Dusk happened. It had been a week since the days once again began to grow longer and the nights shorter, but sunset still came early. It had only been five hours since the sun had been at its peak that day, and some people were already starting to build cooking fires in the courtyards and light candles in their rooms as the high walls of the stronghold cast long shadows from the top of the hill, and stretching across the rolling fields below.

Tarun sat forward, resting his face on his folded hands, taking a deep breath and trying to understand everything that Shon had shared with everyone seated at the table. Shon was seated to Tarun’s left, Seth sat across the table, and Mendoji was seated to Tarun’s right. All of them were currently silent.

Shon had confided in Tarun first, and had shared the most urgent information about the silver staff and how it had affected him. After that, they had asked Seth to join them, and Shon had repeated everything he had told Tarun, but also adding details and information that hadn’t come up the first time. Once he had a chance to get a word in, Seth had encouraged Shon to wait to go on until Mendoji could be included in the conversation. 

At first, Shon had been hesitant to share his discovery beyond the three of them, but Seth had persuaded the both Shon and Tarun that if there was any connection between Shon’s recent experience, and what had happened with Gravine’s crystal prison, then there could be no one more qualified to consult than Mendoji, who had spent decades in close proximity to both the crystal and the silver staff. Despite Mendoji’s attentive listening and lack of interruptions or questions, Shon looked drained and embarrassed by the time he had finished sharing his account for the third time that day.

Seth’s lantern sat in the center of the table, and it’s magical light illuminated Tarun’s room where the meeting was taking place. The room was slightly larger than average for the living quarters in the stronghold, and it had been completely without furniture before Tarun moved in. He had chosen that room for himself because the mantle above the fireplace displayed a carving of a scythe with a stalk of wheat tying its blade and handle together. The symbol meant that the room was connected to the hidden tunnel network that gave unimpeded access to Seth’s room in the heart of the stronghold, in case of emergencies. Perhaps most importantly though, he had chosen the room because it was only a door away from Shon’s room, and Tarun had been worried about his best friend since his traumatic injury. 

Of the four men seated around the table, Mendoji had chosen the humblest accommodations. His room was small, had a single window, minimal furnishings, and was located on the far north side of the stronghold where livestock was kept to be safe at night. 

When Mendoji had insisted that Seth move into the room that had previously served as Mendoji’s sanctuary, Seth had tried to encourage the minotaur monk to choose a room that was more comfortable and less isolated. Mendoji had assured Seth that living above the sounds and smells of livestock was a far less distressing prospect than seeing his neighbors’ understandable expressions of fear whenever he stepped out his door. “The cattle may not be much for conversation,” Mendoji had said, “but at least I know I never did anything that ruined their lives or gave them nightmares.” 

Mendoji’s attitude had been deeply penitent and reserved since Seth had healed him of the poison that had afflicted him for so long. After Mari’s adoption into Seth’s clan, Mendoji had also accepted Seth’s offer to adopt anyone who promise to strive to uphold the clan’s ideals of honesty, compassion, and unity. Since then, Mendoji had been spending with Seth, trying to apply his own training and techniques as a monk to use the words of power that Seth had learned from The Ancient One.

While Tarun had been able to let go of the burning hatred he had once held towards the minotaur when he was still known as Vdekshi, he was still wary of him. If Mendoji preferred to live further away from the rest of the inhabitants, then Tarun had no objections. And considering how many of the new arrivals really were genuinely terrified of him, it was probably for the best. 

“Let me begin by saying,” Mendoji said, breaking the silence, “that I don’t believe Shon is in any immediate danger. If he were hearing the voice of Gravine or any of his undead servants, then it would be a different matter, but these images he’s seeing don’t seem to be connected to necromancy in any way.” 

“And you don’t think the staff will betray Shon to try and free Gravine or serve its former master in any other way?” Seth asked. 

“Gravine was never the master of that staff,” replied Mendoji. “I was the one who placed his crystal prison in the head of it in the hopes that it might help give me more control over the power that Gravine was trying to use through me. I believe it succeeded in that regard, but whether or not I made a wise in doing so is still uncertain.” 

“Then are you the staff’s master, Mendoji?” Tarun asked. 

“No,” Shon said flatly. The other three turned to look at him, and his face reddened. “Sorry,” he added. 

“It’s alright, Shon,” said Mendoji. “But Shon is right, Tarun. I’m not the master of that staff. I never was. Even though I utilized it to harness Gravine and his necromancy, I never embraced that power, nor to the staff that connected me to it. For me it was only a tool, not an extension of myself.” 

“And extension of yourself?” Shon repeated quietly, his eyes growing wide. 

Mendoji nodded. “Yes. From what I understand, that is what it feels like to bond with a staff, wand, or other magical focus.” He gestured to the staff leaning on the wall behind Shon and added, “That’s how you feel towards this staff right now, isn’t it Shon? You can bear to put it down or be away from it for a little while, but the idea of losing it completely would be as frightening as losing one of your arms or legs. Is that right?” 

Shon nodded, understanding dawning on his face. “That’s it exactly,” he said. “If this is what a real connection to your own staff feels like, how did Uncle Grodin ever let me borrow Stick?” 

“He trusted you,” said Tarun. “We all do.” 

“We also care about you,” inserted Seth. “And that’s why we want to help you stay safe. Mendoji, what else can you tell us about the staff?” 

“It was one of the most guarded relics at the monastery where I served,” said Mendoji, “rivaled only by the dedication with which we guarded the prison of Gravine.” Seth’s eyes went wide and he was about to speak up, but Mendoji raised a hand to prevent the interruption as he continued. 

“That is not to say that the staff was evil however,” said Mendoji. “Gravine and his prison were guarded by the monks of my monastery, but it was also reviled by us. We viewed its presence as a burden, but one that we were willing to endure that burden to keep others safe. In contrast, we guarded the staff because we revered it and what it stood for. For many of us, it symbolized what we hoped to attain as monks.” 

“What did it symbolize for you?” Shon asked. 

“It’s difficult to put into words,” said Mendoji, “but I suppose you could think of it as a sense of completeness or finding unity across the four realms.” 

“Four realms?” Shon asked. 

“Ah yes,” said Mendoji, “I sometimes forget that a belief in the four realms is not commonly taught among humans and other primafolk.” 

“Primafolk?” Tarun questioned. 

Mendoji let out a snort. “After spending so much time with only the undead, I’ve forgotten that conversations with the living can be so scattered,” he muttered. “For those of us not of your species, it’s what we call you collectively when we aren’t talking about your specific variants. I know you primafolk typically feel the need to specify whether you’re referring to humans, goblins, elves, orcs, or dwarves, but for the rest of us it’s a lot easier to just refer to all five variants as a single species.” 

“I’m familiar with the term,” Shon said quietly. “I’ve just never really used it much. I don’t really think of myself as a primafolk. I’m just a person.” 

“That’s because like most primafolk,” said Mendoji, “you were raised in a community that was comprised mostly of other primafolk, and probably of the same variant as you, correct? That means that for most primafolk, humans in particular, they tend to think of themselves as the standard of what a ‘person’ is. I suppose to you I probably look like a person, but with fur, hooves, and an ox head. True?” 

“I don’t know what an ox is,” said Tarun, “but other than that, yes I’d say that’s what I thought a minotaur was.” Shon and Seth began to shift uncomfortably in their chairs, and Tarun began to wonder if he had said something wrong. 

“I’m familiar with it,” said Seth, trying to fill the awkward silence that followed, “but I’ve heard other humans say that calling ourselves primafolk is offensive. Because, you know, ‘prime folk’ sounds like we think we’re better than other people or something.” 

“And is that what you think?” Mendoji asked, leaning in. Seth’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. He was about to say something when Mendoji let out a deep laugh. “Calm down. I’m not here to judge you or accuse you of prejudice. I’m merely amused at how little you primafolk know of others. I’m curious, besides myself and those three satyrs in Aluanna’s band, how many people do you know who aren’t primafolk?” 

Shon was about to speak up and mention Krall, Solimar, and Piggy, but then remembered that as different has he thought of them at the time, they were actually all primafolk too. “Just you and the satyrs for me,” he said sheepishly. “Life’s Edge was pretty boring. Just a bunch of humans really. Sorry.” 

“I don’t remember anything before I wandered into Life’s Edge were Shon found me,” said Tarun. “So the same is true for me, as far as I know.” 

“I’ve met quite a few,” said Seth brightly. “I spent years traveling to various shrines to the Immortals, before The Ancient One contacted me that is, and those shrines often acted as gathering places for all kinds of people. Not just humans, er, primafolk.” 

“I’ve seen merfolk while sailing between islands,” Seth continued. “There was a harpy who lived in the rafters of the shrine to Huntress, and would recite poetry for money. And I remember there was a very wise centaur named Quatrel who traveled on the road with me on the way to the shrine of Caster. I enjoyed his company.” 

“Quite the variety,” said Mendoji. “So tell me, did the topic of the four realms ever come up when you spoke with them?” 

“Not that I can remember,” said Seth. “Though in all honesty, the only one I really had a conversation with was Quatrel, and we only shared the road for a few miles before I had to stop for a rest. I couldn’t really keep up with him, and I could tell that he was probably going a lot slower than he was used to. You know, for my sake.” 

“Well since it never came up with any of them,” said Mendoji, leaning in close, “perhaps this would be a good time for me to get back to Shon’s original questions about what the four realms are and why his staff is so important?” 

Seth and Shon both eagerly agreed, nodding and thanking Mendoji several times. They seemed so relieved to change the subject that Tarun again had the impression that some kind of mistake had been made, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. 

“A comprehensive understanding of the four realms is a pursuit that has spanned many lifetimes of study,” said Mendoji, his tone becoming more serious. “It is not something I can teach you about in a single afternoon chat. But I think I can at least give you enough basics to explain what they have to do with the staff.” 

“There is some debate over what each of the four realms actually is,” continued Mendoji, “but I will tell you the philosophy taught in my old monastery, and I believe it is correct. The realm you’re all surely most familiar with is the Physical Realm. It is what we typically perceive as the world around us. Or as one of my more eccentric monastic teachers used to say, ‘It’s where I keep all my stuff.’” At this, Mendoji paused to chuckle at some old memory. 

“Next is the Mystic Realm. This is the realm where magical energies move most freely and where many creatures of high magical density are born and grow strong before they manifest in the Physical Realm. Some call this the Fae Realm because it is believed to be where all types of fairies are born, and where they disappear to when they grow old and can no longer maintain their presence here.” 

“The Spirit Realm is the one I had the most dealings with over the last several decades as I was under Gravine’s manipulations. It’s where mortal souls mature until they are strong enough to enter into mortal bodies at birth. It is also the last realm where souls may linger after they die and before they move on.” 

“Finally, there is the Ethereal Realm,” said Mendoji, and he chuckled when Shon’s face lit up at the mention of it. “Yes Shon, there’s a reason I saved this realm for last as I assumed it is the realm you would have the most questions about. As you may have already guessed, it is a realm of thoughts, dreams, and ideas. Some call it the Dream Realm, but I believe it is much more than dreams.” 

“Yes, exactly!” Shon exclaimed. “My old schoolteacher Empress told me about it. She was human, but she seemed to believe in it too, and she’s the one who taught me everything I know about it.” Shon took a deep breath. “I never realized there were other realms too.” 

“The realms are not entirely separate from one another,” said Mendoji. “There is a lot of overlap. Most things exist in more than one realm at a time, though not in the same way. Here in the Physical Realm we see each other as four bodies sitting around a table, moving our mouths and making sounds. In the Mystic Realm we would see four beings with magic passing through them. Some more than others,” he added with a nod towards Shon. “We would likely see the table and chairs only very faintly, if at all. But we would see any spells or enchantments in the area with bright clarity, even if we couldn’t see them with our normal eyes.” 

Shon brought his hand to the right side of his face. “What about eyes that aren’t normal?” Shon asked. “Could they see these other realms?” 

“That is the first possibility that occurred to me when you shared what you had experienced,” said Mendoji. “And yes, there are many means through which one might view a realm that their physical eyes cannot see. Gravine could see little of the Physical Realm, but he could see very far and with great accuracy in the Spirit Realm. From time to time he would share glimpses of the Spirit Realm with me. He said it was to educate me, but clearly it was also to bait me with my desire to see other realms and keep me as his puppet.” 

“What would someone see if they were to look at the four of us in the Spirit Realm?” Seth asked. 

“That would depend on the shape of our souls individually,” said Mendoji. “The stronger one’s sense of identity and self, the more clearly they can be seen in the Spirit Realm. But individuals are not the only ones with souls. Groups of people with a strong identity, such as nations or armies, can have a soul all their own that can be seen in the Spirit Realm. I suspect that Aluanna and her band have formed quite the collective identity over the years. The soul of her band likely looms large in the Spirit Realm, which is probably why they were able to drive away the phantoms and wraiths that Gravine used to conjure to assault them.” 

“And what about the Ethereal Realm?” Shon asked. “What would someone see if they looked in on this room from there?” 

“I was actually hoping you could answer that question for us,” Mendoji said to Shon. “Because I suspect that’s exactly what you’ve been experiencing since your eye healed with fragments of that crystal still inside.” 

“But they’re fragments of the prison that held Gravine’s soul,” said Seth. “Wouldn’t it be more likely that it would cause him to see the Spirit Realm in that case?” 

“That was the thought that concerned me the most when you all asked me to join you here today,” said Mendoji. “The Spirit Realm is not inherently evil, or inherently good for that matter, but getting a good look at it will make you acutely aware of your own mortality as well as everyone else’s. I do not believe that would lead to a very pleasant life for our young wizard.” 

“But as Shon continued to describe what he saw from his right eye, it became quickly apparent to me that he was not describing the Spirit Realm,” Mendoji continued. “But it does sound like he is seeing one of the other realms.” 

“But how could it allow Shon to see the Mystic Realm or Ethereal Realm?” Seth asked. “Wasn’t the crystal tied mostly to the Spirit Realm?” 

“I believe the staff actually has more to do with that than the crystal does,” said Mendoji. “Which finally gets us back to the matter at hand of how the staff symbolizes a unification of the four realms.” Mendoji emphasized this last comment with a snort. 

“Do you see the four spirals that join at the top of the staff?” Mendoji asked, pointing to it. “Those represent the four realms. They all start from the same point at the top, then split into four distinct pieces as they spiral down. But ultimately they join together again, and below that is the conduit of the staff, leading straight down to a single sharp point at the bottom.” 

“According to the teachings of my old monastery,” continued Mendoji, “the form of the staff shows us the true nature of the four realms. One point of origin, four distinct parts, all joining together as they travel to a single unified point in the end. Separate, yet inseparable.” 

“I’m not sure I understand,” said Tarun. 

“Well,” said Mendoji with a snort, “I did tell you that understanding it can take a lifetime. Besides, for our discussion today it is less important how the staff represents the four realms, and more important to understand how it interacts with the four realms.” 

“So how does it interact with the four realms?” Shon asked. 

“Earlier we discussed how differently someone would perceive the four of us in this room, depending on which realm they viewed us from,” said Mendoji. “But that staff would be exactly the same, regardless of the realm. Whether you view it from the Mystic Realm, Spirit Realm, or Ethereal Realm, you would see the same the same silver staff that we see in the Physical Realm.” 

“Does that mean that some bodiless soul in the Spirit Realm could come along, pick it up in that realm, and start swinging it around?” Shon asked. 

“They could try to grab it,” said Mendoji, “but they wouldn’t be likely to move it. The purpose of the staff, according to what I was taught, is to channel all four realms into one. So any energy or substance from one realm is channeled through the staff towards that point of unity at the bottom of the staff. In other words, if a soul with no body tried to grab the staff in the Spirit Realm, it would be pulled in to the current of the staff, course through its conduit at lightning speed, and find itself flung out the end to who knows where?” 

“But it’s leaning against a wall right now,” Seth pointed out, “and the wall seems to be just fine.” 

“Substances in the Physical Realm tend to be far more… stubborn,” Mendoji said after pausing to find the right word. “The substances and energies of the other three realms are far less rigid, and far less predictable.” He held up a hand as the others began to launch into a barrage of questions. “I should also point out that much of what I’m telling you was taught to me decades ago, and I am no expert on the subject. I merely wished to give you the simplest of understandings so you might have some idea of what Shon may be experiencing.” 

“There is still one more thing I don’t understand,” said Seth. “How could something like that be created?” 

“I don’t know,” Mendoji replied. “There are no records of its creation, only legends. Still, the monks of my monastery revered it as a marvel, and so we guarded it. Until I was the only one left to guard it, that is.” 

“And then you placed the crystal inside of it,” said Shon. “Why? What did you hope to accomplish?” 

“Gravine intended to use me as the conduit to channel his necromancy,” Mendoji said with head lowered. “I knew that was a path I could not come back from once I allowed it. I had hoped that by using the staff as the conduit and connection to the energies of the Spirit Realm, I could use them without being corrupted by them.” 

“Weren’t you worried about the staff being corrupted?” Seth asked. 

“I would be lying if I said no,” Mendoji replied. “But I justified the risk by convincing myself it was impossible. After all, the staff is unchangeable and therefore incorruptible. Fortunately it seems that was one justification that turned out to be true in the end.” 

“That’s why the staff didn’t corrode or dissolve when I attacked Gravine with it,” Tarun said. 

“Exactly,” Mendoji agreed. “That’s also why it doesn’t bend, warp, or scratch, despite silver typically being such a soft metal. And in the past, when I was suffering one of my blind rages from the poison, no matter how hard I struck its base on the stone floor, the tip has never been blunted.” 

“So if the staff is so unchanging and incorruptible,” said Seth, “what makes you think that it’s the staff that’s affecting Shon’s sight and not the crystal?” 

“You misunderstand me,” said Mendoji. “I’m not saying that the crystal has no part in what is happening to Shon. I believe that the crystal is most certainly affecting Shon, but the result of that effect is creating an unprecedented bond between him and the staff.” 

“I don’t understand,” said Seth. “Why would the shattered prison of a necromancer’s soul have that kind of effect?” 

“That is partly because you seem to have made some unfounded assumptions about the nature of that crystal,” said Mendoji, “and you haven’t studied it like I have. The first idea you should get out of your head is that it was created to be a prison for a soul. That may be what it was ultimately used for, but that is not what it was designed for.” 

“I wasn’t there when the crystal was created of course,” Mendoji continued, “but I as I monk I studied the journals of the twelve mages who gave their lives to craft it. Their hope was to create an object that could house a location outside of all four realms. It would be as vast as the universe itself, and yet so small that there was no space at all. I’m afraid I can’t explain it any clearer than that as I didn’t understand it all myself.” 

