CHAPTER 1

Two weeks had passed since Barbara left the Temple of Triskaris, where the priests had nursed her back to health after she suffered a savage beating at the hands of Maldrakara in the village of Cranford. During those two weeks, Barbara found peace and comfort in Lucidia, where she stayed at Evelyn’s home. The days were tranquil, filled with laughter, shared meals, and long conversations that deepened the bond between Barbara and Evelyn. As her physical wounds gradually healed, Barbara’s spirit, too, began to mend in the warmth of the magical community of Lucidia.

Lucidia was unlike any other village Barbara had encountered. The homes were a collection of shapes and colors, giving the village a fantastical appearance. Some houses were cubes, others were cylinders, all painted in vibrant hues, such as deep green with purple stars, or maroon with orange spots. There were pyramids and spheres, too, painted in wild and whimsical color schemes. One particular pyramid, the college of magic, was striped in red and silver. There was a sense of playfulness and creativity in every corner of the village, as if the buildings themselves were a reflection of the imaginative spirits of those who lived within them.

At the heart of Lucidia was its potion shop – a massive light blue and pink striped-sphere. It was owned by Gwynevere, an elf who was revered by the villagers. Gwynevere’s elven heritage made her a rare and fascinating figure, as elves were seldom seen outside the Pendaryn Forest. Her long, silver hair and emerald eyes gave her an air of wisdom, and her skill in potion brewing was unmatched. The shop, located in the village’s center, was the backbone of Lucidia’s economy, and most of the villagers were employed by Gwynevere.

Every morning, groups of villagers would venture into the surrounding grasslands and forage for the various herbs, roots, flowers, and other ingredients for Gwynevere’s potions. The lush meadows around Lucidia were rich in flora, and the villagers had become skilled at locating the necessary components. Others remained in the village, working alongside Gwynevere  in the potion shop to grind, mix, and brew the potions that would eventually be exported across Valkarath.

Barbara often accompanied the villagers on their excursions, finding the experience fulfilling and grounding. As she walked through the grasslands, gathering ingredients and learning about the different plants, she felt a connection to the land and a sense of purpose as she recovered. The simplicity of the work, combined with the companionship of the villagers, brought her a sense of peace.

In the evenings, the villagers would gather in the village square, where stories were shared and music filled the air. Barbara found herself drawn into their world, her laughter joining theirs as they recounted tales of their spellcasting ancestors, the creatures of the plains, and the legends of Valkarath. She listened intently, soaking up the wisdom and folklore.

Gwynevere took an interest in Barbara. During the two weeks Barbara spent in Lucidia, they became friends. Gwynevere eagerly shared her knowledge of potions with Barbara, sensing it might one day prove useful, while Barbara, in turn, captivated Gwynevere with tales of her youth at Castle on Silver Lake.

Over her two-week stay, Barbara’s body grew stronger, her mind clearer. The peaceful interlude in Lucidia was exactly what she needed to prepare for the days ahead. Yet, even as she enjoyed this period of healing and connection, she knew it was but a temporary reprieve. The memory of her confrontation with Maldrakara haunted her, as did the promise to protect the remaining five unicorns of Zalkarath.

Barbara especially enjoyed getting to know Evelyn’s mentor, Kazamir. Around forty years old, with long brown hair and a beard streaked with gray, he was warm and patient and knowledgeable. As a teacher at the College of Magic, Kazamir excelled in casting illusionary spells. He was particularly intrigued by the spellbook Evelyn had acquired through trading with goblins, The Astral Grimoire. Though the spells within were beyond his current understanding, Kazamir was determined to decode its secrets and master the magic inside. 

One morning, Barbara, Evelyn, Maribella, and Kazamir gathered for breakfast at Evelyn’s house, a small sphere painted in the same blue and gold as her robes. Seated in front of a plate of untouched eggs and ham, Kazamir slowly flipped through the pages of The Astral Grimoire. “The spells in this book are clearly not illusionary magic,” he mumbled to himself. “The fourth spell appears to involve fire.” 

“Eat, Kazamir. Your food is getting cold,” Evelyn said as she piled more ham on Maribella’s plate. 

“There are no spells like these anywhere in Lucidia,” he continued. “I still can’t believe you got this book from a group of traveling goblins.”

“How long will it take to decipher the words and learn the spells?” Barbara asked.  

“It depends on the mage,” replied Kazamir, his eyes still glued to the book. “There are historical books at the college library that will help us make sense of this. It may take days, months, or even years to translate this. It’s written in a lost language of some sort.” He absently stabbed at a slice of ham with his fork as he looked towards Evelyn. “Did the goblins happen to say where the book came from?” 

Evenlyn shrugged. “All the goblin told me was, ‘Old man’s book.’” 

“Goblins, west of Cranford, traveling from the south, headed north,” he mumbled to himself. “Where could they have gotten it? Did they mention where they were headed?”

“No, Kazamir. They were filthy goblins riding on boars selling junk. They could barely speak our language. This mystery won’t be solved,” she said. 

“So you say,” he muttered as he continued flipping through the pages. “The third spell involves birds, I’m almost certain.”  

As Barbara, Evelyn, and Maribella ate their breakfast, a gentle knock sounded at the door. “Come in,” Evelyn called out.

Gwynevere entered with a warm smile.

“Good morning, ladies,” she said. “Kazamir.”

“Good morning,” all four replied. 

“Barbara,” Gwynevere began, “I understand you and Maribella depart tomorrow.”

