Vdekshi,” said Laronius. “You also ordered me to come to you at once if I had any news of Krall’s traveling companions. Since I do have news, you might understand how I was conflicted with my orders.”

Roff whipped around to look at the minotaur in the pale blue light. When he had heard of the necromancer Vdekshi, he had imagined a frail sickly old man cowering pathetically behind his undead slaves for protection. He assumed that if he could somehow get past the skeletons and zombies that it would be a simple task to dispatch the death wizard. Seeing the massive minotaur in front of him, and knowing he had already stated his intentions of trying to kill him, Roff’s knees buckled and he sank to the floor.

“Spare me your apologies, Laronius,” said Vdekshi. “You always manage to find the most creative ways to disobey and undermine me. I hope you know you’ve ruined a perfectly good conversation.”

“Personally, I liked him better when he was unconscious,” said Laronius in a mock whisper.

“Enough,” said Vdekshi. “I’m growing impatient, and I’m starting to lose my temper. You said you have news of Krall’s former companions, so share it. If they have any idea how Krall’s body could have two of those quills in his leg, but his blood wasn’t infected, I need to know how. Have they crossed into our territory yet?”

“Your spies report they will be entering soon from the west,” said Laronius. “But there is a complication. That girl and her noisy band are back.”

Vdekshi growled and stood up. Roff noticed as the minotaur began to pace that he looked considerably more agitated than just a few minutes ago. “This report is taking too long, Laronius. Why should I care if the girl has returned?”

“She makes your errands more difficult for your servants,” said Laronius.

“More difficult for you, you mean,” snapped Vdekshi. He was now starting to stamp one of his great hooves.

“Am I not one of your servants?” asked Laronius. “Come master, just give the word and I’ll lead your legions to wipe out the brat and her little noisemakers.”

“There’s no reason for it,” said Vdekshi, panting and leaning against the bars of the cell. “We kill out of necessity, not because it makes our lives easier. Besides, she gives the locals hope. Take that away and soon they would leave and you would have to travel much farther on my errands. Leave her alone, Laronius. You are not to disobey me on this.”

“Of course, my lord,” said Laronius with feigned surprise. “You know my only desire is to serve you.”

“You know, Laronius,” said Vdekshi through heavy breathing, “with all of my other servants, I never know when they’re telling me the truth or lying. At least with you I always know you’re lying. AHH!”

Vdekshi suddenly grabbed his chest and fell to the ground. Roff didn’t know what was going on, but he knew an opportunity when he saw one. He rushed over to Vdekshi’s side and began feeling the pockets of his robes. Within a moment, he had found a long silver knife and held it between himself and the minotaur.

“I’m warning you!” Roff shouted to Laronius. “Let me out of this cell right now or I’ll cut your master’s throat. One way or another I’ll be getting out of this dungeon alive!”

Laronius let out a high and chilling laugh. “Hasn’t Lord Vdekshi already told you?” he said. “You’re a living dead man already!”

“Enough!” shouted Vdekshi, and Laronius fell silent. “I’ve told you how I feel about you laughing like that before someone dies. It’s no laughing matter.”

Roff kept his grip tightly on the silver knife in his hand. “What are you talking about?” he shouted. “I feel fine. How can I be dead already?”

“Calm down,” Vdekshi said. He was breathing more heavily than before, but was beginning to regain some of his earlier composure. “You are not actually dead yet. You see, Laronius may be despicable, but he is a very gifted sanguimancer.”

“A what?” asked Roff.

“A master of blood,” said Laronius. “A connoisseur of crimson. A patron of plasma. An artisan of arteries.”

“You’re a vampire!” shouted Roff, backing away once again.

“If you want to be so uncouth about it,” said Laronius, rolling his eyes. “The point is, one little taste, and someone’s blood becomes my plaything.”

Roff raised the silver blade and pointed it at Laronius. “Well you’ll get nowhere near me or my blood, demon!”

Laronius began to chuckle and shake his head. “You know,” he said, “it’s a good thing you were so much tastier than you are bright. I’ve already tasted your blood. You ever get a scab after getting injured? What am I saying? Look at you, of course you have. Well imagine having a scab in the middle of that brain rattling around in your head. I must admit it’s taken longer to kill you than I expected, but you should be dead any minute now.”

Roff grasped his head with his hands, trying to feel the scab that Laronius was talking about, seeing if he could somehow pick it off. “No!” he shouted, dropping the knife and kneeling next to Vdekshi. “Please, Lord Vdekshi, spare my life and I will serve you very well. I can even give you the names of the people who paid me to kill you.”