“The only reason that it was ever used as a prison at all is because Gravine attacked the academy where they were developing it, and so he forced their hand out of desperation. It was the only solution they could think of to save their students and their research. The result was imperfect and it cost them their lives, but it worked in the end.” 

“So there’s nothing about it inherently tied to the Spirit Realm,” said Seth, realization dawning on his face. “It worked because it isolated Gravine from all four realms.” 

“Precisely,” said Mendoji. 

“So those mages created, what, a pocket sized realm and then put it inside a crystal the way my uncle used to put cucumbers into pickle jars?” Shon asked incredulously. “And how does something like that end up making a bridge between me and the staff anyway? How does that work?” 

“I don’t know,” said Mendoji. “I do not pretend to know all the answers to this mystery, and I could easily be wrong. But it is the best idea I can think of to start testing and researching.” 

Shon fidgeted under the table, and everyone could tell he was feeling irritated and defensive. “I have no intention of taking the staff away from you,” said Mendoji in a gentler tone. “Your connection to it is obvious, and undeniably strong. To the best of my knowledge, you are the only person I’ve ever heard of who has ever felt such a connection to it. That is remarkable and worthy of further study.” 

“Besides,” said Mendoji, “you and your friends saved me from the misery of that poison, I would like to help you in turn if I can. On top of that, helping you is the right thing to do.” Mendoji nodded his head towards Seth. “And my clan believes in doing the right thing.” 

“Yes we do,” said Seth, nodding back. 

Shon visibly relaxed once he realized none of them were going to try to separate him from the staff. “Thank you,” he said. “So what’s the next step in figuring this out?” 

“Now that I no longer need to stay locked up in this fortress to keep an undead army under control,” said Mendoji, “I’ve been thinking a lot about returning to my old monastery and paying my respects to my fallen brothers and sisters. While I’m there, I can search through the old records on both the staff and the crystal, then bring them back here to see what we can learn from them.” 

“I’ll go with you,” offered Tarun. “Ever since Gravine revealed what he knew about Creed and his enemies, I’ve had a feeling there’s someone or something in those mountains I need to find. I don’t know if I’m ready for that yet, but I’d like to see the mountains for myself anyway to get an idea of what I’ll be up against. Besides, we can keep each other safe and I’ll get to see a bit more of this world.” 

“I’d go with you,” said Seth, “but I think for now I need to stay here and continue to try and strengthen the homestead. It’s easy to forget, but there is still a battle raging in the tunnels below the stronghold. Well, a battle raging in the Spirit Realm anyway.”

“But before you leave,” Seth continued, “There’s something I’d like to share with you, Mendoji. I’m impressed with how you’ve incorporated the words for healing and casting out into your meditative chants. I’d like to teach you the word of power that I use to offer adoption into our clan to those who will accept it. That way if any of the spirits of your fallen brothers or sisters are still lingering in the area, you can offer them a home among our clan instead.” 

“I’m honored that you would authorize me to extend such an invitation,” said Mendoji, bowing his head. “I think that is an excellent idea, patriarch. But you will need to teach it to me today. There are areas in the path to the mountain that become impassable as the winter deepens, and if I don’t leave soon, I fear I will need to wait until the spring.” 

“I hate to be the coward of the group,” said Shon, “but I’m not even going to pretend to offer to come along this time. I’m still recovering and regaining my strength since our fight with Gravine, and I don’t want to be too far from Seth in case the pain from my injuries starts to come back. Besides, I’m not sure someone like me who raised in the dessert could even survive in the snow. I’ve never experienced cold like that, and I’m not eager to.” 

“That seems wise,” said Mendoji, “not cowardly. While we’re gone, here’s what I suggest to study out the mystery on your end. The staff is a powerful conduit of energy, but it may be difficult to master without something to help focus all that energy. The crystal served that function when I used the staff, but obviously that is no longer an option. So while we’re away I would encourage you to make a list of all the possible options you have that may be used to aid you in focusing. Add to the list as much as you can, no matter how ridiculous an idea may seem. When we return, I will be happy to help you test out your list, and offer up any additions I think of during the journey.” 

“Making a list, huh?” Shon said, “I think I can manage that while you two go and try to avoid freezing to death.” 

*** 

Shon sat in his room that night, sitting next to the staff on his bed. He felt relieved that he no longer felt the need to keep secrets from his friends, but even more relieved that none of them were going to try to take his staff away from him. The thought occurred to him that he should choose a name for the staff, but decided there was no hurry for that and he didn’t want to pick an embarrassing name. “No offense,” he thought to himself as he looked over at his uncle’s wooden staff, Stick, leaning against a corner of the wall. 

He had already wished Tarun and Mendoji a safe journey, because Mendoji had suggested they leave the next day before sunrise, and Shon was not a fan of rising before the sun. After all, he reasoned, plenty of sleep was an important part of the recovery process. 

As he continued to sit on the bed however, Shon found he was too excited from the information he had learned that afternoon to fall asleep just yet. He wanted to do something, to connect with his new staff. 

He had already picked it up and held it several times since coming back to his room. Like before, he could feel the intense swell of energy that the staff connected him to, as well as the clarity and range that it provided to his ethereal magic and all the minds it could now touch. But Mendoji had also been right that without a means to focus all that energy and input, there was little that he could actually do with it. And he didn’t even know where to start to figure it out. Shon decided it was time to start making that list that Mendoji suggested. 

There was a writing desk in Shon’s room, but when he checked the drawers he couldn’t find any ink or paper in any of them. He didn’t feel like walking to Seth’s room so late to ask if he had any paper. It would be even worse if he woke Seth up. 

“OK,” Shon thought to himself, “so I start the list tomorrow. But I can still start thinking of ideas tonight, and if it’s something in my room I might as well try it out now.” 

Shon’s first idea was to try out the magical metal wire that had been hidden in one of the pockets of his father’s cloak. He thought perhaps that he would try wrapping the wire around the head of the staff, but as soon as the wire even touched the silver staff it gave Shon an immediate splitting headache, and he threw the wire to the other side of the bed. 

His next thought was that perhaps the cloak itself could help him focus the power of the staff. After all, it helped him quiet his thoughts when he put the hood on, so perhaps it could have a similar effect with the staff. Shon was glad he was the only person in the room as he placed the hood of the cloak over the top of the staff. After doing so, Shon held the staff upright and looked at it, but he determined that the only thing he had succeeded to do was turn a legendary relic into a coat rack. He quickly took the cloak off the staff and threw it on the bed. 

The cloak landed on the bed with a hard thump, and it made Shon wonder if he had forgotten leaving something hard and heavy in one of the pockets. He put the cloak back on and felt around for all the pockets he had been able to discover so far, but the only thing he found was the familiar egg that his mother had left for him. 

He had kept the enchanted stone in one of his hidden breast pockets ever since his uncle had advised him to keep it close to him where it could gradually absorb his own ambient magical energy until it had gathered enough to produce his own familiar. The thought of conjuring his own magical creature as a companion and helper had thrilled Shon at the time, but the stone did so little in comparison to how many times his father’s cloak had helped him, that he had nearly forgotten about it. 

Shon slapped his forehead. How had the familiar egg not yet occurred to him as a possible means for focusing the energy of the staff? He carefully retrieved the opalescent stone from its hiding place in the cloak and held it up. Shon had forgotten how beautiful the shimmering white stone was, and he spent a minute admiring it before he remembered why he had taken it out in the first place. 

He cautiously brought it close to the head of the staff, ready to pull it away quickly if the contact caused the same kind of headache that the wire had. But when the stone touched the silver staff, there was no headache. In fact, nothing much happened at all. 

“Maybe if I manage to get it inside the portion at the top where the four prongs spiral apart and create a little cage,” Shon thought to himself. “After all, that’s how the green crystal had been in the staff before, and it was a little bit bigger than the familiar egg.” 

Shon tried to find an opening in the spirals wide enough to fit the familiar egg through, but the stone was clearly too big. He held it next to the head of the staff, and turned it from one side to another, trying to figure out how Mendoji could have ever gotten the large crystal in there in the first place. Then, as he turned the staff so that it was directly between himself and the stone, he looked through the spirals of the staff at the familiar egg, and a trick of his eyes made it look like it actually was inside the staff. 

To Shon’s astonishment, when he turned the staff around again, he found that it hadn’t been a trick of the eyes, and the stone had somehow actually gotten inside. He immediately realized he had no way how to get it back out. 

“Well, one thing at a time,” Shon told himself. “Now to try this out.” 

Shon sat on the edge of his bed and put both hands on the silver staff which now held his familiar egg in its head. He looked at the stone and began to reach out with his mind to once again try to harness the swirling energies around him. 

He was not even aware that he had already passed out on his bed. 

***

Shon knew he was in a dream as soon as he heard that low, rumbling laugh that filled him with dread. The voice of Creed had returned to his nightmares to terrorize him again for some reason. Shon wanted to believe that he might be able to stand up to the terrible presence now that he finally knew more about him, but he was still frozen with fear and he knew there was nothing he could do to change that. 

“I’ve given you far more warnings than you deserve, little worm,” Creed said. Like before, his voice echoed through Shon’s nightmare like the sound of distant but deafening thunder from a far off mountain. “You have gone from being a nuisance to an inconvenience, and yet so far I’ve let you live. But I will not tolerate you trying to steal a vital tool from my plan. It is not yours, and I will now show you what becomes of a worm who dares to act like a thief.” 

The presence of Creed raced closer like a storm cloud rolling across a valley, and Shon knew there was no way he could escape. 

“Sit down, hooligan!!” 

The voice did not come from Creed, nor did it come from Shon, and it shocked them both. Wherever the sound came from, it was clearly behind Shon, and it sounded unbelievably familiar, though he couldn’t say why. The voice was not booming and echoing from afar like Creeds, yet it came through clearly and seemed to fill the entire space, so Shon was certain that Creed had heard it too.

“You have contributed nothing to this conversation but threats and insults, and I do not tolerate bullies.” 

With a catch in his throat, Shon suddenly realized why the voice sounded so familiar. That were the exact words his old school teacher Empress had used on the day she finally shut down the bully who had made Shon’s life miserable since his first day at school. Shon had never before or since seen his teacher lay in to anyone like that, and it had been a sight to behold. 

But Empress had died in an avalanche years ago when she was traveling between Life’s Edge and her old home village in the mountains. How could she possibly be here now? And even if she was, how could she have become powerful enough to stop Creed from advancing? He wanted to take a look around to see what was behind him, but he was still frozen with terror and couldn’t even move his head. 

“I do not like surprises,” Creed’s voice growled with building anger. “Who are you? And what business do you have interfering here?” 

“Oh don’t you worry about who I am,” said the unimpressed voice of Empress. “You just worry about straightening yourself out and don’t you dare both Shon again. You do not want to test my patience on this, Creed.” 

Shon gasped. Up until that point, everything the voice had said had played out like hearing a memory played out loud. Every word had been exactly what Empress had said to the bully that day. Except Creed’s name. That was new, and this wasn’t just some memory. 

And Creed was furious. 

“You DARE to speak my name!” Creed roared, causing the ground itself to quake. “I will utterly destroy you for that. I will burn your existence and char your soul!!” 

“Not likely,” the voice replied. At her words, all the shaking of the ground ceased. The blowing winds that seemed to herald the coming of a hurricane died down to nothing more than a pleasant breeze. “Didn’t you just tell me that you don’t even know who I am? Do you even know what I am? Or where I am? You hear me all around you, and you have no idea where to point your big, blustering bravado at, so you just aim it at Shon here and hope for the best, right?” Creed made no reply. 

“Well knock it off!” the voice of Empress added sharply. “Until you can learn to speak to Shon with some respect and apologize for your appalling behavior, I’m banning you from coming near him. If you’ve got a message you need delivered, you can give it to me and I’ll pass it along to him. But I warn you, I don’t put up with any rudeness either.” 

Creed’s voice began to rise and it was clear he intended to continue his tirade, but a gentle breeze from behind Shon blew the presence away, leaving a sense of quiet peace, and the feeling of sunshine on Shon’s face. 

The sun really was shining on Shon’s face when he woke up late the next morning. He looked to his right and saw the silver staff lying on the bed, still clutched in his right hand. Shon then saw that the stone inside its head had a large crack at the top, and he bolted upright in alarm. 

And there, floating a few inches from the front of his face was a fluffy red and purple puffball with a thin black tail and fur that seemed to glow with a soft pink light. 

“It’s about time you woke up Shon,” said the puffball with no face, somehow speaking with the voice of Empress from his dream. “We sure showed that creep, huh? Well no time to waste, let’s get you some breakfast. We’ve got work to do!”

Keledrain stood at the head of a large stone table, looking down at an intricately carved map of the continent. In the center of the map there was a tall peak, the only surface of the table that rose above its raised edges. The peak represented the mountain that served as the home of her army, and at its center was the war room in which Keledrain and her council met to discuss their preparations and progress towards war. Or, much to Keledrain’s frustration, their lack of progress. 

Twelve dwarves with solemn expressions sat at the opposite end of the continent table, six with white beards and long braided hair, six with short white hair and no beards at all. The oldest among them held a small metal tool in his right hand, and used it to tap on the edge of the table in a way that was both irregular and rhythmic at the same time. All twelve of the venerable dwarves held such tools in their hands, but the other eleven simply looked down at their tools, or at the edges of the table itself, as their leader continued to tap out his message. None of them once lifting their gaze to look at Keledrain in the eye. 

If they had, they might have noticed a growing impatience in Keledrain’s eyes, like a hidden flame just waiting to burst up from black, crawling lava. It was this expression, in addition to her orange irises that had earned Keledrain the nickname, “the magma gazer,” among the dwarves of the Hulfraust nation. 

Sitting at the table to Keledrain’s left was General Brynwolfn. She was Keledrain’s second-in-command, and the only dwarf in the entire mountain that she considered worth talking to. She was one of the strongest dwarves among the Hulfraust, and her endurance was almost enough to match Keledrain herself. It had been nearly a decade since Brynwolfn had been appointed by her people to be the most senior military leader in the nation, and Keledrain had been pleased with the choice. 

While most of the dwarves she ruled over refused to look Keledrain in the eye, Brynwolfn never wavered under her gaze. Every now and then, Brynwolfn would speak up in words Keledrain understood to translate the meaning behind the tapped out words and phrases that made up the dwarves’ native language. Keledrain always looked carefully for any sign of hesitation or doubt in Brynwolfn’s face as she spoke. Despite her appreciation for Brynwolfn, Keledrain didn’t truly trust the dwarven general. After all, there were few threats more dangerous than a translator with their own agenda. 

But despite her watchful eye, Keledrain never found any sign of deception or disloyalty in Brynwolfn. Her tone and expression were always neutral, her rate of speech was consistent, and she never contradicted herself. And thankfully, she had one of the few voices among the dwarves that didn’t leave Keledrain grinding her teeth. Though there was plenty else surrounding Keledrain that caused her ceaseless irritation. 

Keledrain ran her fingers along the bumps and notches carefully chiseled into the edge of the granite table. She knew the bumps represented the tactile language that the Hulfraust nation used for writing stories and records. But despite the past century that Keledrain had spent ruling over the Hulfraust dwarves, Keledrain had never learned to read, write, or speak their language. To her, the tactile language merely felt like a blemish on an otherwise smooth and flawless surface. 

Looking again across the carved map of the continent, blemishes were all that Keledrain could see. Scattered towns and villages dotted the land, connected by crooked, rundown roads and trails. Lines of trade were random and disorganized, causing what could be a wealth of goods and resources to largely go to waste. They lacked a ruler with the strength and vision to bring order to the land and unify them into a single nation with a purpose that drove them to greatness. And Keledrain knew that she was destined to be the leader that would give it to them. She had the strength and the vision. And the Hulfraust had the army, equipment, and discipline that would allow her to sweep across the continent, conquering each land as easily as a fire races across dry grass. 

The only thing standing in her way was the infuriating perfectionism of the twelve dwarves at the other end of the table who were obsessed with regulating the ideal of “balance” within the Hulfraust nation. In some ways, the Guild of Balance Sages held more power and political sway than even the Guild of Blacksmiths and army of Hulfraust Warriors that were the backbone of the real strength of the Hulfraust. The smiths outnumbered the sages ten to one. The warriors outnumbered them twenty to one. Put every balance sage in a room together and they would make up only a single percent of the Hulfraust population. 

And yet, Keledrain had learned during the early years of her reign that there was little she could accomplish with the Hulfraust if the balance sages opposed her. They wouldn’t dare directly disobey her or try to overthrow her. Not as long as they wanted to keep the volcanic heat that kept their forges glowing and their smiths busy. After all, Keledrain was the one who had restored the magma to the mountain the Hulfraust called home, and none of the dwarves doubted that she could take it away just as easily. 

But the Hulfraust were clever and careful. They had show Keledrain that where outright disobedience may be too risky, they still had plenty of other tools to frustrate her plans when the balance sages made their disapproval known. An insistence of perfection seemed to be one of their favorite tools, which is how they tricked her into accepting the terms of the Commanding Armory that she had regretted for the last eight decades. 

According to the agreement, every year the Guild of Balance Sages would commission the Guild of Blacksmiths to forge a mighty weapon for Keledrain that would be used to command the army of Hulfraust Warriors. The blacksmiths would design the weapon to any specifications that Keledrain provided, and their most skilled smiths would take her requirements and make the weapon a reality. The sages would be involved throughout the entire process to ensure the result was as balanced as possible. 

Then came the most infuriating part of the agreement. After the weapon had been forged, polished, and presented to Keledrain, she would have to don a helmet with no openings for the eyes, hold the new weapon in her hands, and walk blindly from the foot of her throne to the head of the stone table in front of her. 

By all accounts, the task should have been easy. The path she was required to walk was a completely straight line across a flat, stone floor that was impossibly level. There were never any obstacles or other obstructions placed in her way, and yet she had failed in the task every year. And every year the sages and blacksmiths would assure her that the next year’s weapon would be the most balanced one yet. It was infuriating. 

After the third year of failing the challenge, Keledrain had accused the sages of secretly commissioning weapons that were purposefully flawed. Instead of attempting to argue, the entire Guild of Balance Sages took turns completing the challenge themselves with each of the weapons created for the Commanding Armory. It had taken nearly a week for each member of the guild to have their turn, yet there was no argument or discussion over the order. They had not even formed a line. And yet there was always exactly one sage ready to take up the challenge as soon as another had finished.