“Yes,” Barbara replied, avoiding Evelyn’s eyes. “We’re meeting Hark and Xan in Elysia to join a caravan of produce being delivered to a remote village on the northern border called Everton. They’re trading timber, which the Pentacle will use to build walls around the villages.” 

“You will return with the timber?” Gwynevere  asked, taking a seat next to Evelyn.

“No,” Barbara said. “It will be many months before we return.” 

“We will count the days, I’m sure,” Gwynevere  said, smiling at Evelyn. 

“None more than me,” Barbara replied. 

“Gwynevere, are you hungry?” Evelyn asked, changing the subject.

“Not at all, thank you. I just wanted to stop by and wish Barbara a safe journey.”

“That means a lot to me,” Barbara said.

“And give you this,” Gwynevere said, placing a small bottle containing a purple liquid on the table.  

“What is it?” Barbara asked. 

“I call it Fairy Blood,” she said with a mischievous smile. “It doesn’t last long, so use it when you need it the most. Drink that and you’ll move so fast that others will hardly be able to see you. It’s a concoction I came up with myself.”

Barbara held the potion and stared at it intently. Small bubbles appeared and popped within the liquid. “Thank you, Gwynevere. I’m sure it will come in handy.”

She smiled and turned towards Kazamir. “What have you learned from that spellbook so far?” she asked him.

“That Evelyn found a ghost in the fog. It’s a truly remarkable find,” he said. “I am convinced Vizzerex sent her this book. There’s no other explanation.”

“Your god doesn’t intervene like that,” Gwynevere teased. “He’s simply a vessel for magical energy, I thought.”

“Don’t underestimate Vizzerex,” Kazamir said, flipping the page. 

Gwynevere chuckled and waved her hand dismissively, turning her attention to Maribella. “And you, Maribella? You’re uncharacteristically silent this morning.” 

Maribella set down her fork. “My older brother, Simon, he always wanted to learn magic. He never got to see a spellbook. I don’t think he ever got to meet a mage, really. We worked our farm, went to temple, and once a year we got to go to the Cranford carnival.”

Barbara patted Maribella on the back. “Triskaris has him now, Mari. He’s in a world of love and light that makes magic look silly in comparison.”

Kazamir looked up from the spellbook. “Don’t bet your life on that,” he said, half-joking. 

Barbara smiled. “Triskaris promises an afterlife you couldn’t imagine, because Vizzerex simply scatters you among the stars, never to be heard from again.”

Kazamir set down the spellbook. “Is that what you think?” he said, becoming serious. “After I die, you will hear from me in every spell cast thereafter. I will become magic itself. I will become Vizzerex, in a manner of speaking.”

“You won’t be aware of it, though,” Barbara replied. “When I die, when Maribell dies, we’ll live on forever.”

“You’re missing the point, Barbara. I don’t need to be aware of it. Triskaris is a good and righteous god, but his worshippers are impaired by self-interest and ego.”

“That isn’t true at all,” Barbara replied. “We are good, therefore we worship Triskaris. We aren’t good because we worship Triskaris.” 

“You may be convinced of that,” Kazamir argued. “His flock lives their lives as if they are investing in some grand future. Play the game by the rules set by Triskaris and you will be rewarded with an infinite afterlife, fluttering about in the Silver Fortress in the sky, which doesn’t sound pleasant to me.”

“You’re being blasphemous,” Barbara said.

“I’m being objective. Triskaris-worship is a tradition handed down through the generations. One must seek Vizzerex. That is devotion.” 

“How do you tolerate this man?” Barbara said, looking over at Evelyn. 

“I hang on his every word,” Evelyn replied, smiling.

Gwynevere stood and hugged Barbara from behind as she sat in her chair. “Peace be with you, Barbara Dignity. I will ask Windolyn, the elvish god of light – who is far superior to Triskaris and Vizzerex combined – to bless you as you journey across Zalkarath.” 

Kazamir and Barbara laughed at this, the tension between them easing. Gwynevere joined in with a warm smile that soon turned into laughter. Evelyn glanced at Barbara, her expression softened by sadness. Maribella finished her breakfast in silence, thinking of her brother. 

That night, the entire population of Lucidia, population 225, gathered in a clearing just outside the village. The night air was filled with anticipation as the villagers prepared to bid farewell to Barbara and Maribella.

At the center of the clearing, Kazamir had constructed a towering bonfire, its tall flames dancing towards the sky. The orange light of the fire lit up the faces of the villagers. It was a moment of unity for the village as they sent their two new friends off on their journey.

Barbara stood near the fire, feeling the heat on her face. Maribella was beside her, gazing into the flames. The villagers gathered close, their voices rising in a traditional song of safe travels. Their words, repeated many times, resonated with the crackling of the fire, creating a powerful, almost magical, atmosphere.

In open fields where whispers sing,

May mystic winds guide your wings.

With strength and power close at hand,

May you walk protected through the land.

As the flames climbed higher, Kazamir stepped forward, raising his hands to silence the crowd. His voice, deep and steady, carried over the clearing as he spoke of bravery and friendship. He then turned to Barbara and Maribella, his expression filled with pride, and offered them his final words of wisdom and encouragement.

“Barbara, Maribella,” Kazamir began, “The path ahead is as much about the choices you make as it is about the forces you face. Trust in your strength, in each other, and in the magic that surrounds you. May your hearts be strong and your minds open to the wonders and mysteries that await. Return to us with stories that will light our nights for years to come.”