“I’ve already told you so many times to calm down,” said Vdekshi, panting. “You will serve me well. Being alive will just have nothing to do with it. And don’t worry about your death. Laronius may be cruel left to his own devices, but I’ve ordered him to make your death entirely painless. You might experience a light buzzing, but there will be no pain.”

“But why?” Roff asked, growing hysterically. “Couldn’t I serve you better if I were alive?”

“Roff, let me ask you a question,” said Vdekshi. “Is there any nobler act than giving one’s life for a cause you believe in?”

“How should I know?” asked Roff. “I’ve never had a cause I believed in, especially not whatever crackpot cause you’re asking me to die for!”

“To answer the question,” said Vdekshi, ignoring Roff’s response, “yes, there is a more noble act. When you’ve already given your own life, being willing to even give the lives of others. It’s a painful choice, but that’s the burden I’ve taken upon myself.”

Vdekshi got up and walked back into the shadows from which he had originally emerged. “But hopefully,” said Vdekshi’s voice from the shadows, “I feel that is a sacrifice that will soon be coming to an end.”

From within the darkness, Roff saw a sickly green light begin to grow. He looked through the darkness and saw Vdekshi in the light holding a long silver staff with a glowing green crystal at the top. Roff tried to scoot himself off the floor and back against the far walls of the cell.

“Please, I’ve told you,” Vdekshi panted. “Save your strength. I’m going to need it.” The glow of the green crystal intensified, Roff heard a strange buzzing sound, and then there was nothing but black.

Vdekshi
Art by Ryan Salway

Seth was having a terrible day, and so he reasoned he was having exactly the kind of day that he deserved. The stern and contemptuous expression of the Senior Acolyte in front of him was all that Seth needed to see to know how the conversation would end. Seth had come to this place seeking wisdom, purpose, and most of all, honor, but it was now clear to him that he would be leaving only with embarrassment and shame. Just like every other place his life had taken him.

The old man in front of Seth hardly moved at all beneath the thick, billowing white and gold robes that he wore. Seth considered this to be quite a testament to the man’s self-control considering how hot the day was becoming. The roof of the building in which Seth stood had disappeared more than a hundred years ago, and the light of the noonday sun grew hot on his light brown hair. If the heat or sunlight bothered the Senior Acolyte sitting in front of Seth, he gave no indication of it.

“Seth,” the old man said in a tone that sounded both bored and disgusted at the same time, “do you know precisely what you did wrong today? And don’t try to say, ‘everything.’ That answer may be correct, but it will not satisfy me.”

“Well, Senior Acolyte Pokriz,” Seth said in a low voice, “I believe I know what I did that has made you so angry.”

“I’ll remind you that in this sanctuary I am known as ‘Honorable Senior Acolyte Pokriz,’ Seth,” said the old man. “Of course, that’s an easy mistake to make for one as new to our sanctuary as you are. I assume it is also because of your inexperience that you fail to realize that one in a position such as myself does not become angry. So I will ask you again, do you know what you did wrong today? I expect a yes or no answer.”

Seth knew exactly what the man wanted to hear. He wanted Seth to tell him what he had done that had gotten him in trouble with the acolytes. But the Senior Acolyte hadn’t asked if he knew what he had done to get in trouble. He had asked if he knew what he had done wrong. Since Seth believed he had done nothing wrong, he could not give the old man the answer that he wanted without lying.

Seth stood quietly under the bright sunlight, trying to choose his response. He did not want any more humiliation or disgrace. He had come to this island for the very opposite. If he just told the Senior Acolyte what he wanted to hear, he might be able to get away with some demerits and a mild reprimand. If he told the truth, he would most likely be cast out by the end of the day. Seth gripped the intricately carved shillelagh in his right hand. As his finger passed over the notch on the walking stick left by his father, Seth knew it was never really a choice at all. He would speak nothing but the truth, come fire or flood.

“My patience is growing thin,” said the Honorable Senior Acolyte Pokriz. “Can you tell me what you did wrong?” He was now sitting forward in his high-backed chair. The chair itself was accented with gold paint, and attached to the back were two large wings made of wire and white goose feathers. Seth had thought that the man and his chair looked quite imposing the first time he had seen them a month ago, but now he began to see clearly. The gold paint was flaking off of the chair and feathers were falling out of the wings. The Senior Acolyte’s robes had looked grand and regal from a distance, but up close Seth could see that they were becoming threadbare and torn around the edges, and the insides of the collar and sleeves were filthy.