Every single sage had succeeded at the task flawlessly and apparently effortlessly. The fact that mere dwarves could do something that she could not had embarrassed Keledrain to the point of madness, and she likely would have used it as an excuse to murder every single sage under the mountain, but the dwarves outnumbered her ten thousand to one, and she knew that not even she could defeat all of them. She had found little ways here and there to score points of revenge against the sages since then, but they always seemed to come out on top anyway. 

There were now eighty weapons of exquisite craftsmanship in her Commanding Armory, and she hated every one of them. Each one represented another failure, and another year wasted that she should have been able to spend conquering the continent and growing her empire. Her armory included dozens of swords, axes, maces, war hammers, and spears of various shapes, sizes, and styles. She even had some less conventional weapons such as a glaive, a trident, a few flails of different designs, and even some weapons that Keledrain considered less dignified like daggers and a quarterstaff. 

To make matters even more frustrating, the Guild of Blacksmiths truly outdid themselves with every weapon. And it wasn’t just the smiths. It seemed like every guild and profession among the entire Hulfraust nation would contribute in some way to the annual project. 

The Guild of Miners would seek out and donate rare metals and gemstones with latent magical properties to be used in the construction of each year’s weapon. The Guild of Mages and Alchemists would concoct unique alloys, as well as add enchantments and runes to produce enduring magical effects. The Hulfraust Warriors would train with models and prototypes of the weapon to find combat styles that could make the most of that year’s design. The Guild of Farmers would donate food to the Guild of Cooks and Bakers, who would then use that food to prepare meals for anyone actively working on the project. Even the Guild of Spies and Informants would participate by contributing ideas for hidden compartments, high-pitched whistles, and other subtle enhancements to be added to the design. 

Every year, Keledrain would vow not to become emotionally invested in the weapon being designed. She reasoned that it was her own eagerness that continued to throw her off each proving ceremony, and if she could simply learn some patience and regard the presented weapon as ordinary as any other, she would have no difficulty completing the challenge. After all, she had practiced the challenge thousands of times with mundane weapons, and succeeded more often than she failed when she did so. 

Yet every winter solstice, when the Guild of Balance Sages would present her with the weapon for that year, Keledrain couldn’t stop her heart from racing at the prospect of commanding the Hulfraust Warriors while wielding the weapon they offered her. Within her armory was a war hammer that sent ripples through solid stone when it struck the ground. There was an axe that felt weightless when lifted, but then heavier than a boulder when brought down on a foe. One year she was presented with a spear that become two identical spears whenever it was thrown. One of those spears would then continue towards its target, while the other spear would remain in her hand. Each one was magnificent, and never failed to surpass Keledrain’s expectations. 

As Keledrain stood at the stone table, barely enduring the endless tapping as the head of the Guild of Balance Sages continued his report, she seethed with anger at the setback from the most recent winter solstice just a week before. Of all the weapons presented to Keledrain in the last eighty years, that most recent weapon had been the most maddeningly perfect. She ground her teeth and gripped the table at the indignity of the memory. 

She had requested a double-edged sword with a long, broad blade and a two-handed grip. It hadn’t been the first time she had made that particular request because it was the style of weapon she was most comfortable with. Of course in single combat she could kill anyone she wanted regardless of the weapon she held, but a broad longsword was definitely her favorite. And the Hulfraust had certainly delivered on that request. 

Brynwolfn had roughly translated the name of the sword as “The Blade of Inner Flame,” and apparently in the Hulfraust language it had some kind of triple meaning that was a play on the kind of flame that heats one’s home, the passion that burns in one’s heart, and the heat that comes from under the ground itself. Keledrain could not have cared less about dwarven puns, but couldn’t deny the cleverness of the name once she had been told what made the sword so special. 

The sword was ordinary enough when in its sheath, except that it could only be drawn from its sheath by one of the two gauntlets that had been created with it. In addition to being the key to unsheathing the sword, each gauntlet also featured red gemstones that allowed the gauntlets to absorb and expel flames, according to the will of the one wearing them. Once drawn from its sheath, the blade of the sword would glow red-hot. It had been forged in such a way that its heat would always match the heart of the Hulfraust’s home, yet would never melt or warp from its own heat. And since the mountain that the Hulfraust called home was also an active volcano, they had essentially given her a lava sword. She immediately loved it. 

After donning the custom gauntlets, Keledrain had tested the sword in her right hand, her left hand, and both hands. No matter how she held it, she had wielded it with ease, feeling confident that she could effortlessly cut through five foes or more with a single swing. She could tell right away that it was the most powerful weapon in her entire armory. It was absolute perfection in the shape of a sword, and she had told herself again and again that it would be the weapon that would finally bring her success. 

Of course all of that passion had made her all the more furious when she walked into the wall over fifteen feet away from the door she thought she had been about to walk through. Those in attendance to witness the event had not laughed of course. Finding pleasure in someone else’s failure was seen as a sign of weakness among the Hulfraust. But they had not wept or groaned in disappointment either. The crowd merely dispersed as if nothing had happened at all. It was as if every one of them expected her to fail with such surety that the only one who felt an ounce of suspense was Keledrain herself. 

Keledrain could endure it no longer. She picked up the small hammer-like tool placed for her at the table in case she ever decided to converse in the Hulfraust’s language. She slammed the ornate tool down with such force that its steel head snapped off from its wooden handle, and a crater had been made on the edge of the table, erasing a portion of the writing that had been there. 

Brynwolfn immediately stopped her translating mid-sentence, and all twelve of the council of Balance Sages finally looked up at her. She stared at each of them, and then threw the wooden handle onto the floor. 

“Brynwolfn, you may translate this for the sages as soon as I leave,” said Keledrain. “I can’t tolerate any more of that incessant tapping for today. Besides, I’m not interested in hearing their response. After all, I’m their ruler, not their peer.” 

Keledrain paused to see if Brynwolfn would question her or try to change her mind, but she continued when Brynwolfn simply regarded her with the same obediently neutral expression as always. “My requirements for this year’s weapon will be exceedingly simple,” she said. “The sages may design whatever sort of weapon they choose. I don’t care what it will look like. My one requirement this year is that the weapon they commission must be presented to me within the next three months. If it takes them an entire year to create it, then they will have failed in their task and I will consider the Commanding Armory agreement dissolved.” 

“Furthermore, I expect them to be more proactive in this year’s design,” Keledrain continued. “The task is not for them to create a weapon that is ideal for them, but to create one that is designed for my needs. So if, when I’m presented with the next commanding weapon, I’m unable to complete the ritual, then it will be due to their failure to provide the weapon I need.” 

Keledrain then leaned forward over the table, glaring at the balance sages with each word she spoke. “And if that happens, then you will have to witness the heat of this entire mountain die and become colder than the snow at its peak,” she threatened. “And you dwarves will have no one but yourselves to blame.” 

And with that, Keledrain turned her back to Brynwolfn and the sages, walked out of the room, and slammed the door. 

“Just try to relax,” said Seth as he adjusted his lantern. He and Shon sat facing each other on wooden chairs separated by a small three-legged table that held Seth’s lantern, a pair of tweezers, and a metal bowl. It had been two whole weeks since a magical gem had exploded right next to Shon, sending shards of various shapes and sizes into Shon’s right arm as well as the right side of his face. It was one of the most painful experiences of Shon’s entire life, and without the powerful healing magic that Seth had provided, he probably would not have survived at all. 

“What makes you think there are any pieces left?” Shon asked. “Nothing came out yesterday, and the pain is finally gone. We’ve been doing this twice a day ever since I was injured, and while I appreciate it more than I can say, don’t you think at some point we just need to agree that it’s as good as it’s going to get?” 

“True, we’ve probably extracted all the shards of crystal that are big enough to pick up with the tweezers,” said Seth. “I don’t expect we’ll be adding anything to the bowl this morning. But that doesn’t mean we’ve gotten everything. After you left our healing session yesterday, I stuck around to clean up and found a shimmer of green dust on the table where your arm had been resting. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your right eye sometimes sparkles with green light, especially in the sunlight.” 

“And here I was thinking that Aluanna’s eyes were the only ones you admired sparkling in the sunlight,” Shon replied with a smirk. 

Seth’s face reddened, but otherwise ignored Shon’s attempt to embarrass and distract him. “I’m serious, Shon,” he said. “That crystal was ancient, it was crafted by a dozen powerful mages who sacrificed their lives to create it, and let’s not forget it served as the magical prison of a maniacal necromancer for several centuries before it exploded in your face. We have no idea what effect it could have on you if we leave even the smallest particle in your body.” 

“I appreciate your concern, Seth,” said Shon, “but at this point I think we should just let it be for a few days and see what happens.” When Seth started to object, Shon added, “If it starts to hurt again, or I notice any unpleasant side effects, I’ll come straight to you, alright? I promise.” 

Seth paused to say something, then took another look at the expression on Shon’s face and changed his mind. Seth sighed and lifted his lantern off the table between them. “Alright,” Seth replied, “if that’s what you want. Just be careful with yourself, Shon. And don’t hesitate to come get me the moment you feel any pain return. Even if it’s the middle of the night.” 

“Thanks Seth,” said Shon, standing up from the table. “I appreciate how much you care.” 

After Shon walked out of the room and closed the door behind him, Seth walked over to the window and looked down on the courtyard below. There was already a good deal of activity going on in the center of the stronghold as noon approached. Much of it was from the members of Aluanna’s band who had accepted his offer of free housing within the stronghold, rather than continue sleeping in tents and other mobile shelters in the forest. Aluanna hadn’t moved in to the stronghold herself yet, but Seth was hopeful that someday she would. She visited frequently, supported the members of her band who had chosen to live there, and publicly expressed her gratitude to Seth for welcoming her band so openly. 

Of course there were others from the region who had taken up residence in the stronghold as well. The first of these was Mayor Marissi, who insisted that Seth call him by his nickname Mari. Mari had also been the first living individual who had accepted Seth’s offer to be adopted into his clan, though there had already been hundreds of souls no longer living who had accepted his offer from beyond the grave. 

Another new addition to the stronghold’s population was an odd man who called himself Lord Haughlt. At first he had visited the stronghold only out of curiosity after accepting an invitation from the satyr Toj, and had openly scoffed at Seth’s offer to take up free residence there. His opinion abruptly changed however, after learning about the records that Seth’s clan had maintained within the stronghold that went back hundreds of years further than even the oldest records in Lord Haughlt’s possession. Seth could have sworn he almost caught a smile on the man’s face when he accepted the offer to live there, as well as offer his services as official bookkeeper, accountant of resources, and historian of the homestead. Seth had accepted the offer eagerly. 

Things were going well in the two weeks since they had rescued Shon, defeated the necromancer Gravine, and healed the poisoned minotaur Mendoji who Gravine had been manipulating for decades. So far it seemed that the spirits of his clan had been strong enough to keep Gravine from escaping and terrorizing the area. And although there had been some inevitable personality clashes among the new residents, things had generally been peaceful as folks had chosen their rooms within the stronghold and moved in. After all, there were more than enough rooms to choose from. 

And yet Seth couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that the peace and ease that he was experiencing on the surface was hiding something deeper that he needed to be on the lookout for. He just wished he knew what it was. 

Certainly Shon’s newfound reluctance to continue his healing sessions made Seth uneasy. It had been unlike Shon to so casually use private information and feelings in a conversation, just to try and change the subject. And even if his feelings for Aluanna weren’t exactly a secret, Shon knew that Seth was uncomfortable discussing them. So why resort to a tactic like that? Was there something that Shon was hiding that made him want to avoid the healing sessions? 

Seth told himself he was probably just being paranoid. But he also promised himself that he’d keep a close eye on his wizard friend. 

*** 

Shon closed one eye as he looked into the silver mirror that hung in his room. When both of his eyes were open, the world that he saw looked almost entirely as he was used to, but when he closed his left eye, things changed. He still saw the physical world through his right eye, but he also saw faint lights and images like a transparent layer over his normal sight. And he was still working to figure out what these extra images were and what they might mean. 

When Shon had first noticed the odd behavior of his vision a week and a half earlier, he had assumed that it was perhaps simply the result of trauma to his eye, like seeing a streak of green after looking at the sun on accident. After all, a powerfully magical crystal had exploded in his face, so it seemed reasonable that the trauma of an injury like that would have some side effects. But then he started to notice that the images he was seeing followed patterns and predictable patterns, rather than simply being fixed or random in his vision. 

His first concern was that perhaps the crystal had given him some kind of sight into the unseen world of spirits and the dead, since the crystal had been used to imprison a necromancer. This worry had nearly driven Shon to discuss the matter with Seth, but then Shon noticed something important. The images that he saw were mostly centered on living beings. Especially living beings that were actively thinking. 

Shon noticed that when he looked at anyone with his right eye, they seemed to have a faint aura of light surrounding them, and the aura seemed to be brightest around their head. He also noticed that when individuals were thinking about something so intensely that his ethereal magic picked up on their thoughts, these auras were significantly brighter than usual. Some individuals seemed to have auras that were constantly brighter than most, such as Tarun, Seth, Aluanna, Mendoji, and Toj. Shon didn’t know if this was because they possessed auras that were inherently different from others, or simply that they were the individuals he knew the best. 

In addition to variations in how bright these auras were, there were also differences in the overall shapes of the auras, if they could really be called shapes. The images were always moving and irregular, but they had overall forms that Shon noticed over time, and some would move or connect in different ways. 

For example, Tarun’s aura flickered and swelled like a kind of slow-moving flame was burning around him. Seth’s aura seemed to radiate outwards from him, similar to the light that emanated from his lantern. In fact, Seth’s lantern also seemed to have an aura of its own. Aluanna’s aura seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, and whenever there was music playing, it would share the same rhythm as the beat of the instruments. There were also threads that went out from her aura and connected her to other members of her band. When the band played music, those connections would become stronger and sometimes grow so much that they seemed to share a single aura. 

Some of the most intriguing auras were from individuals he was only starting to become aquatinted with. Mendoji, who he had known as Vdekshi until two weeks before, had an aura that would sometimes fade into almost nothing, then expand and intensify to fill entire rooms, especially when he was alone. The two newcomers who called themselves Mayor Marissi and Lord Haughlt had perhaps the most distinctive auras Shon had seen yet. 

Marissi’s aura seemed to have tendrils that were constantly reaching out to make connections with others within the stronghold. Upon meeting new individuals, these connections would usually take hold and connect not only to himself, but to the other connecting tendrils as well, giving Marissi’s aura the appearance of a moving spider web. Shon wondered if Marissi was perhaps preparing for some kind of future election. 

Haughlt’s aura was perhaps the most inexplicable yet intriguing for Shon. It seemed to tick and pulse to some rhythm that Shon couldn’t find a connection to within the physical world, but it followed a very consistent pattern. Nine faint ticks would be followed by a much brighter tick, and Haughlt’s aura would gradually grow larger with each bright tick. Then after ten such bright ticks, his aura would somehow reset back to its default size, starting the pattern all over again. And if that wasn’t odd enough, the connections that Haughlt’s aura made were even more bizarre. Instead of connecting to other people, they connected to objects like books, coins, bundles of wheat, and the small signs people had begun placing on their doors when they claimed a room in the stronghold for themselves. Like Marissi, the connections that went out from Haughlt’s aura were also constant and numerous, but where Marissi’s connections felt organic and weblike, Haughlt’s were straight, angular, and connected in such complex ways that it gave Shon a headache if he concentrated on it for too long. 

All of these observations together convinced Shon that were not merely a side effect of trauma to his eye, nor were they some kind of residual connection to necromancy from the former prison of Gravine. There was something more that Shon was seeing since his eye had been injured by the exploding crystal, and Shon felt compelled to learn as much as he could from it. 

But his curiosity about his new vision wasn’t the only reason that Shon had wanted to stop the healing sessions with Seth for a while. It was also a matter of personal pain. Shon had been telling the truth when he said that the pain was gone. What he hadn’t mentioned was that it was more significant than just eliminating the pain that the explosion and embedded crystal shards had caused. There was another pain that had finally left Shon, and it was a pain that had become so constant and Shon had become so accustomed to it that he had nearly forgotten it existed. 

The persistent headache that Shon had acquired the day the poison dragon attacked the town of Alderfold had weighed on him from the moment he woke up each morning until he fell asleep each night. The headache was even worse when he reached his mind out to use his ethereal magic, and if he didn’t have a tool to focus his magic like his uncle’s staff or his father’s magical metal wire, the pain made it impossible for him to focus enough to use his magic at all. 

The first time that Shon had noticed the headache had ended was the night before when Seth attempted to extract the last of the crystal particles that still remained in his body, and Shon had felt the roaring headache begin to return. At the time, Shon had asked to take a break for a bit, then left the room while Seth had gone to get them some water. He had then avoided Seth for the rest of the day so he had some time to could think of something to say to put off the healing sessions for a while. 

Shon felt guilty avoiding Seth and being less than honest with him. He felt especially bad about teasing Seth earlier that morning to try and distract him with embarrassment. There was no doubt that Seth had saved his life after Shon’s injury, but he needed some time to figure out what was going on with him, and part of him was afraid that Seth just wouldn’t understand and insist that they finish removing the last bits of crystal before Shon could learn what he needed to. 

So Shon was determined to learn all that he could before the opportunity was lost. As he continued to look straight ahead at the mirror in his room, Shon closed his right eye as well. With both eyes now closed, he could no longer see the reflection of himself of course, but he could still see the reflection of his aura, as well as the faint swirling energy all around him that seemed to be present everywhere, regardless of location. 

At first the constant sight of the swirling energy and otherworldly shapes that floated through it had frightened Shon and made it difficult for him to fall asleep at night, but he was starting to become accustomed to it. He had also discovered that if he truly needed to block out the sight, he could pull the hood of his father’s cloak completely over his head, and he would see nothing more than the usual darkness he was used to experiencing when his eyes were closed. 

Shon opened his right eye again, seeing the room around him and his own reflection in the mirror once again, along with his aura being reflected in the smooth, silver surface. Shon had noticed that the silver mirrors hung in some rooms of the stronghold were the only objects he had found that reflected the energy of a person’s aura as well as normal light. The reflection on a pool of water, for example, would show the image of a person nearby, but not their aura. The long mirror that hung in Shon’s room from head to foot was one of the main reasons that Shon had requested that particular room to be his when he and his companions moved into the stronghold. Of course it didn’t hurt that it was also one of the largest and most comfortably furnished rooms in the stronghold. 

A chair in front of Shon held the items he wanted to use to make some observations that day. First, he picked up a long, thin strip of cloth and tied it over his face to cover his eye similar to the way that Solimar used to do. He felt that the elf had certainly looked more impressive wearing the eye covering than Shon did, but it served its purpose. It would be easier for him to make his observations if he wasn’t constantly focusing on keeping his left eye closed. 