With that, Kazamir raised his hands once again and began whispering in a language Barbara didn’t recognize. The air around the bonfire seemed to hum with energy as a swirl of electrifying colors began to take shape. From the swirling hues emerged dozens of cats, their fur flickering through many different brilliant shades. They moved in a graceful, synchronized dance, forming a large, spinning halo above the fire. The cats began to bark like dogs, their voices echoing through the clearing, and from their eyes blasted beams of dazzling light that shot across the night sky.

The villagers gasped in astonishment and wonder. Smiles spread across their faces, and soon they were laughing and pointing, caught up in the joyous absurdity of the spectacle. The cats continued their wild dance, their forms shifting and merging. They twisted and twirled, the light from their eyes casting strange and intricate patterns across the sky. It was as if the very fabric of reality had bent to Kazamir’s will, creating a moment that was both enchanting and disorienting.

Then, as Kazamir shouted a command, the barking cats began to change. Their forms shrank and expanded, their vibrant colors melding into swirling spheres. In a blink, the cats had transformed into glowing planets, each one unique and beautiful. These spheres orbited the bonfire with dizzying speed, rotating and whizzing about. The flames danced higher as if reaching for the planets, and the villagers watched in awed silence, feeling as though they were witnessing the creation of a new universe within their small, magical village.

With a final shout, Kazamir clapped his hands, and the entire spectacle vanished in an instant, leaving only the crackling bonfire and a sky filled with distant stars. The clearing erupted with applause and cheers. Barbara and Maribella stood in awe, their minds blown at what they had just witnessed. The images of barking cats and whirling planets danced in their minds, leaving them breathless.

Evelyn leaned over, her eyes shining with admiration, “Kazamir never ceases to amaze me. It’s like he can conjure wonder out of thin air.” She smiled at Barbara and Maribella, who were still lost in the spell’s aftermath. “You’ve only just begun to see the depths of his magic,” she added, her voice filled with respect.

The night continued with shared stories and laughter, all under the orange glow of the towering bonfire. It was a night that would be remembered by the villagers of Lucidia long after Barbara and Maribella had gone, a night where bonds were strengthened, and farewells were given in the warm embrace of a community united by love and magic.

CHAPTER 2

Two hours before sunrise, a sharp knock echoed through the silence of Evelyn’s house.

“They’re here,” Evelyn whispered, nudging Barbara awake.

Barbara stirred, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. “Maribella, wake up,” she called softly, her voice thick with sleep.

“Your backpacks are by the door,” Evelyn added as she slipped out of bed.

The knock came again, more insistent this time.

“We’re up!” Barbara called out, a bit louder, as she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

“Maribella, are you awake?” Evelyn asked.

“Yes, yes,” Maribella replied as she quickly got dressed.

Barbara opened the door and greeted the two royal guards. They nodded respectfully.

“Good morning, Sarge,” they said in unison.

“Morning,” Barbara replied.

Maribella emerged from the shadows towards the door, her backpack slung over one shoulder, bedroll tied on top. 

“You’re not going to say goodbye?” Evelyn asked.

Maribella turned and wrapped her arms around Evelyn in a tight embrace. “Sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be sorry. Just be safe,” Evelyn murmured, holding her close.

“I will,” Maribella promised, pulling back.

Barbara approached Evelyn, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them.

“I want you to write me,” Evelyn said, breaking the silence. “I’ve already written you a letter. It’s in your backpack. Elysia and Everton are trading partners, so the royal guards can deliver our letters when they travel back and forth.”

Barbara smiled. “That’s sweet. I promise, I’ll write.”

Evelyn blinked away tears. “Please, Barbara, stay alive.”

Barbara reached out, taking Evelyn’s hands in her own. “I plan to.”

They embraced in a long, lingering hug that neither wanted to end. But finally, Barbara gently pulled away. “Goodbye, Evelyn.”

Evelyn watched, her eyes following Barbara’s every move, unblinking, as Barbara mounted her horse. Barbara, Maribella, and the two guards disappeared into the darkness as they galloped towards Elysia, leaving Evelyn standing alone in the doorway, the rumble of hooves fading into the darkness.

The sun was beginning to rise as they rode on. “Alright, Barbara,” one of the guards called out, “I’ve got a joke for you.”

“Let’s hear it, Elias,” Barbara said. 

Elias leaned back slightly in his saddle. “So, there’s this barmaid, right? She works at a tavern. Every night, she has to deal with all sorts of strange and unpleasant characters. But she’s no pushover. She’s got a quick wit and an even quicker temper.”

Elias continued. “So one night, a royal guard named Chet is drinking at a tavern. He’s had a few too many, and he’s feeling a bit… overconfident. Chet sees the barmaid, struts up to her, and says, ‘I bet you’ve never met a knight like me, sweetheart. How about a kiss?’”

Barbara chuckled. “How does she respond?”

Elias smiled. “The barmaid looks him up and down, then says, ‘I’ll tell you what, if you can drink three pints of ale, balance on one leg, and still stand up straight, I’ll give you that kiss.’ Chet happily agrees. He slams back three pints, wobbles a bit, but manages to balance on one leg. The barmaid nods, impressed, and says, ‘Alright, you’ve earned it.’”

“Does he get the kiss?” Maribella asked.

Elias chuckled. “Chet leans in, proud of himself, and just as he’s about to kiss her, the barmaid pulls back and says, ‘You know, for a drunk royal guard, you’ve got decent balance. I’ll give you that kiss. But first, you gotta tell me what you were thinking while you were on one leg.’”