“No,” said Seth, raising his head. “I cannot tell you what I did wrong today.”

Senior Acolyte Pokriz frowned deeper than before. “That’s most disappointing, young man,” said Pokriz. “Despite your many other shortcomings, I was at least hoping to hear the truth from you. Very well, I shall read the accusations from the Junior Acolytes’ report.” The old man clapped his hands and a balding man came out from behind one of the nearby columns. The man was wearing robes similar in appearance to the Senior Acolyte’s, but less ornate.

The man handed a piece of parchment to Pokriz and bowed very low. “Here is our report, Most Honorable Senior Acolyte Pokriz,” said the man.

“Thank you, Junior Acolyte Lyktar,” said Pokriz, waiving a hand at the man. “That will be all.” Pokriz flattened and straightened the report several times until it seemed smoothed to his satisfaction. Seth had learned in the three weeks he had spent at the sanctuary that Pokriz was not fond of any wrinkles or blemishes on any object handed to him.

Pokriz picked up the report and addressed Seth in a grave tone, though he did not take his eyes off of the parchment. “Seth, you have been accused of blatant transgressions against The Devout Acolyte Brotherhood of the Celestial Guardians and the Sanctuary of Skatterr. Your association with our most elite brotherhood stands in jeopardy of termination and you will be forthwith banished from our midst unless you can answer these accusations to our satisfaction. Do you understand this, Seth?”

“Yes,” said Seth, staring straight ahead at the Senior Acolyte. “I understand.”

Pokriz kept his eyes fixed on the paper in front of him, not acknowledging Seth’s gaze. “Since you have refused to voluntarily confess your wrongdoings, I will read the accusations, and you will be given the opportunity to deny any which have been falsely brought against you. Silence will be considered a lack of denial and therefore an admission of accusation. Any attempts at deceit are forbidden, as you are reminded that you are standing in the once and future home of the most exalted and enduring of the original Immortals of this world, the glorious Celestial Guardians. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” said Seth. “I understand.”

“Seth,” said Pokriz, with interest creeping into his voice for the first time, “you stand accused of obstructing two junior acolytes, your superiors in this brotherhood, in their efforts to uphold the honor of the brotherhood and subdue a violent enemy of the Celestial Guardians. Do you deny this?”

Seth thought back to that morning when he and the two junior acolytes had encountered the “enemy” that Pokriz mentioned. He was an old man that many on the island called “Tipsy,” and Seth had met him before. From the large dent in Tipsy’s forehead, Seth had assumed the man was a former soldier with a wound that never healed properly. He was called Tipsy because most days he spent his time traveling back and forth across the main streets with a crooked walk that almost look like an off-rhythm dance, but this morning he hadn’t been dancing. He had been screaming at the clouds and anyone passing by about his dead wife and son, and how he had cried to all of the Immortals to save them, but none of them had answered him. Tipsy said they were worthless and false and dead.

When the two junior acolytes that Seth was with had heard the old man’s ranting, they cornered him and insisted that he must be mistaken in railing against all of the Immortals since that would include the most glorious Celestial Guardians. One of the junior acolytes had grabbed Tipsy’s arm and suggested he revise his statement. Tipsy had responded by stepping on the junior acolyte’s foot and spitting on his robes. Apparently that was enough to be considered “a violent enemy of the Celestial Guardians.”

When the two junior acolytes had first started beating the man, Seth couldn’t figure out what was going on. Though little was known about the ancient Immortals known as the Celestial Guardians, it was widely accepted that when they did roam the world of mortals long ago, they had been charged with the protection of the weak and oppressed. Why would the acolytes of the Celestial Guardians be beating a defenseless old man? Seth had wondered if perhaps Tipsy possessed some dangerous dark magic that the acolytes knew about that he did not.

As Seth saw Tipsy crouch on the ground with his arms trying to shield his head from the acolytes’ blows, he knew that there was no wicked magic at play, only wicked fools. Seth had used his shillelagh to strike the two acolytes from behind, drawing their attention and allowing Tipsy a chance to slip away.

“What is wrong with you?” one of the junior acolytes had yelled at Seth. “You were permitted to leave the sanctuary to assist us in our duties, not thwart them. Now that maniac has escaped, and will probably respect the glorious Celestial Guardians even less.”