Next, Shon picked up his father’s cloak and fastened it to himself. The aura around his body was covered up as soon as the cloak was in place, leaving only the aura around his head and hands shining like odd beacons in his reflection. He also noticed that the energy swirling around the room now seemed to be moving towards him, rather than floating randomly through the environment. The openings in his cloak seemed to cause three whirlpools of energy where his hands and head were, with the whirlpool at his head producing a more intense whirlpool than the whirlpools as both of his hands combined. 

Shon then picked up Stick, the druidic staff that Uncle Grodin had loaned him when he left Life’s Edge, and which Tarun had returned to him after he and Seth had rescued Shon. There was an immediate shift in Shon’s aura and the movement of energy within the room the moment he held Stick in his right hand. The vortexes of energy shifted so that significantly more energy was pouring into the aura around the staff than the aura around his head. His left hand still had its own aura, but no ambient energy was being pulled into it, as so much of the energy was now directed to the auras around his head and the hand holding Stick. 

After putting Stick down on the bed behind him, Shon reached into a hidden pocket of his cloak and removed the spool of magical wire that his father had placed there for emergencies. The flow of energy shifted again, even more intensely than when he held Stick. This was not too surprising to Shon, since he had already observed weeks ago that the wire extended the range of his magical abilities more powerfully than anything else, and that he could increase the range even more by uncurling more of the wire for a greater length extending outwards. 

What did surprise Shon was the effect he observed when he used both of his hands to hold opposite ends of the wire. The energy in the room began to dance and race around in ways he could’ve hardly imagined before witnessing it. Energy would pour into the aura at his right hand with the force of water rushing down a waterfall. It would then pour back out into the room through the aura at his left hand. This caused a circular flow of energy that pulled in energy from far beyond the walls of his room, and seemed to draw in energy from as far as the horizon outside his window. In the center of this circular flow was the aura around his own head that seemed to be touching and directing the majority of the energy and acting as a hub through which it all passed. 

While all of this was happening, Shon felt as if he could hear every thought from every mind for miles around, and he had the sense that some of his thoughts were touching those minds as well. An increasing distortion began to build within the flow of energy, and Shon dropped the wire before the flood of input became too overwhelming for him to control. 

Things immediately became quieter and went back to normal after putting down the wire. Shon could feel Tarun’s thoughts from the room next to his, and a moment later, Tarun knocked on Shon’s door. “Was that you, Shon?” Tarun asked. “Is everything alright?” 

“Sorry about that,” Shon replied, not opening the door. “Everything is fine. I was just experimenting with my father’s wire. I’ll be more careful next time.” 

“Good to know,” Tarun replied, sounding relieved. “Let me know if you need anything. I’m just in the next room over. 

Shon decided he needed to wrap up his observations for the morning, but he had one more item he wanted to test. Sitting across the chair in front of Shon was the silver staff that had, until recently, held the very crystal that had exploded in his face. The bottom of the staff ended in a sharp point like a spear or javelin, while the top of the staff had four spiraling prongs that split apart and then converged again to create a kind of round cage, where the crystal had been housed. He hadn’t touched the staff since the night that the crystal had blown up while he was holding the staff to keep it safe. 

Shon had told Tarun in private that he wanted to inspect the staff alone, and asked his friend if he would quietly bring the staff to Shon’s room. Tarun had agreed, and now Shon could try something he had been tempted to try since the pain of the shards had left his right arm. He reached down to the chair, and picked up the silver staff. 

When Shon had been young and still living with Uncle Grodin, his uncle had described to Shon what a lightning rod was, and how it could be used to catch lightning and protect homes and other tall structures during a lightning storm. Shon had never really been able to visualize what Uncle Grodin had been trying to explain, until the moment he had picked up the staff. 

The energy in the room was no longer lazily floating through the environment, nor was it even rushing around in a flow that resembled watery whirlpools. In a moment quicker than Shon could perceive, the energy had shattered, gathered, and arced into a storm of lightning that seemed to connect everything with the sharpness and precision of an electric shock, and every spark of energy in the entire storm was connected to a single immense bolt of sustained lightning that was absolutely fixed upon the top and bottom ends of his staff. 

And there was no question in Shon’s mind that it was now his staff. The lightning flowed through the staff and into him as effortlessly as if the staff was an extension of his own body. The combined aura of Shon and his staff grew more and more intense, and Shon began to notice a feeling of heat growing in his right eye and the arm that was holding the staff. The heat was not painful, but it was undeniable. At that same moment, Shon also noticed thoughts and voices shooting through him as fast as a bolt of lightning. And rather than simply hearing the thoughts, the lightning was recording them as memories into his own mind. The sensation was exhilarating. 

Fortunately, Shon found he had enough control over this lightning storm of energy that he could prevent his own thoughts from escaping into the storm unless he directed them to. The entire experience was intense, but not overwhelming. Shon was in control, and when he placed his staff next to Stick on the bed behind him, he did so slowly and deliberately. 

Shon then removed the covering from his left eye, and let it adjust to the light in the room. He then walked out of his room and knocked on the next door down the hall. 

“Tarun, I think we should get Seth,” said Shon. “The three of us need to talk.” 

Brynwolfn took in a deep breath, then exhaled slowly as the pressure on her back moved from her right shoulder blade to the base of her neck. The dwarven balance sage standing above her continued to work his strong, soft hands across Brynwolfn’s skin, moving her thick, dense muscles in various directions, and doing his best to help her find the sense of balance that had eluded her now for decades. Ever since she had been appointed as a general to lead her people.

The padded table that held Brynwolfn face-down was soft and comfortable. The oils that the balance sage used on his hands were warm and soothing on her skin. A stone basin on the floor held steaming water that carried a fragrant aroma and encouraged great drops of sweat from the pores of her face. She knew she had every reason to be relaxed and enjoy the experience, yet the tension in her body remained. She could not shrug off the feeling of imbalance that weighed her down at the end of each day.

The balance sage removed his hands from Brynwolfn, signaling that he was about to begin the final portion of her alignment. In a moment, she would be instructed to turn her body to face the ceiling so that the balance sage could align her jaw, brow, and the rest of her face. As she waited for the sound of the tapping language of her people, she looked down at the basin of water below her. Brynwolfn found that the steam in the basin had dissipated, giving her clear view of her own reflection.

Brynwolfn didn’t look at her own face often. Vanity was a trait ill-suited for a warrior and commander like her. Still, she was proud of her broad chin, strong brow, and clear eyes that inspired confidence and admiration from the entire Hulfraust nation. But she saw more in her eyes than her peers ever saw. She saw uncertainty, worry, and a secret search for answers that she didn’t even know the questions for.

She continued to wait for the instructions from the balance sage, but she didn’t hear them. Time seemed to stand still as she realized that she didn’t hear anything at all. Not a single tap of conversation echoing across the walls of the entire sanctum, nor sound of footfalls from the dozens of other dwarves walking around. Yet Brynwolfn did not look up to investigate. She couldn’t draw her eyes away from the reflection below her that had somehow become more clear than any polished silver mirror she had seen.

Behind the reflection of her eyes, Brynwolfn saw what looked like two white flames begin to grow in size and intensity. She wondered how any flame could take hold at the bottom of a watery basin, and then she realized that the flames she saw weren’t in the basin at all. They were a reflection, just like the rest of her face had been. Somehow the light of the flames was coming from behind her own eyes, yet she felt no pain. She felt hope. She saw, for just a brief moment, that the answers she was seeking were somewhere in the flickers of those white flames.

The beads of sweat on Brynwolfn’s forehead gathered into a large drop, ran across the bridge of her nose, and then fell into the basin of water below. The ripples that followed disrupted the reflection and seemed to break its hold on Brynwolfn. She could once again hear the sounds of movement and rhythmic conversations all around her, including the tapping of instructions from her balance sage, which seemed to be growing somewhat impatient.

Brynwolfn quickly turned herself over and allowed the sage to massage her face and complete the ritual. But now something was different. As the balance sage moved his fingers across the muscles of Brynwolfn’s face, it was as if she was being sculpted out of soft clay. She responded and adjusted to each touch as easily as when she had been young and had never known the burdens of leadership. When the sage stepped back to allow her to stand, Brynwolfn found that her body felt more balanced than she had felt in years.

Brynwolfn tapped out a brief message of thanks to the sage, then quickly walked out of the Sanctum of Attunement. She forgot about the robe she had brought with her to keep her warm between the sanctum and her private quarters, but she hardly noticed. The cool air on her skin simply invigorated her and she hurried to her destination. Once at her quarters, Brynwolfn locked her door, retrieved the writing tablet from her desk, and sat down on the edge of her bed. She knew it was crucial to write something down before the feeling inside of her faded.

Brynwolfn paused. What could she write that would capture the myriad of feelings and impressions swirling around her mind? What would she need to be reminded of in the days and weeks to come? Then the answer came to her. Brynwolfn tapped the blunt instrument in her hand against the thick paper of the writing pad, recording a simple message in the complex, tactile language of her people.

“Someone is coming,” said the message. “Be ready.”

“As for who or what Creed is, I know very little,” Carriok began. “Other than that he is ancient and unfathomably powerful. Also exceedingly rude.”

“I can vouch for that,” said Shon.

“Speaking of rudeness,” said Carriok, quickly jerking his head to Shon, “I will tolerate no more interruptions until I finish!” The sharp squawk was loud enough to make Shon flinch in his chair.

“I warn you not to take anything lightly that I tell you here tonight,” he continued. “Creed’s reach is long and his memory is longer. I put myself at great risk even now to tell you what little I know.” Carriok paused for a moment. He had not intended to speak so candidly, sharing truths he would not easily admit to himself. Yet it seemed that once he began speaking, his tongue had been loosed to make good on his promise to share all he knew. He shuddered at the thought.

Despite the pause, no one else had interjected, apparently heeding his demand for no more interruptions. So he continued. “As for Creed’s plans, I know little of those as well, though I do know that they span centuries. He may very well be older than I am, for his power seems not to belong to this age of the world.”

“Still, he saw a use for me, and so had to share at least a portion of his plans. After all, if he expected me to mold, mentor, and guide Vdekshi into being one of his enemies, I would have to know enough to advise him.”

Shon kept his mouth closed, but he couldn’t stop a question from escaping his mind and echoing through the room. “Why would anyone bother to prepare enemies for themselves?”

Ignoring the unintended interruption, Carriok continued. “As for why Creed would want a smelly, useless, simpleton like Vdekshi as his enemy, I couldn’t say. But I know Creed saw something in him that he thought could endure more than a hundred years of war against Creed.”

“You see, Creed wants a war greater than any war this world has ever seen. Greater than the wars of waged by living legends in the Third Age. Greater than the wars of the Immortals and other mythic beings in the Second Age. He wants a war that will mirror the violence and upheaval not experienced since the very acts of creation that ushered in the first age.”

“But such a war cannot exist if only one side is actually able to contend. Without anyone powerful enough to stand against him as worthy opponents, his war wouldn’t last more than a day. And since he knows of no being in the world powerful enough to rival him, he decided to establish many who could contend with him from all sides.”

“He intended for Vdekshi to play the role of ‘the Healer in the Valley.’ As he called him.”

“What do you mean?” Seth asked. Carriok looked at the look of determination on Seth’s face and decided it wasn’t worth his time to scold him for speaking. Besides, his words now seemed to be swept up in a river of truth that he couldn’t get to the shore of. He would see this confession through, even if this river ended in a waterfall.

“There was a poem in Creed’s mind when he spoke to me the first time,” replied Carriok. “He didn’t seem to share it with me intentionally, but it was so fixated in the front of his mind that I don’t think he could help it. It seemed to be some kind of list of the enemies he was seeking.”

The General in the Mountains

The Healer in the Valley

The Wizard from Across the Sea

The Master of Green Who Dwells in the Woods

And the Desert’s Champion who Yet Eludes Me

“Most of those lines meant nothing to me,” he continued. “But as the monastery where my prison was kept was in a deep valley between snowy mountains, I assumed that line must refer to his plans for Vdekshi.”

“There were other times when I felt his presence in the years preparing for my escape, but it was not directed at me. Simply nearby. That caused me to guess that ‘the General in the Mountains’ likely dwelt in the very mountains that Vdekshi lived in the shadows of. Though I never mentioned to Creed that I knew this.”

“I thought nothing of the other three lines, until I saw Tarun protected by the opal flames. That’s when I realized that he must be the Dessert’s Champion who Creed had yet to find. The one who threatened to disrupt his plans the most, and who he had the least control over.”

“Tell us what you know of the opal flame,” said Tarun. Carriok jerked his head to the side and squawked.

“No,” he said. “The bargain was for me to tell you what I know of Creed, and I’m under no obligation to tell you more. The only thing I know that the opal flame has to do with Creed is that it opposes the obsidian flame, which is the power that Creed uses to orchestrate his war from afar.”

Having denied Tarun’s request, Carriok was feeling more in control of his tongue and found his way out of the swiftly moving river of truth before falling over the edge. “I have told you all I know of Creed, and I will tell no more,” he said. “I have upheld my end of the bargain. It’s time for you to do the same.”

“You don’t really intend to follow through with it do you?” Tarun asked, ready to resume his fight with Carriok.

“What bargain?” Mendoji asked.

“I wouldn’t have made the offer if I didn’t intend to follow it through,” said Seth. “I have to do what’s right.”

“Then get on with it already,” squawked Carriok, snapping his beak.

“Very well,” said Seth. He lifted his shillelagh in one hand and his lantern in the other. “As promised, through my authority as acting patriarch, and strengthened by the word of The Ancient One, I adopt you into my clan Laronius.”

He stretched out the shillelagh in offering. “Hareth.”

***

Laronius looked around and found himself standing in a field of golden wheat. The wind blowed peacefully and the sun warmed his skin. He couldn’t remember the last time he had enjoyed the warmth of sunlight so much. Was he allowed to do this? Wasn’t he supposed to be afraid of the sun?

He looked down at his hands. They were not the hands of a vampire. Neither were they hands of concrete, demonic flesh, or claws. They were the hands of a man. They were his hands. Then he noticed that at the wrist below his right hand was a golden arm band. There was a golden chain attached to it.

Following the chain with his eyes, he saw an enormous golden birdcage in the distance. He began to walk towards it and found that the chain became shorter as the walked. As he got closer he saw what appeared to be a monstrous crow with terrible claws and teeth, trying to tear its way out of the cage. When it spotted Laronius it shrieked at him. “Traitor!”

Laronius jumped back, terrified to be chained to such a terrible thing. He felt a strong, gentle, and reassuring hand on his back. He turned and saw the face who was both a stranger to him, and yet as familiar as his own family. “Don’t worry,” the stranger said. “You’re safe, and I’m here to teach you how to keep the rest of the family safe.”

“Who are you?” Laronius asked. “Where am I?”

“Folks around here call me Friendly Seth,” he replied. “I’m a clan patriarch, like you are. This is a place of healing. You can call it the homestead. You’re home, Laronius.”

“What are you going to teach me?” Laronius asked.

“How to be a patriarch, among other things,” replied Friendly Seth. “You didn’t have much time to learn it for yourself before you arrived here. The first lesson is that a patriarch has a duty to keep our clan safe. Such as protecting them from things like that poor creature in that cage over there.”

“That’s Gravine,” Laronius said slowly. “I’m starting to remember. I made a bargain with him and offered my soul as payment. He owns me.”

“No he doesn’t,” said Friendly Seth matter-of-factly. “In this family, your soul belongs to the clan and the land first and foremost. Each of us belongs to each other. And that claim is a lot older than any deal you may have made with Gravine over there. If he wants to try and cash in, he’s going to have to take it up with the entire clan.”

“What’s the cage for?” Laronius asked.

“Well, you came here willingly,” said Friendly Seth. “But he’s only here because he’s attached himself to you. He could choose to move on, but he doesn’t seem willing to let go of you and do that. So to keep everyone safe, you created that cage for him when the two of you arrived. Pretty impressive for your first act as a new patriarch.”

“I can do that?”

“You can do a lot, Laronius. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you.”

There was a squealing sound coming from the cage. Laronius looked and saw that Gravine had grabbed the bars of the golden cage with his claws and was bending and warping them. “You think this insulting little cage can hold me?!” he shrieked. “I’ll destroy you and raze this whole place to the ground! I’ll rot your soil and choke your rivers with stinking death! As soon as I’m free I will rule over everything I see, and this little haven you’ve made for yourself will become your prison. Your torment will be my sport!”

“What do we do?” Laronius asked in alarm.

“Hm. Well for now we’d better do this.” Friendly Seth bent down to the ground and picked up a scythe that must have been hiding out of sight under the tall stalks of wheat. “Better stand back, son,” he said. He then swung the scythe in a wide, smooth motion that cut a hundred stalks at once. But instead of falling to the ground, the golden wheat rose into the air. Laronius looked back at Friendly Seth and saw that the gentle-looking man was directing the wheat with his hand.

More wheat sprang up from the ground and rose into the air to join the wheat that had been cut. Within moments Laronius could hardly see the sky because of the thousands of stalks moving above them under the command of Friendly Seth. Just as it looked as if Gravine was about to break out of the golden birdcage that Laronius had built, Friendly Seth closed his fist, and the flying wheat closed in. Despite the farmer’s friendly demeanor, Laronius could see now the strength he truly possessed. He saw the sculpted muscles in his hands, arms, and shoulders that had been built from a lifetime of hard, honest work. And he saw something else too. There was a determination there that had seen droughts, pests, floods, frosts, and a hundred other setbacks, and refused to surrender to any of them.

Friendly Seth squeezed his hand tighter and it began to glow with a golden light. The wheat that had formed a tight sphere around Gravine and his cage now began to crisscross and intertwine with each other stalk of wheat next to it, forming tight, reinforced strands of gold. Then those strands intertwined again. And then again. The process repeated faster than Laronius’ eyes could keep up with, and when Friendly Seth relaxed his outstretched arm again, he saw that Gravine was held in what seemed to be a solid sphere of shining gold.

“That was amazing!” Laronius shouted, feeling the thumping beat of his heart in his chest. “You’re amazing! You saved us!”

“Now hold on there, Laronius,” said Friendly Seth, wiping sweat from his brow. “I’ve bought us some time, and that’s plenty important. But I’m not fool enough to think that any cage, no matter how sturdy, is going to hold a fellow like that forever.”

“So we keep building new cages around him?” Laronius asked.

“Oh we can keep doing that for a while,” replied Friendly Seth. “But sooner or later we’ve all got to face our demons. Like it or not, Gravine will be getting out, and we’ll need to be ready for him.”