Elias’ eyes sparkled. “Chet smiles, leans in close, and says, ‘I was thinking that if I fell over, I’d have a nice view under your skirt!’”

The other guard, who had maintained bearing thus far, laughed loudly.

“Stupid,” Barbara said. “Mari, was that a funny joke?”

Maribella shook her head. “That was a joke?”

As the morning sun shone on Elysia, Barbara and Maribella caught sight of two familiar figures standing by the gathering caravan. The sight sent a rush of warmth through Barbara’s chest, and she watched Maribella stiffen with excitement beside her.

“Look, Hark, there they are!” Xan’s voice rang out across the open field.

“Barbara!” Hark’s deep, gravelly voice boomed. “Maribella!”

Without a second thought, Barbara and Maribella dismounted their horses in one swift motion, breaking into a sprint towards their friends.

Hark, the old dwarf, dropped his pack and opened his arms wide, his face breaking into a wide grin beneath his thick white beard. His eyes sparkled with happiness. Xan was already running to meet them halfway.

“Hark! Xan!” Barbara cried out.

The four friends collided in a huddle of laughter, arms wrapping around one another in a tight embrace. Hark’s strong, old hands patted Barbara’s back firmly, while Xan ruffled Maribella’s bright red hair.

“By the gods, it’s good to see you two!” Hark exclaimed. “We’ve been waiting for what feels like ages.”

Barbara smiled. “It’s been a long road to recovery, but seeing you both makes it worth every step.”

Maribella clutched Xan’s arm. “We missed you both so much. It feels like forever since we last saw you.”

Hark nodded in agreement. He turned to Barbara with a sparkle in his eye. “Barbara, I’ve got something special for you. Xan and I spent some time at Halcyon Heights, where the royal guards live. They have a forge there, and the smiths were kind enough to let me use it. Take a look at this,” he said, pulling out a weapon from its sheath.

He revealed the unicorn horn, now fitted with a beautifully crafted silver hilt. The horn itself was white and pink, elegantly twisted to form a sharp, deadly point. The hilt, made of solid silver, bore a finely carved symbol: the letter D encircled with a lightning bolt striking through it. 

Barbara stared at the weapon in awe. She gasped as she took in the exquisite craftsmanship. She gently ran her fingers over the smooth, twisted horn and then traced the symbol on the hilt. 

“Hark,” she began, “this is… incredible. I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s perfect. I don’t know what to say. This means more to me than you know. Thank you.”

Hark smiled warmly. “You’re more than welcome. It’s the least I could do for freeing me from Lady Thalina.” He handed her the custom leather sheath he crafted for the dagger. 

She lashed the sheath to her belt and returned the dagger to its home. “I shall call it Aurion’s Promise.” 

Hark nodded once. “A fine name.”  

The caravan bound for Everton consisted of ten wagons and two carriages, each pulled by a pair of horses and manned by a driver. The ten wagons were loaded with crates of vegetables and pork, while the two carriages were designated for passenger transport. Accompanying the caravan were ten royal guards on horseback, tasked with protecting the convoy. 

Elias approached Barbara accompanied by a tall, skinny man with a clean-shaven face. The man was dressed in a green and silver silk shirt, tailored pants, and custom-made boots with silver buckles. “Barbara Dignity, please meet Kaldrin Kross, royal tax collector representing Everton and north-central Zalkarath.” 

The man smiled and bowed. “We met years ago at Castle on Silver Lake,” Kaldrin said. “You were maybe thirteen years old, wearing training armor and wielding a wooden sword. Luther Farrow, Minister of the Vault, introduced us. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Barbara nodded respectfully. “I apologize for not remembering, Lord Kross-”

“Please, call me Kaldrin,” he said with a smile. “And who are your friends?”

“Allow me to introduce Hark, Xan, and Maribella,” she replied.

“A pleasure,” Kaldrin said, nodding. “I understand you will accompany the convoy headed to Everton?” 

“That’s right,” Barbara said. “We have matters to attend to a few miles east of Everton in a wooded region called-” 

“Silent Pines,” Kaldrin said with a smile. 

“Yes, Silent Pines. How did you know?” 

“I know every inch of Everton and the surrounding region,” he replied, proudly. 

“Impressive,” Hark said. 

Kaldrin nodded politely to the dwarf before turning back towards Barbara. “I’d like to invite you to ride in my carriage, Barbara. I won’t take no for an answer.” 

Barbara glanced at her friends, feeling uncertain. “Uh, sure. For the first leg of the journey, I’d be happy to.”

“Hark will take good care of the young ones, I’m sure. Isn’t that right, Hark?”

The old dwarf fidgeted. “Of course. We’ll be fine.”

“Excellent. I believe we are preparing to depart. Barbara, after you,” Kaldrin said as he offered his arm to Barbara with a charming smile. With a nervous glance at her friends, she took his arm and headed towards his carriage. 

Kaldrin Kross’ carriage was beautiful and luxurious. The dark emerald green exterior gleamed in the sunlight, accented by intricate silver trim. The horses pulling it were the largest and most powerful in the caravan.

The driver, dressed in finely tailored clothing that matched the carriage’s colors, stood at attention as they approached. With a practiced grace, he opened the door for Kaldrin and Barbara. Kaldrin stepped inside without so much as a glance in the man’s direction, but Barbara gave the driver a polite smile before following Kaldrin into the opulent interior.