“The old man is confused and overcome with grief,” Seth had said. “If he had spit on the Guardians themselves, they would still not have wanted brutality like that.”

“Do not presume that you know the will of the most glorious Celestial Guardians better than we,” the other junior acolyte had said. “Do not forget that you are still merely a novice acolyte, and by the time we’ve told the Senior Acolyte Pokriz about this, I expect you won’t even be that.”

Seth was pulled from his memories by the annoyed voice of Pokriz. “I will remind you only once that silence will be considered an admission of guilt,” said the Senior Acolyte. “Do you deny this accusation, Seth?”

“No,” said Seth. “I do not deny it.”

Pokriz cleared his throat and continued to read the report. “You also stand accused,” he said, “of defiling the consecrated robe of Skatterr that was entrusted to you. Do you deny this?”

Seth remembered how he had wandered the streets of the island for a time that day after the junior acolytes had run off to report his earlier transgression against the honor of the brotherhood. As he had walked along the streets, a cold breeze had blown in off the nearby sea and sent a shiver across Seth’s body. He had pulled tight around him the novice’s robe that he had woven a month ago in the sanctuary. Many of the acolytes had sneered at Seth for making the robe too thick, but he had been glad that morning for its warmth and protection from the cold salty air.

As he had walked and huddled his robe, Seth looked down a small alley between two houses and saw a little girl. The girl was dressed in dirty rags and was holding her hands close to the open window of a house, trying to feel some of the warm air from the fireplace without being seen by the occupants inside. The alley provided her some protection from the wind, but her thin arms and legs were totally exposed, and she was shivering.

Seth had walked over to the girl as quietly as possible to avoid drawing any attention, removed his robe, and draped it around the girl. The little girl had seemed frightened at first, but after Seth had produced a small biscuit from one of his pouches and offered it to the girl, she had rewarded him with a bright smile and a tight hug. Snuggled up on the ground inside the thick wool robe, the little girl had soon fallen asleep, with Seth sitting nearby and keeping watch.

Not long after, one of the junior acolytes had found Seth in the alley. A look of shock and disgust had crossed the acolyte’s face when he saw Seth’s robe covering the dirty little girl. “Novice Acolyte Seth, come with me at once,” he had said with upturned nose. “Honorable Senior Acolyte Pokriz has summoned you back to the sanctuary. But first, collect your robe. It’s getting filthy.”

“Keep your voice down,” Seth had said. “I’m coming.”

“And your robe?” the acolyte had asked.

“I think it’s doing more good where it is right now,” Seth had replied.

“It’s forbidden!” the acolyte had said indignantly. “I realize now that you may not care about the brotherhood after all, but we take these things very seriously.”

“Well,” Seth had said, “it just so happens that I take orphans shivering on the streets very seriously.”

Seth cleared his throat before responding to the man in front of him. “No, Honorable Senior Acolyte Pokriz,” said Seth. “I do not deny it.”

Pokriz put the report down on the desk in front of him. “Well then,” said the Senior Acolyte, “it seems there is just one accusation left to bring against you. I asked you only moments ago if you were aware of what you had done wrong today, and you replied that you did not. And yet, you have denied neither of the very grievous accusations brought against you. I can therefore only assume that you are also guilty of lying to a Senior Acolyte within the walls of the Sanctuary of Skatterr. Do you deny this?”

“Yes,” Seth said boldly, “I do deny it. I have spoken nothing but truth since I arrived on this island, and I will continue to speak nothing but the truth, even if you will not hear it.”

“I’ve had enough of this!” hissed Pokriz, losing the temper that he claimed not to have in the first place. “You betrayed the brotherhood for a lunatic, defiled your robe, and now you even lie in the house of the most glorious of Immortals. Have you no shame? Just who do you think you are?!”

“I know exactly who I am,” said Seth, walking forward to the acolyte’s desk. Seth raised his shillelagh and Pokriz ducked under his arms as if he were afraid that Seth would strike him. “You see this?” he said. “The entire history of my fathers is carved on this walking stick, all the way down to me. You want to know who I am? I am Seth the Fourth, son of Seth the Liar, son of Seth the Thief, son of Seth the Traitor. There’s nothing you can tell me about my shame. I carry it in my hands everywhere I go.”