“I’m scared,” said Laronius. “I’m scared that you and I won’t be strong enough to defeat him.”

Friendly Seth let out a joyful laugh. The kind of laugh that could never be forced because it only came from happiness that came overflowing out of a person. Instead of making Laronius feel embarrassed or angry, it lifted him up. He smiled a real, genuine smile. “What’s so funny?” he asked Friendly Seth.

“Of course you and I can’t defeat Gravine alone,” said Friendly Seth. Then, seeing the smile fade from Laronius, he put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and added. “Haven’t you been listening to what I’ve been telling you? You’re a part of our clan now, Laronius. There is no challenge you’ll ever have to fight alone again.”

For the first time, Laronius could see an enormous fortress up on a hill in the distance. It looked similar to the fortress where he’d dwelt for decades, and yet like its complete opposite. Its stone walls stood tall and resolute in the sunlight, radiating strength and protection. And from the direction of the fortress, he heard hundreds of voices singing. And their voices were getting closer.

“What’s that?” Laronius asked.

“That’s our clan’s stronghold,” said Friendly Seth. “Its gates had been locked for a long time, and it was hard for any of us to go in or out. Now the gates are open wide, and we’re the ones holding the keys. You had a hand in that, you know. Do you remember how you came into our clan, Laronius?”

Jumbled scenes, only half remembered, started to come back to Laronius in pieces. “There was another Seth,” he said. “He was claiming his birthright as patriarch. He called himself Seth the Fourth. He said he was son of Seth the Liar, who was the son of Seth the Thief, who was the son of Seth the Traitor.”

“Here, we’ve started calling him Seth the Guide,” said Friendly Seth. “Those other three names are expired though. They’ve been wiped clean and they’ll be finding new names for themselves.”

The singing grew louder and clearer. “Is that who’s coming?” Laronius asked. “Is that Seth’s family? Are they coming to help us?”

“That’s our family, Laronius,” said Friendly Seth. “And yes. Now that the entire clan is free again, they’re eager to join together and lend their strength. Each generation is being led by the patriarch of their day, and they’re all on there way here now. This clan is a sight to behold when we’re all gathered together.

“Though I have to say,” he added, “in the past we’ve always lent that strength to the patriarch who’s wielding the sword on the other side. We’ve never needed it on this side of things before.”

“Will it be enough?” Laronius asked, realizing now that the family he just gained would be fighting because of a threat that he had brought to their door.

“We’ll find out soon enough, my boy,” Friendly Seth replied. “Cheer up. Have courage. Our strength has always been enough in the past as long as we stick together. I think Gravine is about to face a lot more than he ever bargained for.”

***

Tarun, Shon, and Mendoji stared in confusion and amazement at the sphere of green and golden light hovering in front of them where Carriok had stood just moments ago. Seth smiled, and Krall laughed until he coughed.

“So you tricked him after all!” Krall exclaimed, struggling to try and stand.

“Not at all,” said Seth. “I upheld my end of the bargain and gave Laronius everything I had promised him. Even the parts he didn’t know he wanted. Like a family, a purpose, and a chance to heal his soul.”

“And Gravine?” Shon asked. “What did he get?”

“A chance to finally move on,” said Seth. “But it doesn’t look like he wants to take it. That green energy there is his essence. The sum of his soul and all the power he’s accumulated over the ages. And it’s not ready to let go of its grip of terror on the world anytime soon.”

“And the gold light?” Mendoji asked. “I recognize that aura. That’s the same energy as whoever constructed the original protections on this room.”

“That’s right,” Seth replied. “That’s my family. The soul of every member of my clan that’s ever lived is tied to the strength of this land and to each other. In the past they used that strength for the benefit of the living. Now that strength is being turned against Gravine to keep him under control.”

“So I finally failed to keep him contained,” said Mendoji as he hung his head in shame. “Is there anything we can do to help them in their fight?”

“I think the first thing we can do is leave the Sword of Wheat where it is for now,” said Seth. “The clan is going to need all their strength to win their fight against Gravine, and I don’t think it would be wise to use up that strength through using the sword.”

“I suppose that’s not too difficult since none of us knows where the sword is anyway,” said Shon. “Anything else we can do?”

“Yes,” said Seth. “We can grow the clan.”

The others gave him odd looks and Seth’s face turned red. “No not like that,” he quickly added. “I’m not talking about adding to the clan through new births. I’m talking about growing the clan through adoption. With Gravine gone and Mendoji no longer needing necromancy to keep him alive, there are many souls left lingering in the stronghold and the surrounding area who are left wandering with no purpose. I’m going to offer their souls adoption into the clan for any who will accept it.”

“In that case,” said Krall, finally able to stand again, “I’d like to volunteer to be the first.”

“What?” Tarun exclaimed. The pain and disappointment on his face was clear for all to see. “But now that you’re back I thought that Seth could heal your wounds and you could stay with us.”

“No amount of healing is going to change the fact that I died, Tarun,” said Krall. “I’m mortal. I died. It’s alright. I was fully prepared to accept that and move on. I need you to be strong and do the same thing.”

“Then why did you choose to come back?” Mendoji asked. Everyone was silent. It was the first time that he had spoken to Krall since the orc had escaped his enslavement so many years ago. He took a deep breath and continued. “We both know that no one could have forced you back if you had chosen to move on. What convinced you?”

“My friends needed my help,” said Krall, looking into the minotaur’s eyes. “Fellow dragon hunters who died by my side. Laronius had ensnared them in one of his deals, and I didn’t want him to have them, so I made a trade. He would get to preserve my body for you to study, and I would give him one mission to give me. In exchange, he had to promise to hand over their souls to you as soon as he returned.”

“I remember those two souls,” said Mendoji. “A dwarf and an elf. I thought it odd that Laronius should hand them over to me so willingly when I didn’t even know to ask for them.” He walked to a cabinet in the room and pulled out a piece of gnarled wood and a broken pig femur. “He brought them to me bound to these objects. I found it curious, so I kept them here to study further at another time. You… entrusted them to me?”

“I hated you for a long time,” said Krall. “Hated what I had to endure here, and hated what you made me do. But it was also clear to me that you took no personal pleasure in any of it. Though you were cruel at times, I knew that at the very least you wouldn’t torment them for your own amusement like Laronius would have.”

“I’m… honored,” said Mendoji.

“Don’t be,” retorted Krall. “I still hate you, and hold you responsible for all the pain you’ve caused.” He looked around at Tarun and Shon. “But it seems you’ve proven useful to those I care about as well. So how about this. You promise me right now that you’ll do everything in your power to help these two in whatever they’re facing, and I’ll accept that you’re not as bad as I thought. At the very least you’ll know there’s one less orc soul out there still hating you.”

“It’s more than I deserve to ask for,” said Mendoji. “Of course I’ll promise it.”

“Good, now hand me those pieces of garbage that Laronius shoved my friends into,” said Krall. “Seth, I want you to adopt me into your clan. My friends too. I’m certain they’ll accept.”

“You’re certain?” Seth clarified. “You said before that your soul had been prepared to move on. This will mean jumping from one fight right into another.”

“I’m counting on it,” said Krall. “Punching Laronius tonight felt great, so I can’t wait to do the same to the creep who started all this. Any message you want me to pass along to your clan on the other side?”

“Maybe you could ask them if there’s any way to move their fight out of here and down to the tunnels below where there’s less chance of interference?” Seth suggested.

“I’ll see what I can do when I find the person in charge,” said Krall. “Shon, I never had a chance to say goodbye to you before. It was an honor traveling with you and learning from you. You’re a world-class dragon hunter. Tarun, saying goodbye to you a second time is too hard and I don’t want to do it. So I’ll just say, take care of Shon and the others on this side, alright? And I’ll do what I can from the other side.”

“Alright,” said Tarun with tears down his cheeks.

“Goodbye Krall,” said Shon.

Krall stood proudly on his feet one more time, and held the relics with the souls of Solimar and Piggy within. Seth raised his shillelagh. “Hareth.” There was a light, and then three dots of light moved to the sphere of swirling green and gold energy floating in front of them. A moment later, the sphere moved to the tunnel behind the bed frame, and then disappeared out of sight.

“Krall must have delivered your message quicker than we expected,” said Shon in surprise.

“Something tells me that time moves differently for souls than it does for the living,” Seth replied.

“Speaking of time,” said Mendoji, standing up. “Would it help hasten your efforts to extend adoption to the willing if I help locate and gather the souls that are still wandering about? I have a promise to keep after all.”

“I’m sure it will help a great deal,” said Seth. “But first there’s one more point I want to mention regarding what we can do to support my clan in their fight against Gravine.”

“The third and most important thing we need to do is trust them,” said Seth. “They’re strong, honest, and most importantly, they’re united. They learned a long time ago that there are threats in this world that no one can be expected to take on alone.”

“Would that I had learned that lesson sooner,” said Mendoji. “Much suffering may have been prevented.”

“Then let’s learn that lesson now,” said Seth. “We’ve gained valuable information about Creed and the war that’s coming. But I think Gravine told us more than he realized. If I understood the meaning between his words, I think Creed’s plan is to prepare his own enemies so each of them is left fighting him on their own. That’s how he plans to drag the war on for so long.”

“You’re right,” said Tarun. “I don’t know how I know that, but you’re exactly right. As soon as you spoke the words it felt like I was learning something I already knew.” Seth nodded at him in understanding. “Creed wants his enemies strong, but divided,” Tarun continued. “He doesn’t want his enemies to even know about each other, let alone to unite with each other. I believe now is the time for me to try and find the rest of the enemies of Creed.”

Despite his current agony and fury, or perhaps because of it, Laronius took a grim satisfaction watching his enemies scramble and trip over themselves to help the meddlesome wizard who now lay screaming and thrashing on the floor at the other side of the room. “Poor, fragile Shon,” Laronius thought to himself. “It seems his plans have literally blown up in his face.”

Not that Laronius could really claim to be doing much better. More than three quarters of his own body were composed of crumbling necromantic concrete, and the portion composed of demonic flesh couldn’t hold it together much longer. He was broken beyond repair, and nothing short of a complete rebirth could save him now. But wasn’t that exactly what he had bargained for? Wasn’t that what Gravine had promised to grant him as soon as the opportunity arose?

“Tarun, I need your help!” Seth called out, kneeling next to Shon. “You need to hold him still! This injury is worse than anything I’ve tried to heal before!”

“Can’t you use the lantern and that healing word like you did before?” Tarun asked, looking back and forth between his friend and Laronius. He clearly didn’t want to turn his back on a threat.

“I’m trying,” Seth shouted over Shon’s continued screams of pain. “But shards of that cursed crystal got under his skin, and they’re somehow resisting the healing. Please!”

“Tarun, hand me your hatchet,” said Krall, never taking his eyes off Laronius. “I’ll keep him from trying anything. You go help your friends.” Tarun handed over his only weapon and rushed to Shon’s side.

The only threat paying any attention to Laronius was a single undead orc armed with nothing but a small hand axe. Meanwhile the power and essence of his master was still swirling around the room, seeking a vessel to enter. Laronius realized that if there was ever an opportunity to turn these events to his favor, it had to be now.

“Time to fill your end of the bargain,” whispered Laronius.

“What was that?” Krall demanded, taking a step closer to Laronius.

But Laronius didn’t repeat himself. His words were intended for Gravine alone, and the ancient necromancer had hear him.

“Very well,” came the sickening voice of Gravine. “Let it begin.”

Like smoke rushing out an open window with a draft, the swirling essence of Gravine poured into Laronius. Krall raised the axe in his hand to try and intervene, but he was pushed back by a flash of green light. This transformation would not be interrupted.

Concrete flesh and demonic flesh merged into one as Laronius merged with the soul of Gravine. Laronius had assumed he would again resemble the way he had looked as a vampire, but realized he had been wrong as soon as he saw the first black feathers began to sprout from his skin. His mouth began to extend and warp into a hideous, toothy beak. His feet became grasping talons, and his arms became flightless wings with claws where his hands once were.

His thoughts became muddled as his mind and will began to merge with the soul of Gravine, but he yet retained some sense of self for the moment. “Master, what is the meaning of this?” he called out in his mind.

“Behold the true form of Gravine!” came the forceful reply. “My people were driven to extinction so long ago that none remember their name. Carriok was the name of my people, and now we shall take upon ourselves that name as the last of my kind.” There was no question, no moment to await consent. Laronius realized that in this new identity being born from the merging of master and servant, there would be little of the servant. His very existence was locked in a contest of will that he could not possibly win.

Laronius could feel himself stand and open his new beak as the last of his consciousness fused with Gravine. Then he heard a terrible, cawing voice come from deep within his own throat. “Laronius and Gravine are no more!” the terrible creature screeched. “I am Carriok. I am the ancient foe this world cannot escape. All the living will fear me, and all dead will obey me! There are none in this age who can oppose me!”

His words were cut short as something hit Carriok in the chest. He looked down and saw the handle of a hatchet sticking out from the mass of feathers in front of his heart.

“You sure about that?” Krall taunted. The orc was already breaking off a long wooden post from a nearby bed. It snapped off in a jagged point, and Krall clearly intended to use it as a makeshift javelin.

Carriok cackled like a crow taunting a squirrel. “Quite sure,” he said as the head and handle of the hatchet dissolved as if covered in acid. “You think such mundane weapons frighten me? Nothing of this world can touch me.” He then squinted his jet black eyes at Krall. “Nor can anything of this world endure my touch.”

Carriok grabbed a tuft his own feathers with the claw of his right wing. In a movement faster than the blink of an eye, he hurled the feathers at Krall. They flew forward like darts, and the impact knocked the orc back across the room. Though the undead body of Krall did not bleed, large portions of flesh had dissolved away where the feathers had hit him.

Laughing again, Carriok moved to where Krall lay defenseless on the ground. The movements of his avian legs were somewhere between a step and a hop, and gave the impression of a twisted eagerness. He opened his beak wide, showing the serrated teeth within. It had been centuries since he had eaten anything that put up a fight, and he was looking forward to it.

Standing crookedly over Krall, Carriok thrust his beak down to bite off the first morsel of his meal. But before he could make contact, there was a sharp crack against the right side of his skull, and he staggered hard to the left.

Shaking his head, Carriok looked up to see who he would be killing next. Tarun stood in front of him, his body was in a fighting stance and his face showed a grim determination. In both hands he held the silver staff that had housed the green crystal prison.

“Are you in such a hurry to die, little warrior?” Carriok squawked. But he had no sooner spoken than he was hit hard across the beak again with the staff. Tarun was in no mood to banter or play. He spun the staff in his hands, building momentum in the spiraled silver cage that served as the top and blunt end of the staff. Unlike the hatchet, the staff showed no signs of weakness to the corrosive power of Carriok’s feathers.

Carriok lashed out with his razor sharp claws at Tarun, but between the staff and the tall warrior’s own long arms, he had no trouble keeping out of Carriok’s reach. Instead, all the attack had done was leave Carriok open for Tarun to use the sharp end of the staff to pierce him deep in his right shoulder. Carriok shrieked and Tarun followed up with another spinning crack against the side of his head, this time chipping the tip of his beak off. Black ichor dripped from the wound.

“Enough!!” Carriok shouted. “I will tolerate no more of this!” Again he grabbed a tuft of feathers with his right claw and flung them at Tarun. Three of the feathers were blocked by the staff as Tarun spun it with blinding speed. But there were too many for him to block them all.

A split second before the deadly feathers hit Tarun, they were consumed by white-hot flames. The tips of the flames seemed to flicker with every color imaginable, and they disappeared as quickly as had appeared. Nothing remained of the feathers but a faint gray vapor.

Tarun turned around for a brief moment to see if Seth had somehow saved him with the light of his lantern. But no, the lantern’s light was still focused solely on Shon, as was Seth’s attention. Shon had stabilized enough for Tarun to leave his side a few moments ago, but he wasn’t in any state to counter the attack either. Krall was still struggling to pull his body into a sitting position against the wall. Wherever the white flame had come from, it wasn’t from any of his allies.

He quickly turned his attention back to Carriok, not wanting to leave himself open to another attack. Though it was difficult to read the creature’s alien expression, it seemed to Tarun that it was a look of shock and amazement. And perhaps… terror?

“You,” squawked Carriok. “You’re one of them. You’re one his enemies aren’t you? You must be. But which one?” Carriok closed his beak and narrowed his eyes at Tarun. He cocked his head to the side in a birdlike manner. “Ah, the champion. I should’ve known. Well this changes things.” He began taking a slow step backwards towards the hidden door behind the bed frame.

“Wait!” Shon suddenly called out, sitting himself up from the ground. The right side of his face was still scarred, his right eye was closed, and portions of his face were still swollen and scabbed, but he was no longer actively bleeding. “Tarun, he’s talking about Creed! He’s saying you’re one of the enemies of Creed! If he knows anything about it, we can’t let him get away! We need to find out what he knows!”

“What makes you think I would tell you anything?” Carriok squawked as he jerked his head to the other side. “Even if you could somehow capture me and torture me, which I am certain you lack the power to do, I would still refuse to reveal anything to you. There is no threat you can make that would persuade me.” He took another step towards the door.

“No threats then,” said Seth, standing up with his lantern. “How about a deal instead? A bargain you couldn’t bear to refuse?”

“There is nothing you can offer me that I cannot simply take myself,” replied Carriok.

“I can offer you the Sword of Wheat,” said Seth. Carriok stopped moving mid-step.

“Bah!” Carriok coughed a squawking laugh. “Simply more lies. Your broken wizard there already said he could offer me the same, and all he did was lead me here to this useless room where the sword used to be kept.”

“Shon didn’t lead you astray,” said Seth. “He didn’t just lead you to this room, he lead you to me. And I’m the only one with the authority to bestow the Sword of Wheat to anyone. I’m willing to bestow it upon you if you agree to cooperate with us. And for the record, I don’t lie.” The lantern glowed brighter in Seth’s hand to punctuate his last statement.

Carriok took a hesitant step forward. “How?” he asked quietly.

“The sword can only be wielded by the patriarch of my clan,” said Seth. He stood tall, spoke clearly, and looked directly into Carriok’s eyes as he spoke. “I’ve begun to claim my birthright as the new patriarch, but I haven’t finished the process. Still, I’ve claimed enough of that I now have the authority to adopt others into the clan. I also have the authority to appoint the birthright to another, if I so choose.”

“Are you sure about this?” Tarun asked, keeping himself ready for another strike. “We’ve learned what that sword can do, and we’ve seen tonight how powerful this monster already is. Do you really think we can trust him?”