Inside, the carriage was a masterpiece in comfort and style. The seats were upholstered in deep emerald velvet with silver stitching. Mahogany wood paneling lined the walls, polished to a shine, while heavy curtains hung over the windows, providing privacy. A small, ornate chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a dim glow.

In front of the seats, a low table was set with a silver tray, holding crystal glasses and a bottle of Garwyn wine. Every detail, from the cushions to the brass accents, spoke of wealth and taste. The carriage was not just a means of transport, it was a statement of status and power.

Barbara settled into the seat opposite Kaldrin, the plush cushions enveloping her as the door closed with a soft click. As the carriage began to move, she couldn’t help but admire the luxury that surrounded her.

“I was always led to believe that tax collectors were supposed to live more modestly,” Barbara said as Kaldrin poured a glass of wine. 

Kaldrin grinned as he handed her the glass. “Let’s just say I’m good at what I do,” he replied. He leaned back slightly, his gaze lingering on Barbara a moment too long before he continued. “Tell me something, Barbara. I couldn’t help but notice that you’re traveling with quite an interesting group. Yet, no one seems to hold a particularly special place at your side. Have you, perhaps, found a man worthy of your attention? Or does your heart remain unclaimed?”

Barbara sipped the wine politely and set down the glass before replying. “There is no man worthy of my attention.” 

Kaldrin, caught off guard by her response, let out a genuine laugh. “Brilliant,” he said, wiping the wine from his lip. 

Barbara smiled. “There is someone, if you must know the truth. But our love is new, and oftentimes I am unsure how to communicate.”

“Is your love interest young, like you?”

Barbara leaned back in her seat and peered through a crack in the curtains. “Older by three years,” she replied. 

Kaldrin downed the remainder of his wine in a single swig and began pouring another. “I’ve always believed that a young woman finds her greatest happiness with an older man. Someone with experience, wisdom… a provider. A man who’s moved past the foolishness of youth.”

“Hm,” Barbara murmured. 

“This man who’s caught your eye, is he… rich?” Kaldrin asked, gesturing around the luxurious interior with his free hand. He quickly downed his second glass of wine with the other.

Barbara turned towards Kaldrin, slightly annoyed. “What?” 

“This man-”

“As I said before, Lord Kross. No man is worthy of my attention.” 

Kaldrin frowned slightly, the effects of the wine beginning to show. “You confuse me, Lady Dignity.” 

“Let’s talk about something else,” Barbara said, clearly annoyed. “When is our first stop?” 

Kaldrin exhaled loudly. He swirled the wine in his glass as he stared blankly. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have pried into your personal life.” 

Barbara gave him a sideways glance. “You’re forgiven,” she replied.

He snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Tell me about Cranford,” he said. “I understand you killed off hundreds of undead villagers with only a small group of royal guards.” 

“There were four royal guards, three villagers, a shepherd’s son, Hark, Evelyn, and myself,” she corrected him. “We lost two guards and two villagers. The shepherd’s son and the remaining villager, Maribella, are currently riding with Hark. Evelyn remained in Lucidia to continue her studies.”

“Did you search for any survivors after you cleared out the undead?” he asked.

“No,” she replied. “Before we could catch our breaths, some lunatic calling herself Maldrakara appeared. She killed a royal guard, battered two others half to death, and then ruthlessly beat me into oblivion. I remained unconscious for sixteen days.” 

Kaldrin, pouring himself another glass of wine, leaned forward. “And what did this Maldrakra look like?”

“Black hair, very pale skin. Quite beautiful, if I’m being honest. She wore elaborate silk red robes and carried some kind of metal staff topped with spheres. She was the most skilled fighter I’ve ever seen. Xan fired a crossbow bolt at her and she caught it in mid-air.”

“Was she a mage?” 

“I’m not completely sure. Evelyn tried to push her using magic, and she somehow caught her energy and threw it back at her, with even more power.” 

Kaldrin nodded slowly as he took a long drink from his glass. “Do we know of her origin?”

“From what I gathered from a previous run-in with someone connected to her, they hail from Drelgaroth.”

“Is the business you’re conducting in Silent Pines related to Maldrakara?” 

Barbara watched with concern as Kaldrin finished another glass of wine. “Not directly, no.” 

“Do you know anything about Silent Pines?” he asked, holding the bottle up to the light filtering through the crack in the curtains. He swirled it gently, watching the liquid inside as he gauged how much remained.

“Not much,” Barbara replied.

“Legend has it that a unicorn lives there,” he said in a dramatic whisper.

“Oh?” Barbara replied, feigning ignorance.

“I’ve never seen it myself, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist.”

“Hm.” 

“Have you ever seen a unicorn?” Kaldrin asked as he poured another glass.

“Once,” she replied. 

“Were you able to speak with it?”

Barbara furrowed her brow. “Kaldrin, isn’t it a bit early to be drinking so much wine?”  

“It’s never too early, if you ask me,” he replied, his words beginning to drag. “Would you be so kind as to tell me what business you’re conducting in Silent Pines? There isn’t much to speak of in that old forest.” 

“I’d prefer to keep that to myself, if you don’t mind,” she replied politely. 

“Buried treasure?”

“No.”

“A seance with the fairies?”

“No.”

“A meeting with the half-giants from the Endless North?”

“No.” 

Kaldrin chuckled. “A marriage ceremony with you and that old dwarf, Hark?”

“You forget yourself, Lord Kross.” 