***

Seth walked along the beach of the island, watching the sunset and feeling very foolish and sore. Apparently the junior acolytes had considered it bad manners for a guest to raise his voice at their Senior Honorable Noble Whatever-Title-He-Had-Made-Up-For-Himself. They especially didn’t like the fact that when they had entered the room, Seth had appeared to be brandishing a weapon at the old man. Their fists had requested that he and his face leave immediately, and their boots made sure that his backside had understood the message as well.

As Seth continued to walk along the sand, he realized that while he was embarrassed to be expelled from another group of devotees of the Immortals, what he really felt foolish about was that he had expected anything else. Whether he was trying to find a higher purpose at the School of Caster, the Library of Destiny, or the Stronghold of Sentinel, Seth found that he never found belonging, nor did he ever feel closer to fulfilling his mission to restore the honor of his fathers.

Seth had reasoned that perhaps it was because Caster, Destiny, Sentinel, and most of the other well-known Immortals were the second generation of Immortals. Since the Celestial Guardians were the only First Immortals not overthrown at the end of the First Age, Seth had hoped that by traveling to this island and joining the acolytes, he might finally come closer to the great purpose he was seeking. But the acolyte’s devotion to the Immortals they claimed to revere was even more hollow than the others had been. He was lost and out of ideas.

Seth sat down on the sandy beach and felt a chill blow in from the sea. He looked up at the sky and watched the stars begin to appear one by one above him. While still looking up at the stars, Seth began to speak aloud. “It was said that at one time the Immortals had grown so powerful they could hear the cries of every mortal on the face of Reulla. And that they were so gallant they would answer those cries when the mortals needed them most. So why don’t they answer anymore? Have Caster and his subjects finally forgotten what it’s like to be mortal, and so stopped caring to help us as well?”

Seth’s words hung in the silence of the increasingly chilly air. As the beach continued to darken, Seth got up and began walking once again. A moment later, he let out a yelp as he stubbed his toe on something hard in front of him. He reached down and was able to just make out the form of a rusty old lantern. Seth determined it must have washed to shore after falling off one of the ships that regularly came and went from the island. As Seth’s toe throbbed, the feeling of foolishness returned and the threw the lantern down the beach.

Seth was mildly surprised when he didn’t hear the lantern hit the sand. He was much more surprised as he saw a light in the direction where he had thrown it, and saw that the light was coming from the lantern, which was now level with his face and coming closer to him.

Squinting his eyes against the bright light in the darkness, Seth could see a figure holding the lantern, with two other figures following behind. As the three figures drew near, Seth realized that it was Tipsy holding the lantern, with the little girl wearing Seth’s robe on one side, and Senior Acolyte Pokriz on the other side.

Seth was bewildered to see these three individuals in front of him together. “Sorry Tipsy,” Seth said, trying to shield his eyes from the blinding light. “I didn’t realize that was your lamp. I hope I didn’t damage it.”

“Why did you show me compassion when it would have been easier to join your comrades?” asked Tipsy. The old man’s voice was deep and sounded nothing like the ranting tone that Seth had heard earlier that morning.

“What?” asked Seth, not sure he had heard the question correctly.

“Why did you do it?” the old man asked again.

“Because,” said Seth, “it was the right thing to do.”

“Why did you show me kindness and give me your robe?” asked the little girl. Her voice was that of a child, but she sounded older and more confident than any child he had ever met. Certainly more than the scared little girl he had met in the alley that day. “Nobody else knew I was there. It would have been easier to just keep walking by.” Seth didn’t know what was happening, but he had the distinct impression that he was being tested.

“Because it was the right thing to do,” said Seth.

“Why did you tell me the truth when you knew your honesty would get you banished?” asked Pokriz. Gone was the tone of boredom and contempt. His voice was now penetrating and rich. “If you had told me what I wanted to hear, I might have let you stay.”

“It was the right thing to do,” Seth replied.

Tipsy held the lantern a little higher and the light shone right in Seth’s face. “And do you always do the right thing?” the old man asked.

“No, I don’t,” replied Seth. “But I try to.”

“That will do,” said the little girl.

At that moment, Seth saw all three of them waver and disappear while the light in the lantern became so bright that Seth could see nothing else. Even the sand beneath his feet and the great sea to his right seemed to fade into white as the unearthly light blinded him.

“What’s going on?” shouted Seth. “Who are you?”

In response, Seth heard a voice all around him. “Even if I told you my name, you would not know it,” said the voice. “There are none left on this world, my world, who know me or my magic.” As the light intensified, Seth fell to his knees.

“But I want you to change that,” said the voice. “I have a job for you, Seth.”

Seth
Art by Ryan Salway