“It’s not about trust,” said Seth, still looking directly at Carriok. “It’s about doing what’s right. Valuing the sword above the ideals that it represents brought four generations of darkness upon my clan, and my homeland. I won’t make that same mistake.”

“How noble,” sneered Carriok. “And what, you’re someone who always make the right choice?”

“No,” replied Seth. “But I try to.”

Carriok lifted his head and let out a long, cawing laugh. “You are a naive fool,” he said, “but fools make the best bargains. What do you have in mind?”

“Simple, straightforward, and honest,” said Seth. “You tell my friends everything you know about Creed and his enemies. In exchange, I will make you first in line to become the patriarch of my clan, and I adopt you into the clan so you can claim that inheritance for yourself. That’s the offer.”

“What, no truce?” Carriok asked. “No assurance that your friends and I won’t go back to killing each other once our exchange is done?”

“I cannot bargain on their behalf,” said Seth. “And I am sure that you are clever enough to find a loophole in any kind of truce I might suggest. But for my part, I will promise to do no harm to you other than what is necessary to protect my friends and my clan. That’s not part of the bargain, it is simply a promise I give to you freely.”

Carriok cocked his head at Seth and narrowed his eyes again, as if a clever joke had just been spoiled. “Very well,” he said. “I agree to your terms. You begin, and then I’ll tell you all what I know.”

Before Shon and Tarun could object, Seth raised his shillelagh high and spoke. “As acting patriarch, I bestow the first right of claim to the title of patriarch, leader of the clan, and wielder of the Sword of Wheat to Laronius. This birthright will be his in full upon his adoption into the clan, and none will have the power to take it from him.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Carriok demanded. “There is no more Laronius. There is only Carriok. You should have bestowed the birthright to me.”

“My friend Shon made a bargain with Laronius that he would give him the key to the Sword of Wheat,” said Seth. “I would not want to make a liar of my friend, so it is to Laronius that I fulfill that bargain. Besides, aren’t you a merged soul of both Gravine and Laronius? If I apply salt to carrots before making carrot and onion soup, will that salt not be in the soup itself?”

“You speak nonsense,” said Carriok.

“I speak the truth,” said Seth. “And you know it. You have claim to the birthright, regardless of the name I spoke, as I am sure you already feel it tugging at you. But you can also feel that you cannot yet take it. For that, I must still complete your adoption into the clan. And that I will do after you fulfill your end of the bargain.”

“Outrageous!” Carriok cried. “If you will not complete your side of the bargain, I may as well leave now.”

“But you won’t,” Seth replied. “As I said, you already feel the weight of the birthright. You would not simply walk away from your inheritance now. It tugs at the portion of your soul that was once Laronius in a way that not even Gravine could overpower.”

Carriok’s head jerked to one side, then to the other, then again as if some argument was taking place in his own head. “Fine!” he finally exclaimed. “The information is worthless to me now anyway. Why should I care whether I give it away?”

During this exchange, Tarun had carried Shon to a large cushioned chair and propped him up with some pillows. Then he had brought sheets and blankets from a closet and used them to wrap around Krall’s wounds and sat him up as well. Finally he had walked over Mendoji and was about to cover him with another large sheet just as Carriok was about to begin speaking.

“Wait a moment,” Seth said before Carriok began. “Mendoji should be awake to hear this too. Tarun, sit him up so I can heal him.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!” Carriok squawked. “Vdekshi has no part of this.”

“The deal was that you would tell what you know to my friends,” said Seth, moving towards the minotaur. “And who I choose to claim as a friend is my business.”

“You have terrible taste in friends then,” Carriok replied with contempt.

“What’s dross to one may be precious to another,” said Seth. Then holding his lantern in front of Mendoji he said, “Almetesi.” A light shone from the lantern and dazzled off the skin of Tarun in a myriad of colors as he held the minotaur up to the light. Mendoji exhaled an immense sigh.

“I’ll wake him up,” said Shon. There was exertion on the young wizard’s face, and he was clearly still in considerable pain, but a moment later, Mendoji opened his eyes. The look of peace upon his face was short-lived however, as he sat up and saw the empty staff, Shon’s injured face and arm, and the menacing figure of Carriok across the room.

“What’s happened?” Mendoji asked.

“A lot more than we can explain at the moment,” said Shon. “But for now, how do you feel? Is the rage of the poison still in you?”

Mendoji closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened his eyes again, great wet tears rolled freely down his face. “It’s gone,” he whispered. “I’m finally cured.”

“Disgusting,” spat Carriok.

“Who’s this?” Mendoji asked, trying to get to his feet. Tarun put a hand on his shoulder to keep him seated.

“Someone with information for us,” said Seth. “For now, that’s all you need to worry about.” Then turning to Carriok he added, “You know, I can heal you too before you begin. That cracked beak is still bleeding and it looks quite painful.”

“Keep that lamp away from me!” Carriok squawked. “I want nothing to do with it. Besides, I am not some frail mortal ruled by pain like the rest of you.” He held a wing in front of his face for a moment, then raised his head again. The chip in his beak remained, but it now looked like an old wound, rather than a fresh one.

“As you wish,” said Seth, lowering his lamp. “Just trying to show you some kindness.

“A waste of time to be sure,” replied Carriok. “And speaking of wasting my time, let’s get this over with. I will now tell you what I know of Creed and his enemies.” 

Laronius shot off down the hallway so fast he lost one of the fingers on his concrete right hand. He was so furious he hardly even noticed. He hated feeling like a fool, and that wizard brat had managed to humiliate him twice in mere seconds. And just at the moment he had been feeling so clever.

Of course he had never expected Shon to accept his offer to open the sanctuary, but he didn’t need to. Gravine had revealed that out of the twenty-seven enchantments and protections keeping him out of the sanctuary, there were only three left. One of those could only be broken if someone from inside the protection first declared aggression or an intention to fight back. Laronius thought it quite clever to maneuver Shon into a position where he would either have to give in, or declare his intent to resist.

He hadn’t counted on the insolent little upstart responding with a counteroffer. Especially not one so irresistible as a chance to claim the Sword of Wheat for himself. Had his desires really been so obvious that the wizard had figured it out himself? Or had his own thoughts betrayed him after guarding them for so long? Either way he was disgusted with himself for letting himself be bested by such an amateur.

But if taunting Laronius with his most secret desire was the injury that wounded his pride, it was the mental image that followed that served as the insult that finally set off his temper.

Of course Laronius knew exactly what symbol Shon was trying to show him. Obviously he knew it far better than the wizard himself did. After all, he had seen it in a hundred different places in the fortress. He had passed by them thousands of times as he obsessively explored the fortress each night, and the caverns below each day. He had used charcoal to make tracings of every carving in the wood or etched designs in the stone that predated Vdekshi’s stay in the fortress. He memorized every possible clue. If there was a design that appeared more than once, he would practice drawing it until he could recreate it by memory with his eyes closed.

He had even used his supernatural vampiric eyes to study the tiles and stones that bore the image Shon had so crudely show him. He had stared at every single one of them, straining his eyes to see even a trace of magical energy that might provide him with clues. There had been nothing. No magic, no clever mechanism to open a door, trigger a trap, or reveal a secret.

But somehow, maddeningly, that was clearly no longer the case. Laronius had been so focused on leading the attack on the sanctuary that he hadn’t noticed the shift in the fortress. To anyone else, the changes might not even be noticeable, even to Vdekshi. Shackles had fallen from the walls where he had secured them, and now sat already rusting and crumbling on the floor. Doors with locks he had added himself now swung wide open. Tapestries he had altered ever so subtly to amuse himself with a crude joke were now restored to their original patterns. It was as if the fortress itself was waking up and quietly shrugging off the changes of the last three quarters of a century.

And as further evidence that it was waking up, those tiles, stones, and wood carvings with the scythe symbol were certainly no longer mundane. He could practically feel them humming with magic, though it was no magic that he was familiar with. Something about it made him nervous to even touch it.

When he passed by a fireplace with the symbol carved on the mantle, he picked up a nearby poker and stabbed it into the spot where the wheat joined the blade and handle of the scythe. There was a jolt in his hand that held the iron poker, but he was unharmed. A moment later, the mantle slid upwards while the stones in the fireplace rearranged in a fluid motion, revealing a narrow entry to a hidden staircase leading to a tunnel of some kind.

As the horde of undead caught up to Laronius in the hallway, he frowned. To make their way through the narrow tunnel, his forces would have to move in single file. That would be no problem for the half dozen specters and phantoms that could pass through each other at will, but the lurching, simple-minded zombies that made up the bulk of his horde were already slow enough when spread out in a wide area. And the elite team of skeleton warriors he brought along were skilled fighters, but resisted moving in any way other than the complex battle positions they were drilled to fall into on command when they were still alive.

What was worse, as the entire horde finished reaching him, he realized that the more powerful the servants, such as the phantoms and specters, the less willing they were to approach anything with the symbol of the wheat and scythe on it. He couldn’t very well lead an undead army down the tunnels when the only ones actually useful to him wouldn’t come within a stone’s throw of the entrance.

He would have to go alone and unprepared unless he could find someone with enough brains to reason their way past the unsettling magic. In that regard, his options were extremely limited. Mutt could probably do it in theory, but he was far too much of a coward to make that choice, and he’d be ueless to Laronius anyway. Treshigan was plenty useful and certainly smart enough, though he would never tell her that. But he had no idea where she had gotten to in all the chaos, and he didn’t have time to both look for her and come up with a plan to manipulate her into helping him.

He needed some backup that he could count on to think and act and improvise in an unpredictable scenario, but also not waste any time questioning his commands. He needed someone with a mind of their own, without having a will of their own. He begrudgingly admitted to himself that maybe there was something to be said for the old days when Vdekshi’s forces were made up of a mix of undead servants and a few prisoners and slaves that were still alive.

That last thought made Laronius smile as he realized he had the perfect candidate to assist him with this task. He had planned on holding on to this opportunity for as long as possible, but the more he thought about the situation, the more he realized just how perfect it was.

Laronius commanded his horde to guard the entrance, then flew off like a catapult to the room where Vdekshi kept all his most important experiments and most sophisticated lab equipment. The sudden jolt made him lose another concrete finger, but he didn’t even care. He couldn’t wait to get started.

***

As Seth and Tarun took a turn at yet another intersection of seemingly identical stone hallways, Tarun felt another swell of gratitude for two things. First, he was grateful for the magical light provided by Seth’s lantern so they didn’t have try to navigate by flickering candlelight, or worse, no light at all. Second, he was grateful that Seth was the one in the front, and that he seemed to somehow know which way they were going, because Tarun felt completely lost.

“Why would anyone need so many crisscrossing tunnels underneath the stronghold?” Tarun asked stopped running for a moment to catch their breath. Tarun felt invigorated by the pace, but Seth’s face was red and wet with sweat from the exertion. The brief respite was clearly necessary.

“One of the main responsibilities of the clan patriarch was to wield the Sword of Wheat to protect the clan from threats,” Seth said between deep breaths. “But not every patriarch wanted to carry the Sword of Wheat on them at all times. These tunnels were built to ensure the patriarch should never be cut off from being able to get to the sword if caught unawares. Secret entrances to these tunnels were placed in many locations throughout the stronghold itself and the surrounding grounds. In the center of the tunnels is the patriarch’s private chamber where the Sword of Wheat would be kept when not worn. It should be the most secure area of the entire fortress during an attack.”

“How close are we to reaching this chamber?” Tarun asked. “It seems like we’ve been running for a while now.”

Seth silently considered the question for a moment, then closed his eyes and inhaled a long, deep breath. “It feels like we’re very close,” he said while opening his eyes. “I think the door to the chamber is just ahead.”

“Good,” said Tarun. “So we find the chamber, recover the Sword of Wheat, then fight our way to Shon and make it back to the chamber where we can take refuge for the night and figure out a plan for tomorrow?”

“Maybe,” said Seth with a shrug, getting ready to continue on again. “That sounds pretty reasonable. Honestly I’m just kind of taking this one step at a time and figuring it out as we go. I don’t really have much of a plan.”

“Well that makes two of us,” Tarun replied. “I guess we’ll just try and survive for now and see how far we get.”

Just then, they arrived at a stone door with thick steel hinges. In the center of the door was the image of the scythe bound by wheat. “Be ready with your axe, Tarun,” said Seth. “I believe it should be safe on the other side of this door, but there’s no way to know what’s on the other side.”

“I’m ready,” said Tarun.”

Seth brought his shillelagh to the symbol on the door and pushed. For a moment it seemed to glide open effortlessly, but then it stopped with the sound of wood scraping against stone. Something was blocking their way.

Just then, Tarun and Seth both heard Shon cry out in terror in their minds. “They’ve broken through!” Shon cried. “I don’t know how but the horde must have found another way in! Hurry!”

Seth was trying to force the door open, but it would hardly budge. “Out of the way, Seth!” Tarun said as he moved Seth to the side and stepped to the front to shove the door. “We have to hurry up and get out of here so we can go find Shon before it’s too late!” He gave a hard shove at the door, and it began to open. The screaming in their minds grew so loud they could practically hear it.

“We’re coming Shon, just hold on!” Tarun shouted as he gave one more mighty shove and the door finally opened enough for them to get through. There was some kind of cloth curtain hanging in front of him, making it hard for Tarun to see, so he started swinging his axe to get it out of the way. His axe struck wood and he swung again, this time chopping off a large chunk of whatever had been blocking their way.

Tarun took another step forward and emerged from behind a large four-post bed. He pulled at the violet cloth that his axe was now stuck in, there was a loud rip, and with a sink in his stomach, Tarun realized he could no longer hear Shon’s screams in his head.

Seth stepped in behind him and they looked around at their surroundings. It was definitely a private chamber, but Tarun had expected it to look abandoned and dusty. But this room was lit with numerous candles, the surfaces were clean, and there was a faint aroma of something sweet in the air. Also, there was an enormous minotaur lying sprawled out like a rug in the middle of the floor.

“Tarun, is that you?” asked Shon as he emerged from a hiding place under a nearby desk. He was holding an ornate silver staff with a large green crystal housed inside, and he looked simultaneously relieved and hysterical at the same time. “What are you doing crashing in here like that?!”

“Shon?” Tarun looked at his friend in disbelief. “How did you get in here? I thought you were holed up in Vdekshi’s sanctuary!”

“This IS Mendoji’s sanctuary!” Shon replied. “Why else do you think there’s a huge minotaur on the floor?”

“I guess it would make sense for him to use the patriarch’s chamber as his sanctuary,” said Seth, speaking in a quieter tone than both of them. “With so many protections already in place it probably made sense for him to just add a few more of his own.”

“But how could he have gotten in to make it is sanctuary in the first place?” Tarun asked. “I thought it was impossible for anyone but your clan’s patriarch to get in here.”

“During any kind of attack, yes,” said Seth. “And the patriarch is the only one who can open this secret back door from the passageway. But when there’s no threat to anyone, that front door is just a normal door with a normal lock.” Seth turned to Shon. “Nice to see you Shon! Do you need some healing? You’re not looking too good.”

Tarun then noticed that Shon’s face was exceptionally pale and sweaty, and his body was starting to shake uncontrollably. Seth and Tarun hurried over to him and took him by the shoulders. Tarun held him up while Seth brought his lantern up high and lightly touched Shon’s forehead with the top of his shillelagh. “Almetesi.” As Seth said the word of power, the light in the lantern grew brighter, and Shon’s eyes began to focus again.

Hearing the word reminded Tarun of when Seth had used the same word of power to heal the poisoned scar on his arm. Although it was only a few days ago, it seemed like so much longer. The rage he had felt from the effects of the dragon poison seemed increasingly distant.

“Wow,” Shon said, shaking his head. “Thanks Seth. I’m not sure what happened, but I was so confused a second ago. I don’t understand because I didn’t get hit on the head or anything but my mind was so…” Shon trailed off as his eyes widened. “Seth! You’re here! And you can heal! Hurry, I need you to use that word on Mendoji so I can wake him up!”

The three of them turned to look again at the minotaur on the ground. To their surprise, they saw Krall standing over Mendoji’s unconscious body.

Instead of the dragon hunting armor that Shon and Tarun had seen him wear while alive, the Krall standing before them was wearing nothing but a white sheet wrapped around his waist like a loin cloth. The orc’s dark green skin was now pale and splotchy green that had the appearance of lichen on a pile or rocks. His eyes were hazy and white rather than the deep brown they knew, and his expression was blank and emotionless rather than wise and inviting.

It was all wrong, and yet there was no denying that it was Krall. Reanimated and undead, but still Krall.

Seth raised his shillelagh in surprise and started to shout “Shurr-” but Tarun grabbed his arm to stop him from banishing his old mentor and friend. “No don’t, Seth!” Tarun shouted. Then more quietly he added, “Please.”

Seth looked ahead at the clearly undead orc in front of him, wondering what he should do. Krall silently brought a hand up, palm forward, as if trying to communicate something. Then that hand whipped out to Seth’s and before any of them could react to what was happening, Krall had wrenched the lantern out of Seth’s hand.

Krall then silently took a step backwards and Laronius walked out from behind the slightly torn and chopped bed that concealed the back entrance. At first Laronius came out clapping, but stopped when he noticed the dust falling off of his right hand. Instead he placed his hands behind his back and pretended not to notice.

“Well done, Krall,” Laronius said in a sing-song voice. “After all, we poor, vulnerable undead don’t really stand a chance with that unfair lantern around. I think this fight will be far more evenly matched without any cheap ‘Shurrahs’ thrown around, don’t you?”

Krall said nothing, but continued to stare straight ahead with a stony expression.

“You’ll have to forgive poor, Krall-y Wally,” said Laronius with mock concern. “He just hasn’t been the same since he bound his soul in service to me. Still, using his pathetic orc soul as my personal plaything has provided endless hours of entertainment.”

“How dare you,” Tarun fumed and started to step forward.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Laronius said, wagging a finger until he noticed the tip crack and fall off. “Not a step closer. One flick of my wrist, and your old friend here spends an eternity having his soul ripped apart by imps and hellhounds. One of the drawbacks of bargaining away your eternal soul to a necromancer, but that’s the price you pay when you’re desperate to hang on to existence a little longer.”

“You’re lying,” said Tarun. “I was there when Krall died. “He was brave and at peace. There was nothing desperate about him.”

“Maybe you’re right,” said Laronius, rolling his eyes. “Maybe I am lying. But are you willing to take that risk? I can offer you a trade instead. Shon here should know the terms by now. Give me the crystal, the staff, and Vdekshi, and I give you Krall. What do you say?”

“Why do you need Mendoji?” Shon asked, holding out the silver staff with the green gem at the top. “Why can’t you just take the staff and the crystal and be satisfied?”