“I’m only joking, Barbara Dignity,” he said with a lopsided smile. “You may remain tight-lipped with me, my dear, but when we arrive, you’ll have to answer to Jasper Vayne.”

“Who?” 

“Jasper Vayne,” he said. “He’s sort of like the mayor, but more powerful than a mayor. He essentially owns Everton and the surrounding villages.”

“You can’t own a village,” Barbara replied. 

“Not in the royal sense of the word, perhaps,” he began, staring into his glass of wine. “I’ve said too much.”

“No, no,” Barbara said, forcing a smile. “Tell me about Jasper Vayne.” 

“To be honest with you,” he replied, “you likely won’t even meet him. But you will meet the men who work for him. And they will demand to know what business you’re conducting in Silent Pines. And they won’t take vagueness or blank stares for an answer.” 

CHAPTER 3

Dearest Barbara,

As you read this letter, I imagine you’re well on your way to Everton, surrounded by the sights and sounds of the open road. I hope your journey is fascinating and filled with interesting people and intriguing places. I can’t help but wonder what stories you’ll have to share when we’re together again.

Even though it hasn’t been long since we parted, rest assured I am missing you. It’s strange how quickly you became such an important part of my life. The thought of you traveling without me makes me a little envious. I wish I could be there to see everything alongside you.

In the meantime, I’ve assuredly been immersing myself in The Astral Grimoire. The spells within are every bit as challenging as we suspected, and I’m finding it hard to be patient. You know me, I want to grasp everything all at once, to unlock the mysteries hidden in its pages. But this book seems intent on teaching me the value of taking my time. I can almost hear your voice telling me to slow down, to breathe, and to let the magic reveal itself when it’s ready. Still, the pull of the unknown is so strong, it’s hard not to rush ahead.

I hope you’re finding time to enjoy yourself. I imagine you’ve already met some fascinating characters. You have a real talent for drawing people in. I wish I could be there to witness it all, to see the way you navigate this journey with your usual grace and determination.

Please, take care of yourself. I know you’re more than capable, but I worry all the same. I’ve packed this letter as the first of many. I hope you’ll write back when you have a moment. I’ll be eagerly waiting to hear from you, counting the days until your return.

Yours always,

Evelyn

Afternoon came and went. Barbara stared out of the window, her thoughts drifting as the scenery unfolded before her. The vast grasslands stretched endlessly, the green blades swaying gently in the breeze. Here and there, wildflowers dotted the landscape with bursts of color – pale blues, vibrant yellows, and deep purples.

In the distance, a herd of elk moved gracefully across the plains. A family of massive rabbits the size of brown bears scurried behind a boulder. High above, a hawk circled lazily, scanning the ground for prey.

The rolling hills rose and fell like waves in the distance. Occasionally, a lone tree would appear on the horizon. Amidst the rolling hills, an old, abandoned watchtower stood alone, its stone walls crumbling and overgrown with ivy. It was a relic of a time long past, a reminder of the history buried within these lands.

Inside the carriage, Kaldrin sat across from her, his glass of wine perpetually in hand. His gaze was unfocused, his eyes glassy with drink. Every so often, he would break from his daze and glance at Barbara and grin. The look in his eyes made her uneasy. She shifted in her seat, trying to ignore his eyes lingering on her.

Kaldrin said little, his words slurred when he did speak, but mostly he remained silent, staring blankly ahead. The only sounds were the rhythmic clattering of the carriage wheels on the road. The silence between them was heavy, and Barbara found herself yearning for the company of her friends.

As the sun began to set, Barbara’s attention returned to the window. The world outside seemed so vast, so full of life, and yet here she was, trapped in this small, luxurious space with a man who made her feel uncomfortable. She took a deep breath, focusing on the beauty outside rather than the unease weighing on her chest.

Barbara let out a massive sigh of relief as the guards outside shouted and brought the caravan to a halt as the sun began to set. The tension that had been coiling in her chest began to unwind. Without waiting for the driver to open the door, she leaned forward and threw it open herself, eager to escape the heavy atmosphere of the carriage. 

She stepped out quickly, breathing in the cool, fresh air with a sense of liberation. Kaldrin’s slurred objections echoed faintly behind her, but she ignored him. The need to distance herself from his unsettling presence was too strong. Without a second glance, she hurried away from his carriage.

The sight of her friends’ carriage up ahead brought a surge of comfort. Her heart lightened as she spotted Hark, Xan, and Maribella climbing outside, their faces breaking into smiles as they caught sight of her. 

Barbara quickened her pace, nearly breaking into a run as she approached them. She was finally back where she belonged, among those she trusted.

Hark stepped forward and gave her a warm smile. “How’s your day been? You’ve been riding with that Kaldrin Kross fellow, what’s he like?”

Barbara hesitated for a moment. She managed a polite smile. “He’s… well, let’s just say he’s a bit boorish,” Barbara began. “He’s been drinking quite a bit since we left, and it’s made him rather difficult to be around. He’s not exactly the most charming company, but it’s nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Xan grinned. “I suppose not everyone can be as delightful as we are.”

Maribella noticed Barbara’s discomfort. “Are you alright, Barbara? You look like you could use a break.”

Barbara nodded, appreciating their understanding. “I’m fine, Mari. It’s just been a long day. I’m glad to be back.”

Hark gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Good to hear. You’ll ride with us from here, right?”

“Absolutely. Without a doubt.”

Hark looked over Barbara’s shoulder and noticed the fires being built. “I wonder if they’ll let me help with the cooking?” 