A grotesque sneer of pure malice crossed Laronius’ face. “I will be dead before I allow that smelly oaf to be healed. He deserves to die miserable.” He turned to the expressionless orc. “I’m sure Krall would agree with me if he were in a more talkative mood.”

“I can’t make that deal,” said Shon. “It’s not about what Mendoji deserves. I made a promise to him that I would protect his body if he would trust me enough to go to sleep. I won’t betray that trust.”

Laronius made a gagging face. “Oh fine! As if I actually care that much.” He waved a hand at the hairy body at his feet. “Alright, you give me the staff and the crystal, and you can keep Vdekshi. Will you agree to that?”

“Alright,” Shon replied. “Deal.”

“Excellent,” said Laronius. “Krall, go fetch!”

Krall stepped forward silently and menacingly. As he stepped towards Shon, the wizard started to flinch away, but something Krall frowned. The frown surprised Shon. It was the first sign of emotion that Krall had shown that night, but it was an odd time to show emotion. Was this undead version of Krall actually sad that Shon had drawn away from him? Or maybe he didn’t like being told to fetch?

Then something clicked in Shon’s memory. He recalled when Solimar had pretended to treat Krall like a dog to diffuse the situation with the woodcutters. Krall had played along and given them the same sad, dumb expression he was giving Shon now.

Shon handed the staff over to Krall.

Krall brought the staff to Laronius, who grasped it tightly in his right hand. Green energy began to crackle and course up and down the staff and into Laronius. “Finally!!” Laronius cried with triumph. “Gravine, this prison is crumbling around you and you need a willing host for your soul. This is why you’ve been preparing me as your protege all these years. Now is the time to make good on your promise and grant me the power I bargained my soul for!”

The green light flooded out from the cracks in the crystal. “Very well,” came the booming, nauseating voice of Gravine. “Let our souls merge into one and together take vengeance on this world.”

Laronius looked down at the spearlike tip at the bottom of the silver staff, looked at the prone body of the minotaur, and then looked up at Shon. “You know, you’re a brat, but at least you’re a gullible brat,” Laronius mocked. “Just because I’m not going to take him doesn’t mean I was ever going to let him live.” With that, he thrust the silver staff downwards with all his strength.

Then everyone looked down at Mendoji. The sharp spike at the bottom of the staff was suspended an inch above the minotaur’s head, but would go no further. Faster than anyone had been able to see, Krall had shot out his left arm and caught the shaft of the staff just below Laronius’ hand.

Laronius looked down, confused. “What are you doing?” he demanded. “You’re only supposed to follow my orders, and I did not order you to do this!”

The orc opened his mouth, and though his face still looked mindless, to everyone’s surprise,  the deep, gravely voice of Krall emerged. “Hey Tarun. Do you remember the first advice I ever gave you the night that woodcutter was trying to cheat at arm wrestling?”

“You told me not to try to beat him right away,” said Tarun. “You told me to keep my arm straight, be ready whenever he starts, and not to expect everyone to play fair just because I do.”

Krall smiled. “So what do I do now?”

“Oh! Put his hand down on the table!” Shon shouted.

Krall’s smile widened into a toothy grin. “Good memory kid.”

The next moment, Krall shifted his stance to maximize his leverage, reached his other arm over to grab the top half of the staff, and yanked hard. There was the sound of grinding stone and a crack as Krall pulled the staff away so hard that Laronius’ concrete hand broke off, still clutching the staff. He tossed it over to Shon to get it out of reach from anyone else.

In one more fluid motion, Krall had picked up Seth’s lantern from behind Laronius, and tossed it back to its owner. Laronius lunged to try and stop the lantern, but Krall once again reached out an arm and grabbed Laronius by the back of the neck, then used his own momentum to smash him face-first into the wall behind them.

“You have NO IDEA how long I’ve wanted to do that!” Krall hollered. “Since the first time I had to look at that arrogant little grin of yours, I’ve dreamed of this. That alone was almost worth coming back from the dead for.”

Laronius lay on the ground, furious. His concrete flesh was cracked and crumbling, his demonic flesh was scraped and bruised. “How?!” he screamed. “We had a binding deal! One mission where you follow my orders, then you turn to dirt! What is this?”

“I don’t know if anybody told you,” said Krall, “but earlier tonight, all deals were somehow dropped and nullified. I just figured I’d have a better shot at getting in your way when it mattered if I just kept going along for long enough. Looks like it worked.”

Suddenly, there was an explosion behind Krall, and Shon shouted in pain. They all turned to see Shon clutching the right side of his face. The top of his head was burned and there was blood coming from under the hand that was holding his face. Jagged pieces of green crystal were sticking out of his forearm.

The green crystal was no longer in the staff. Its shattered remains were now scattered among the room. Sickly green vapor swirled around the room and the voice of Gravine seemed to boom from every direction. “Fools! The strain on my prison tonight was more than it could bear. I am once again free!”

 

“In the months since The Ancient One spoke to me, I thought he had chosen me because I’d been searching for a purpose. So I figured he thought he could use me for his purposes,” said Seth, walking quickly into the night while Tarun kept up behind him. “But I’m starting to realize there’s a lot more to it than that. And I think my clan plays as much a role in his plans as I do.”

“I don’t understand,” said Tarun. “I thought you knew almost nothing about your family until tonight.”

“That’s true,” said Seth, “but it seems clear that The Ancient One has known a lot about them all along. Including the magic that binds our souls to the land and to each other. I think that might be the real key to my mission here.”

“The way that Toj explained it,” said Tarun, “I thought that the enchantment on this land was made to grant power to the Sword of Wheat. Isn’t recovering the sword going to be the key to driving the evil out of this land?”

“The Sword of Wheat is a physical manifestation of the strength of the clan and our land,” replied Seth, “but the actual source of that strength comes from so many souls willingly bound to a shared purpose. Ultimately, the Sword of Wheat is just a tool. Take away the tool, and the strength that wielded it is still the same. Take away the clan, and the Sword of Wheat is no more powerful than any other sword.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Tarun, “but I trust you regardless. Just tell me plainly, are we going to try and recover the sword to free Shon?”

“Yes, if we can,” said Seth. He then stopped walking and turned to look Tarun in the eyes. “But let me be clear. Rescuing Shon is the priority tonight, not the sword.”

Tarun smiled. “And that’s why I trust you, Seth.”

“Good,” replied Seth, “because where I’m taking us next may not make a lot of sense at first.”

***

Standing among the headstones and statues just outside the East wall of the fortress, Tarun crossed his arms. “You’re right,” he said. “This doesn’t make any sense.”

Instead of continuing straight ahead towards the large front gates of the fortress, Seth had led them around to a path that took them to this old, overgrown cemetery. It had taken them half an hour to make their way through the path, and Tarun could not see any sign of an entrance. The sheer wall reached higher than any nearby trees, and appeared impossible to climb or get past in any way.

While they walked the trail, Shon had reached out to them with his mind again and updated them on his current situation. He was in a room with Vdekshi somewhere in the fortress, but Vdekshi was unconscious, Shon had no idea where in the fortress the room was located, and there was an uncontrolled mob of undead outside the door that were trying to break their way in to get to him, Vdekshi, and the staff. Also, Shon was now calling the minotaur Mendoji instead of Vdekshi for some reason.

Shon had tried to reassure them that he was alright and that the protective enchantments on the walls and doors seemed to be holding for now, but he couldn’t stop the stress and fear from coming across his thoughts, no matter how brave he tried to come across to the others. Tarun was worried they were running out of time, and this detour to the graveyard seemed like another distraction on a night when they couldn’t afford any more delays.

“Any chance you can explain to me how this detour treats Shon as our top priority?” Tarun asked Seth. “Those front gates looked daunting, but at least they offered a way in.”

“The closer we get to the stronghold, the more I can sense the strength of this place,” said Seth. “It’s hard to describe, but it’s like I’m remembering things that I never knew. Like, the knowledge is new, but also feels so familiar that it seems obvious in hindsight. Does that make any sense?”

“Not really,” said Tarun. Then he paused and remembered his experience with the vision he had seen and the words he had heard that morning when Seth tried to heal his mind. “No, I take that back,” he corrected. “I think I may understand after all. So what have you remembered?”

“If we try to fight our way past the gates and attack the fortress like invaders, we’ll never succeed in a hundred years,” said Seth. “But if I can successfully finish claiming my birthright as the clan patriarch, there’s absolutely nothing that will be able to keep me out.”

“So how do you do that?” Tarun asked. “And what does it have to do with these headstones?”

“I think something happened in the last three generations that cut us off from the clan,” Seth replied. “My father was almost incapable of telling the truth. Most of the time it was easier to tell what was true by listening to what he said and then believing the opposite. That’s why everyone called him Seth the Liar. And I now realize that he knew a lot more about all of this than he ever told me about. He even knew enough of my clan’s secret language to leave his own markings on the shillelagh before he died.”

He held up the shillelagh. “This was meant to be a record of my clan’s history,” he said, “and it was passed down from patriarch to patriarch to keep the record current. But my father never told me any of that. He only told me it was a record of our shame, and that I had to hold onto it once he died. I think it was his need to reject the family and our history that broke something in him that I never realized before. He had to constantly lie to himself about who he really was, and that made it nearly impossible for him to tell the truth about anything else.”

“But the lies stop tonight,” said Seth with resolve. Tarun wanted to interrupt, but it was clear that Seth’s words weren’t actually meant for him. “My father kept the truth from me, and those lies put up a barrier between me and my birthright. I’ve overcome those lies and reclaimed the truth, breaking down that barrier and moving past it.” Seth brought the shillelagh up, and then swung it down through the air as if striking some invisible object in front of him. “Shurrah to the lies.”

There was a shift in the air and the ground. It was so slight that Tarun might have thought he imagined it, but he could feel it in his own center as well. Dust fell off the wall nearby, and he could hear a faint grinding of stone from far away.

“My grandfather took this ring from this cemetery,” Seth continued. He held up the glowing ring he had recovered from the banshee he had defeated less than an hour before. “His father had already lost his birthright to the clan, but my grandfather hadn’t. He wanted to impress my grandmother and convince her he was worthy of her love, so he came here for some token of proof about his claims of how noble and important his family was. But he wasn’t interested in doing what it would take to claim his birthright, or live up to the responsibility it would mean. He just wanted to take what he could get. That’s how he became Seth the Thief.”

Seth held up the ring next to his lantern to get a better look at it. A narrow beam of light shone out of the lantern and through the ring, landing on the face of a statue nearby. The statue was a life size sculpture of a man and woman with smiling faces and arms stretched out in welcome. They looked gentle and strong, and Tarun could easily see the resemblance that Seth shared with both of them. In the statue, the man had his left arm around the woman’s waist, and she had her right hand on his shoulder. At the end of the man’s outstretched right arm, they could see a simple brass ring shining on one of the stone fingers. On the similarly outstretched left hand of the woman, they could see an indentation where a similar ring had once been.

Seth walked up to the statue and placed the glowing brass ring on the woman’s finger. Tarun was worried the metal ring would grind and scrape against the stone as it moved past each knuckle, it seemed to slide on as smoothly and naturally as if it was being placed on a living finger instead of a statue.

“I’m returning what was taken unlawfully,” Seth said, taking a step back. “I’m not interested in taking a trinket or portion of my inheritance without earning it. I’m here to claim all of it, including the all the duties and responsibilities that it entails. Shurrah to the theft of that which can only be given, never taken.”

Again there was a shift in the world around them. This time it was more noticeable, and there was no mistaking it was real. In an instant, the accumulation of years worth of dust, grime, and moss fell away from the statue, as well as all of the headstones, plaques, and other monuments in the cemetery. The ring that Seth had placed on the statue stopped glowing, but just as the light began to dim from the ring, it reappeared in the grooves of a carving on a stone tablet in the middle of the pathway.

Seth and Tarun walked over to the tablet and saw that the carving depicted a long scythe. The blade and handle of the scythe were tied together by a stalk of wheat tied into a knot. “That’s the symbol of the clan patriarch,” said Seth. “The sword was formed from the blade of the scythe, and the shillelagh with my clan’s history was carved from the wood of the handle. The two are tied together by the wheat, representing our connection to the land and to each other. The clan patriarch is the only one with the authority to claim all three.”

Tarun was about to ask how Seth could be sure of all that, but decided the magically glowing stone at his feet was probably evidence enough. “So what do we do now?” Tarun asked.

Seth brought his shillelagh down to the stone tablet and gave it a nudge. It slid to the side as if pulled along some unseen track. Once moved to the side, Tarun could see the stone had concealed the opening to a tunnel beneath the wall. The opening appeared narrow, but large enough for Seth and Tarun to fit through if they removed their packs first. “Now we enter my clan’s stronghold and go find Shon,” Seth said.

As they removed their packs, Tarun asked Seth something that had been lingering on his mind. “You’ve addressed the errors of your father and grandfather,” he said, “Seth the Liar and Seth the Thief. But you also said you thought the problems went back for three generations. So what about your great-grandfather. Who was he? What did he do? What was his shame?”

Seth sat at the edge of the tunnel opening and looked down. “My great-grandfather was Seth the Traitor,” he said. “He was obsessed with becoming the clan patriarch so he could claim the Sword of Wheat for himself, and all the might that came with it. He eventually succeeded, but he betrayed every ideal the family held dear to get it. But he hadn’t considered that the sword would not only grant him physical strength, but strengthen his integrity and wisdom as well. He could not When he finally took the sword, he couldn’t justify what he had done with what he finally understood. So as his first and last act as patriarch, he banished himself from the clan.”

Tarun couldn’t think of anything to comfort or console Seth. Instead he simply asked, “So what will you need to do?”

“My great-grandfather put his own desires above the clan and used his position for personal power,” Seth replied. “I will need to prove that I care more about the clan than the sword.” Then he lowered himself into the tunnel.

***

As the undead continued to pummel the door and window of the sanctuary, Shon tried to tell himself that they were still just as sturdy as they were at the beginning of the night, and he was definitely not hearing any sounds of strain or rattling that were growing louder by the minute. After all, panic was not going to do him any favors. Instead, what he tried to focus on was the last message that he had received from Seth and Tarun. He now had something to look for that may point him towards a safe way out.

Shon had grabbed a candelabra and was carrying it around the room to look for the symbol of a scythe blade and handle tied together with a stalk of wheat. The truth was that Shon didn’t even know what that would actually look like, but he hoped he would recognize it when he spotted it. He looked behind furniture and under hanging tapestries. He pulled up rugs and moved chairs to look at the tiles on the floor for any designs like the one Seth described.

The pounding outside was growing more intense and Shon was exhausted. As far as he could tell it was probably an hour or two after midnight, and the last time he had slept in the last two days was a couple of hours of rest on a cold dungeon floor. He wasn’t finding anything, and it was becoming harder by the minute to focus.

He decided to pull out his father’s wire from his hidden pocket again and reach out to Tarun and Seth again to see if they could offer him any more help. Instead, he picked up the thoughts of Laronius. He was surprised because the vampire’s thoughts had always been so hard to read in the past, but it seemed that this time he was deliberately sending a message to Shon. And since he had no way of knowing when Shon would mentally reach out again, Laronius seemed to be repeating the same message in his head over and over again.

“…the gem, and the staff to me. Do what I tell you and I’ll let you live. Resist and I’ll make sure you’re death is longer and more painful than you possibly imagine.” It was frightening to Shon how the thoughts of Laronius could be so cold and menacing while somehow so bored all at the same time.

“Once again, this message is for Shon, Laronius continued. “I know you’re in the sanctuary with Gravine and Vdekshi. Gravine has told me everything. You meddled in my affairs and caused me a lot of pain you little bald brat, and I’m going to return that pain on you a thousandfold once I get to you. I’m outside the door and I’ve taken control of the unruly rabble that had gathered here. They are now serving me with one purpose, to break down this door, even if I have to bring down the whole door with it. Meanwhile, Gravine is in there with you, using his ancient knowledge and immeasurable power to take apart your flimsy defenses from the inside. You only have one hope. Obedience. I can tell you where to find the leyline that can unravel these nuisance enchantments all at once. You must disrupt the leyline, open the doors, and surrender Vdekshi, the gem, and the staff to me. Do what I tell you and I’ll let you live. Resist and I’ll make sure you’re death is longer and more painful than you possibly imagine. Once again, this message is for…”

“You know, I can never take anyone seriously when they claim to offer something that I can’t possibly imagine,” interrupted Shon, hoping that his false bravado came through as genuine confidence. “Back in my hometown, a street vendor once offered to sell me a fried cake that was more delicious than I could imagine, and if he was wrong I’d get my money back. The cake was pretty good, but after I ate it, I used my magic to show him what I actually imagined the best fry cake in the world would taste like. Let’s just say I got my money back.”

“You’re just rambling because you’re trying to stall,” said Laronius. Though Shon could only hear his thoughts and not his voice over the deafening pounding, he could tell that Laronius was now speaking out loud.

Shon squared his shoulders. “Why wouldn’t I stall?” Shon retorted. “It’s clear that Mendoji set up these protective enchantments better than you’re letting on. After all, you’ve got an entire coordinated undead horde out there, and a self-proclaimed master of necromancy on the inside and you still haven’t brought it down yet. The only reason you’re offering me a deal at all is because you know my friends are on their way and your time is running out.”

Shon could actually feel Laronius bare his fangs and tense his body for a strike. “You choose to resist then?”

Fear and exhaustion were threatening to overtake Shon. But instead of breaking, he allowed that desperation and hunger to survive to drive him towards one more dangerous gambit, even though he had no idea what his next step would even be.

“Actually, I choose to make you a counteroffer,” Shon replied. The grin that Laronius gave at that comment wasn’t reassuring, but Shon pressed forward as if he hadn’t sensed the smug satisfaction. “Look, you know by now that I can read minds,” he said. “So you and I both know that there’s something in this fortress that you want far, far more than the staff and crystal.”

And there it was. It was only clear in Laronius’ thoughts for a flicker of a moment, but Shon had caught it. It was a mental picture of a sword leaning against a wall deep in the caverns below the fortress. The sword had images of wheat etched into the hilt and handle. The memory itself was etched with a desperate longing that Laronius couldn’t conceal.

“That’s right,” teased Shon. “I can give you the key to finally obtaining the Sword of Wheat, and it’s been in front of your stupid bloodsucking face this entire time.” And with that, Shon sent Laronius a mental image of how he pictured the symbol of the scythe tied together with wheat.

The effect was immediate. Laronius flew away from the hallway outside so fast that there was an audible pop from the drop in air pressure. The rest of the undead horde followed immediately behind, without leaving a single zombie to guard the door. Inside the room, the gem that imprisoned Gravine cracked and hissed as its prisoner commanded in vain for his servants to come back.