The royal guards glanced up as the old dwarf approached. They exchanged curious looks, intrigued by Hark’s confident stride.

“Evening, lads,” Hark greeted them, rolling up his sleeves. “Mind if I lend a hand? I’ve cooked for many a caravan in my day, and I reckon I could show you a thing or two about making a proper meal over a campfire.”

The guards nodded, stepping aside to give Hark room. One of them handed him a slab of freshly cut elk meat, its dark red flesh marbled with streaks of fat. Hark examined the meat with a discerning eye, nodding in approval before handing it back.

“First things first,” Hark began, “when you’re cooking over an open fire, you’ve got to make sure your coals are hot and even. A good bed of coals is vital. Too much flame, and you’ll burn the meat before it cooks through. Too little, and you’ll be chewing on something tougher than old boot leather.”

He crouched down by the fire, using a long stick to stir the embers, spreading them out evenly. The guards watched intently as he worked.

“Now, we don’t need any fancy equipment for this,” Hark continued, noticing a large, flat stone nearby. “See that rock? We’re going to use it as our cooking surface. It’s a technique I learned in the mountains, where you don’t always have a skillet handy.”

He carefully placed the stone over the hot coals, letting it heat up. “While that’s warming, let’s talk seasoning. Elk meat is rich and gamey, so we want to bring out those natural flavors without overpowering them. Salt is your best friend here, but a bit of crushed juniper berries or a sprig of thyme wouldn’t hurt either.”

Hark sprinkled a generous pinch of coarse salt over the meat, rubbing it in with his hands. The guards followed his lead, seasoning their own cuts of elk.

As the stone reached the right temperature, Hark tested it by flicking a few drops of water onto its surface. The droplets sizzled, evaporating almost instantly. “Perfect,” he declared. “Now, place your meat on the stone – gently, lads, gently. You want a nice sear, not a splash of ash.”

The guards carefully laid their pieces of elk on the hot stone, the meat hissing as it made contact. The scent of cooking meat filled the air.

“Listen to that,” Hark said with a grin. “That’s the sound of a good sear. We’re locking in the juices, creating a crust that’ll keep the meat tender and flavorful.”

He watched closely as the meat cooked, instructing the guards to flip their cuts only once. “You don’t want to keep flipping it over. Let it sit, let it brown, then turn it. Patience, lads, good food takes time.”

After a few minutes, Hark flipped his own piece of elk, revealing a beautifully caramelized crust. The guards followed suit, nodding to each other as they saw the results.

“Now, once both sides are seared, we’ll move the meat to a cooler part of the fire,” Hark explained, shifting his cut to the edge of the stone. “This way, it’ll cook through without burning. We want it to be juicy, not charred.”

Finally, Hark deemed the meat ready. He removed it from the stone, letting it rest for a moment before slicing into it. The interior was perfectly pink, tender and juicy, with the crust providing just the right amount of texture.

He handed the first slice to one of the guards. “Give it a taste, lad.”

The guard hesitated for only a moment before taking a bite. His eyes widened. “This is incredible, Hark!”

The other guards quickly followed, savoring the meal they had just prepared under Hark’s guidance. The dwarf chuckled, clearly pleased.

“Remember, lads,” Hark said as they ate, “cooking is as much about patience and care as it is about fire and skill. Treat the ingredients with respect, and they’ll reward you with flavors fit for a king.”

Barbara watched from the sidelines, smiling. She had seen Hark work his magic before, but it never ceased to amaze her how effortlessly he could turn a simple meal into something extraordinary. The guards had gained more than just a good meal that night, they had learned a skill they could carry with them on their future journeys.

As the last light of day faded, and the camp settled into a contented quiet, Barbara knew she was fortunate to have Hark by her side.

After they finished eating, Barbara, Hark, Maribella, and Xan gathered beside their carriage and built a small fire. They sat in a circle around it, the orange glow of the flames flickering across their faces.

“Have any of you ever traveled up north before?” Barbara asked.

“Not me,” Xan replied. “My father, sister, and I would herd sheep from our ranch to Cranford and back. Never went much farther than that.”

“I never left Cranford,” Maribella added.

Hark stroked his beard. “I lived in the south, near the border of Drelgaroth along the Zyrell River. The farthest north I’ve been was Venora, back when I was living under Lady Thalina’s thumb.”

Barbara nodded. “I spent my whole life at Castle on Silver Lake. This is the farthest north I’ve ever been. We’ll end up right on the border of the Endless North. It’s bound to be cold.”

Hark nodded. “Good thing Evelyn thought ahead and packed us those furs.”

Barbara smiled at the sound of Evelyn’s name. “I’m going to try to convince her to join us after we leave Everton. She’ll need a break from studying with Kazamir.” 

Just then, Kaldrin Kross staggered over to where Barbara and her friends were seated around their fire. Without waiting for an invitation, he unsteadily lowered himself into their circle, his presence immediately altering the mood. He held up his mostly-empty bottle of wine. 

“Anyone care for a swig?” he asked, smiling awkwardly. 

“No thank you,” Babrara answered. 

He shrugged and took a drink. “By tomorrow night we’ll arrive at a village called Crowshead. There, we’ll find a meal, a bed, even a woman or two.” He nudged Xan with his elbow and chuckled. “How does that sound, boy? How about we find you a handsome lady to give you a big sloppy kiss?” 

Xan nervously brushed his blonde hair from his eyes and looked towards Barbara. “I don’t know, Lord Kross.”