A moment passed where Shon stood dumbfounded at how effectively his bluff had worked. Then he blinked and shook himself. He silently hoped it wouldn’t prove to be too effective as he refocused on the magical wire in his hands.

“Hey Tarun? Seth?” Shon called out to his friends with his mind. “There’s been a change of plans and I don’t have much time to explain. If you can hear me, I need you to let me know immediately.”

Shon could hear Seth’s thoughts reply a moment later. “What kind of change in plans?” Shon could tell that Seth and Tarun were running along a tunnel somewhere below within the walls of the fortress, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly where.

“The incoming murderous horde kind,” Shon answered. “Hey Seth, you’re pretty confident that you and your lantern can handle Laronius, right? Because I’m kind of gambling on that bet right now.”

It felt odd to Laronius to feel the particles of dust that had so recently been his vampiric body slowly coalesce back onto his frame and form a new arm and leg out of what was essentially necromantic concrete. The dust was being held together by an odd concoction of putty formed from frayed bits of soul, plus a small amount of blood and tears from the left eye and arm that had been turned human again. That is, until the his new deal with Gravine had started to go into effect. 

His left eye was now completely black, and no longer required something as limiting and useless as light to be able to see. Before losing his perception of color, Laronius had seen the remaining human flesh of his left arm turn to a deep shade of violet, as it pulsed with power and glowing runes etched themselves across his skin. He knew the same transformation was taking place on the left side of his face as well. 

He may not be as handsome as he once was, now that a portion of his body was purple demonic flesh on the left while much of the rest looked like a roughly carved statue of gray moving sandstone. No not as handsome perhaps, but far more powerful than ever before. The left side of his face curled up in a grin, and the right side of his face slowly caught up. Laronius had managed to hang on another day, and that’s all that mattered. 

Laronius knew that the true power of necromancy came from the fact that most people just didn’t know how to let go. He also knew that very few people understood this fact. Most seemed to believe that necromancy derived its power from darkness, corruption, lust for power, or a desire to desecrate that which should be hallowed. Laronius certainly recognized that all of those were often the result of necromancy, but they were no more the source of it than a burn was the source of fire, or rustling leaves the source of the wind. 

Even Gravine, adept as he was as a necromancer, seemed to deny the truth of what fueled the magic he spent a lifetime pursuing. Perhaps Gravine wanted to keep the truth of it from Laronius to hold him back as a pupil, or perhaps Gravine had just been telling the same lie over and over for so many years that he had actually started to believe it himself. 

Of every being, mortal or undead, that had passed through the walls of the fortress, Laronius was the only one who embraced the truth of necromancy and its true nature. It was fueled by the power, the ardent desperation, of those who cannot bear to let go when that is all they can do. There is power in that desperation, and Laronius reveled in it. Because that desperation was always the key to making the best deals. 

A soul desperate to be remembered could be coerced into a deal to have their memories preserved indefinitely as a ghost, even if that ghost was forever cursed to form no new memories for the rest of its existence.

A soul unwilling to forgive a grudge that’s ingrained in its very identity may be persuaded to offer their animosity as the fuel for a hellhound. Knowing their spite will continue to torment their rival should that rival outlive them, will be worth the cost, even if that cost is an existence that feels as if literally on fire every moment of every day until extinguished.

The collective soul of an army that cannot accept defeat can be bargained with to rise again as skeleton warriors, animated by the rusted swords and shields they carried into their final battle. To cling with white knuckles to the idea that they might still find victory in the end, that army is willing to sacrifice any honor or shared identity they may have fought so hard to build for generations.

Even when a soul has managed to move on from mortal life and accept its death, there still may be deals to be struck with the very bacteria and other microbes that are unwilling to give up the body that they’ve made their home. Laronius knew that’s what made zombies so stupid. They weren’t so much animated corpses as much as they were walking, biting cities of undead germs. Disgusting, but obedient. At least as long as he always remembered to indulge the voracious appetites of the gut biome that ruled the host.

What all of this meant to Laronius was that if he could figure out what someone was unwilling to let go of, he could always get the better end of the better end of any deal he made with them. And Laronius was very good at figuring this out.

For example, it had been obvious from the beginning that what the dolt minotaur Vdekshi couldn’t bear to let go of was the notion that deep down he was good and justified and ultimately a selfless individual. No matter how many dark necromantic rituals he performed, the monk in him simply couldn’t bear to grapple with the idea that he was just as selfish as everyone else.

With Gravine, Laronius could tell that the ancient necromancer was desperate to be relevant. While Gravine claimed to loathe his magical imprisonment, Laronius had long suspected that his master feared being forgotten far more than he feared the crystal that held him prisoner. He just couldn’t let go of his glory days of being feared and important.

For Laronius, reading what people couldn’t let go of was as easy as opening a book. Indeed, the only thing that left him truly unnerved were those who had seemingly no difficulty letting anything go. Though individuals like these were exceedingly rare, they were utterly infuriating to Laronius. Like that infernal orc, Krall.

What most mortals didn’t realize is that when most people die, it takes time for their soul to truly leave. Actual departure of the soul is not nearly so sudden as the death of the body might be. Even the ones who seem the most ready to move on, like those who die peacefully in their sleep after a long life and plenty of nauseatingly heartfelt goodbyes, even they will linger for at least a day or two as they accept that they really have died, and have a few more looks around for old time’s sake.

Laronius often counted on this when he went about recruiting souls and making deals on behalf of his two masters. He never felt in too great of a hurry because he knew the souls he set out to find weren’t likely in much of a hurry either. And many would figuratively scratch and claw just to hang on a bit longer before letting go.

And yet Krall had nearly gone for good within mere hours of his death. Indeed, when Laronius had activated the magic of his ruby ring to open negotiations with Krall’s soul, the orc was already so far gone that he could tell right away there was nothing Laronius could offer him to entice him back.

Or at least, almost nothing. Fortunately the orc’s companions had died experiencing far more anguish and rage, and they would not be able to move on so easily. Laronius had no trouble snaring them up by making deals that would erase the memories of their excruciating deaths, in exchange for their obedience. It was a pretty dull and unoriginal bargain, to be honest. But Laronius had used it as leverage to make a much more interesting deal.

He had called out to the soul of Krall before it had gone completely beyond the reach of his magic. He told the orc what plans he had for his old companions. How he would enjoy turning the elf into a cold, ravenous phantom. Or how much fun he would have taking the dwarf and his disgusting boar and grafting them together into a hilariously horrific flesh golem. And how he intended to use them to hunt down and torment whoever was still alive that had buried the three of them.

That had finally gotten to the orc. Mere moments away from being beyond the reach of necromancy forever, Laronius had still managed to get Krall to the bargaining table. But even then, the orc proved a shrewd negotiator. Even in death, Krall had the wits to know that trying to ask Laronius to release the souls of his companions was out of the question, so he didn’t even bother asking. This had irritated Laronius, as it was always after his first refusal of a deal that Laronius really started having fun.

Krall had never given him the chance. The orc had only one offer for Laronius. An offer that was both impossible to pass up, while also maddeningly fair.

Krall would allow Laronius to preserve his body to prevent further decay before Vdekshi could thoroughly inspect him. He would allow his body to be brought back to Vdekshi’s stronghold, and his soul would accompany it, though he would not answer any questions or provide any information, other than what clues they could discover from his body. Krall agreed that after Vdekshi had finished examining his body, he would allow Laronius to assign a single task to him, and he would use his full wits, talents, skills, and physical strength to complete that one task. After completing the task, all preservation enchantments would cease, and his body would immediately turn to the dirt he would have become if his grave had gone undisturbed.

In exchange, Laronius would have to agree to preserve the bodies of his companions in the same way, so they could also be inspected by Vdekshi. As soon as they were presented for inspection, Laronius would have to give full control and claim over their bodies and souls to Vdekshi, and Laronius could not give them any command or take any action against them unless Vdekshi specifically ordered it.

It had reminded Laronius of how much he had hated Krall in the first place. The orc had clearly known that when Laronius returned from any mission, he would be compelled to give a full account of any deals he had made, as well as any offers he had rejected. Everything that Krall offered would be exactly what Vdekshi would want. From the stupid minotaur’s point of view, the deal simply couldn’t be any better for him. At the same time, there was absolutely nothing in Krall’s demands that Vdekshi would have any hesitation agreeing to. In fact, he would probably be grateful for the clause that put the claim in the sole possession of Vdekshi, and would limit was Laronius could do with them outside of Vdekshi’s permission.

If Krall had asked Laronius to release the souls of his companions, he could have rejected the entire offer outright and countered with his own. After all, Vdekshi didn’t give Laronius the authority to release souls once bound in any way. But because Krall hadn’t even brought up anyone’s release, there was no way Laronius could find a way to justify rejecting the offer, no matter how much it robbed him of his fun and undermined his plans.

Still, he took some degree of satisfaction from knowing that he was still holding on to that one task to send Krall on, and now it was finally time to make sure he got his bargain’s worth.

***

Treshigan wailed against the night. Far below, her heightened sense of hearing gave her a sharp view of the scene on the ground. Two of the intruders were making their way towards the fortress, but very slowly. One was the large warrior she had met while hunting the dragon, but his wizard companion wasn’t with him. No doubt he was now coming on a futile mission to rescue his friend. Treshigan doubted whether the wizard was still alive at all, though honestly she didn’t even care one way or the other.

The other was the sandy haired stranger that had resisted her illusion the night before in the town. The one that reminded her of the young farmer that had gifted her with the simple ring that now glowed with necromantic power on her finger. The ring that had been stolen from a grave and left the farmer permanently branded with the pathetic epitaph “The Thief.” The ring she had kept when she slipped away that night so long ago when she abandoned the home and life she and the farmer had built together.

It had been a lifetime ago, and she was sure the foolish farmer had long since died. Yet she could never truly escape the image in her mind of the look of betrayal the farmer must have had when he awoke the next day and realized he would have to raise their infant son on his own. That screeching, mewling child whose incessant crying throughout every night had finally driven her to leave them both and seek the life she always knew should have been her destiny.

As the sounds of the night bounced off the face of the sandy haired stranger and hummed through her hairs and skin, she saw him more clearly than ever before. Laronius hadn’t told her the stranger’s name, which caused her to rely on a combination of her magic and some impressive improvisation the night before to make the illusion work. But now she could hear that dolt Tarun shouting his companion’s name over and over as they struggled below. “Seth.” The young warrior was saying the name so many times it nearly left her nauseous.

Just like her old husband, that foolish farmer, Seth the Thief. Or the pathetic father-in-law, Seth the Traitor, who had died less than a year after they had married. Or their son, who her husband had arrogantly named Seth the Third. As if a name that had been dragged through so much humiliation could possibly be worth passing on.

It seemed impossible to Treshigan that the young man below could be her son. After all, her son would be far older by now, probably twice the age of the stranger. This Seth now fending off zombies was so young that her Seth could be his father. Then she finally noticed the shillelagh that Seth was holding up to defend himself, and for just a moment her unearthly screaming stopped and in the silence that followed, she was blind to the entire world around her.

It wasn’t that her Seth “could be” this Seth’s father. It was clear that her Seth must be this Seth’s father. There was no mistaking that his shillelagh was the exact same ugly stick that her old husband had insisted on keeping as a priceless family relic. There could be no doubt that the fool in the battle below was her grandson.

Treshigan was about to resume her screaming to restore her clear view of the scene below her, but the moment before she did, her heightened hearing picked up a single word spoken by her grandson.

“Shurrah.”

The word had not been directed at her, but still it left her mind reeling and her body tumbling towards the ground. Just before she collided into the field of wheat below, she managed to regain her senses and her voice. She screamed and careened again into the sky. When she turned her attention again to the two intruders, the scene around them had changed dramatically.

Where before they had been surrounded by a large horde of zombies with only a small circle of distance that the undead couldn’t seem to cross, now the mass of zombies surrounding them seemed only a tenth of the size it had been, while the circle around the two was ten times larger. A cloud of dust hung in the air around them.

Was her own grandson really so powerful that with just one word he could banish so many undead in an instant? Where could he have acquired power like that? Was there really more to that shillelagh like her old husband had claimed? Was it that lantern that Laronius had insisted she get from him the night before? Treshigan remembered that Seth had used the same word against her the night before, but it somehow seemed far more potent now.

But if Seth enjoyed such a display of magical might, he certainly didn’t show it. If anything, his face looked pained. His next words were a whisper so quiet that surely not even his companion could hear him, but Treshigan could. “This isn’t right,” he said. “It’s not what I’m meant to do here.” At these words, he began to weep.

Treshigan could no longer bear it. She had always imagined in her mind the face of her husband the morning after she left. She imagined him looking stern, disappointed, angry, betrayed. But always she pictured him with dry eyes and quiet resolve. She now realized that image in her mind had been just another lie she told herself to hide from the truth.

The sounds of her screams bounced off every surface and returned again to her. They bounced off his tears like tiny ripples off of a pond the size of a crumb. She perceived every muscle in his expression of sorrow. The sound of his grief cut through the air and seized her. She realized that in his cries, she was hearing the sobs of her husband who had lost his wife. She was hearing the cries of her son who was abandoned by a mother he would never know.

It tore her to pieces, and she had to make it stop. But it wouldn’t stop simply by sound of Seth’s voice, or even by ending his life. The fatal blow to her soul had already been dealt. She needed to end all of it. Her enslavement. The lies she told herself every day. The pain of stretching her existence so far beyond the length of her natural life. All it had to end that night, as quickly as possible. And it seemed that her grandson had the power to make that all possible.

She would attack him. No subtlety, no hanging back and waiting for him to tire or make a mistake she could exploit. She would just lash out at him head on with a desperate charge. She would give him no choice but to defend himself with that word of power that had turned an entire host of zombies to ash.

Just one more “shurrah,” and it would all be over.

Treshigan dove. She screamed and made her face as hideous and horrific as possible. Her teeth became fangs, her fingernails became claws, and the tattered edges of her dress became as sharp as a hail of broken glass.

Seth turned to look at her, but face showed no fear, hatred, or even resolve. There was merely a look of sadness and pity. And then suddenly there was a light in Seth that even her sightless eyes could see, and his expression turned to one of surprise and joy.

Treshigan was about to violently collide with her grandson, but instead of raising his shillelagh to banish her, he opened his arms wide and in a warm, welcoming voice he spoke a new word of power.

“Hareth.”

Suddenly the world went white, and while Treshigan couldn’t see anything but light, she knew she was no longer moving. She hadn’t stopped. She was simply… still.

Treshigan felt stalks of wheat brush against her hands, and felt the warm breeze that moved the wheat. She looked down and saw her hand and the wheat against her skin. Her smooth, healthy, human skin. She brought her hands to her face and felt that she was no longer a cursed banshee, nor was she the form of the pierced and tattooed witch.

She stood in the field and felt the sun warm her body. She breathed in fresh, fragrant air and let it flow in and out of her over and over. Then she was aware of someone standing next to her. She turned and saw Seth, her Seth, standing with a hand outstretched for her to take.

Treshigan hesitated. “This is a trick,” she said with tears building in her eyes. “You’re dead. I became a monster. None of this can be real.”

“It’s real,” said her husband, reaching out again for her hand. “You left. I was hurt. You’ve been hurt too. But this is a place where we get to heal.”

This time, Treshigan took his extended hand. “Where are we?” she asked.

“The Homestead,” replied her husband. “Our homestead. It’s the place where we belong. Our whole clan, weak or strong, right or wrong, this is where we’re supposed to be. It’s an inheritance I didn’t even know about in life, and I’ve been unable to find it until now. But our grandson, Seth the Guide, he brought us home.”

They turned, and Treshigan could see a large fortress up on a hill. It looked like the one where she had served under Vdekshi for so long, but it looked new and solid, rather than dark and crumbling. “Who lives there?” she asked.

“That’s the stronghold,” replied her husband. “That’s where we all gather and lend each other our strength and share our wisdom, especially in times of great need. The gates are locked right now, and it’s been holding many of our kin prisoner for a long time now, but our grandson is here to break that lock. Want to come and watch?”

Treshigan fell to her knees, shaking with sobs. For a long time, if time existed here, she couldn’t speak. Finally she said, “I don’t deserve to be here,” she cried. “I forfeited my right to be in our family. I’m not worthy to be in a clan that gathers in a stronghold like that. Why am I here?”

Her husband lifted her up and held her close. “It’s not about being worthy,” he said. “It’s about being family. And now that our grandson has claimed his inheritance, he gets to decide who he invites into that family. My father was the last patriarch of our clan, and as his last living descendant, our grandson is the patriarch now that he’s taken up his birthright. He gets the final say. And something tells me he’s not going to be stingy with it.” He smiled and gave Treshigan a wink.

Treshigan blinked away her tears and looked around as she absorbed the words her husband had said. She turned to him again. “The last thing I remember before standing in this field was Seth saying a new word of power,” said Treshigan. “I’d never heard it before. ‘Hareth.’ What does it mean?”

“Well, I can’t say I’ve ever heard it either,” replied her husband with a shrug, “but considering that you’re here and whole, what do you think it means?”

***

Tarun stood, unable to explain what he had just witnessed. A monster that looked like a terrible woman had nearly pounced on Seth. Tarun had tried to find a weapon to fight her off, and he was sure that Tarun would die if he couldn’t stop her. But then Seth had said something, there had been a flash of light, and the monster turned into a woman. Then in the same time that it took Tarun to blink, that woman was gone.

The only thing that remained was a small ring, glowing white on the ground where the woman’s feet had just been.

Seth smiled, picked up the ring, kissed it, and then put it on one of the fingers of his right hand. Despite the fact that they were still standing in a field of wheat in the middle of the night, in the middle of a fight with an army of numberless undead, Seth looked more peaceful than Tarun had ever seen him.

“What was that word you just said?” Tarun asked. “And what does it mean?”

“Hareth,” answered Seth. “As for what it means, that’s harder to answer. I’m still learning it’s full meaning myself. But I think it means to join or gather, or to be adopted.” Seth’s expression flickered to surprise and he looked down at the runes on his shillelagh. “Yes, that’s what it is. It’s an invitation to become part of a family. My family.”

Suddenly, Seth wrapped his arms around Tarun in a hug. It surprised Tarun, but the warmth and sincerity of the gesture prompted Tarun to hug his friend back. When they both let go a moment later, Seth had tears rolling down his cheeks, but the smile was still on his face.

“I finally know what I’m supposed to do,” said Seth. “Now let’s go rescue Shon and all the rest of our brothers and sisters.”