“How about you, Hark? Certainly you need a break from wandering around with these teenagers all day. Eh? You like handsome ladies?”

Hark frowned. “I’m married, sir.” 

Kaldrin gestured his hand towards the grasslands beyond. “Oh? I don’t see Mrs. Hark anywhere nearby. Is she home waiting on you? Listen: what happens in Crowshead stays in Crowshead, you get what I’m saying?”

“Barbara, so help me,” Hark said through gritted teeth.

“Lord Kross, you should get some sleep,” Barbara interrupted. 

He yawned and stretched his arms. “Maybe you’re right. I can count on you to keep me company in my carriage during tomorrow’s journey, right Barbara?”

“Tomorrow I’m riding with my friends,” she replied firmly. 

“You can’t possibly expect me to ride alone,” he whined. “Hark? How about you? We can tell dirty jokes and drink Garwyn wine until the hawks fly home.”

“I’d prefer to ride with my friends, sir,” he replied quietly. 

Kaldrin looked at Xan and Maribella and waved his hand dismissively. “Bah, who needs you?” 

Barbara stood up and gently grabbed Kaldrin by the arm. “Let me help you to your carriage. I’m sure it’s very comfortable to sleep in,” she said. 

“Care to tuck me in?” he asked, his eyes unfocused.

“Absolutely not,” she replied, lifting him to his feet.

Hark watched as Barbara escorted a staggering Kaldrin towards his carriage. “If there weren’t all these guards around, I’d…” 

Dearest Evelyn,

I hope this letter finds you well, wherever you may be reading it. As I write this, I’m sitting by the fire, with the moon hanging low in the sky and the grasslands stretching endlessly around me. It’s been a journey filled with moments both beautiful and trying, and I find myself missing you more than I thought possible.

The trip so far has been uneventful, to say the least. The scenery is breathtaking – rolling hills of golden grass that seem to go on forever, herds of elk moving gracefully through the fields, even a family of giant rabbits with tails the size of pillows. There’s something about the open sky out here that makes you feel small. It’s like the world is wide open, just waiting to be explored.

The guards who accompany us have been nothing but kind. They’re a solid group, always ready with a joke or a helping hand. Their presence has been a comfort. 

And then there’s Kaldrin Kross. Oh, Evelyn, where do I even begin? I’ve tried to be patient, to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the man is insufferable. He’s spent most of the journey in a drunken stupor, prying into matters that are none of his business. His attempts at charm are as clumsy as they are unwelcome. I’ve endured his company out of necessity, but every moment in that carriage with him has felt like an eternity. If nothing else, he’s taught me the value of polite restraint, though I’ve come close to losing that on more than one occasion.

I’m also happy to report that I have been free from the nightmares for some time now. There have been none since waking up after Cranford. This has given me much less anxiety when falling asleep. Still, I can’t shake the feeling that they’re lurking in the shadows, ready to strike again when I least expect it. 

But enough about that. The thought of you has been my anchor, Evelyn. As we travel north, I can’t help but think of how much more satisfying this journey would be with you by my side. I imagine us walking through the fields, pointing out every little wonder, laughing at ourselves, and finding joy in the simple things. I’ve caught myself more than once wondering what you would say or do in certain moments. I suppose that’s my way of keeping you close, even though we’re miles apart.

The further we travel, the more I realize how much you’ve come to mean to me. There’s a comfort in thinking of you, a warmth that I can’t quite put into words. It’s like a gentle glow that lights my way. I find myself looking forward to the letters we’ll exchange, and the day when I can return to Lucidia and tell you all about this journey in person.

Take care of yourself, Evelyn. I miss you more than words can express, and I can’t wait until the day we’re reunited. Until then, know that you’re in my thoughts with every step I take.

With all my heart,

Barbara

CHAPTER 4

The following day’s journey was much less stressful as the group rode together in their humble carriage. The stress that had weighed on Barbara during her time with Kaldrin seemed to melt away, replaced by the warmth and familiarity of her friends. The simple joy of being back in their company was like a cool breeze to her spirit.

With both curtains open, the carriage was filled with natural light. The landscape outside rolled by, a sea of golden and green grasslands stretching to the horizon. The rhythm of the horses’ hooves on the ground provided a soothing drumbeat to their conversations.

Hark, ever the storyteller, regaled his friends with old dwarven songs about smithing and the forge. His deep, gravelly voice filled the carriage as he regaled his friends with the traditions of his people. As he sang, Barbara found herself tapping her foot in time with the music. It was a far cry from the uncomfortable conversations and strange silences she had endured the day before.

Xan took the opportunity to describe the finer details of shepherding. He spoke of the bond between a shepherd and his flock, of the patience and care required to guide them safely across the plains. His eyes lit up as he recounted tales of long days spent in the fields with his father and sister, the sun on their backs and the wind in their hair. Maribella listened intently, asking questions now and then, curious about the life Xan had led.

The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by laughter and shared memories. Barbara felt a deep sense of gratitude for these moments, the comfort of being with those who understood her, who accepted her without question. The open air and the easy company of her friends made the miles pass quickly.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, they took turns pointing out sights along the way: a lone tree standing tall, a herd of bison grazing in the distance, the ruins of a mill next to a stream. Each discovery sparked a new thread of conversation, the hours slipping by as they traveled northward.

Barbara leaned back against the cushions, feeling the gentle sway of the carriage as it moved along the dirt road. The warmth of the sun, the sound of her friends’ voices, and the beauty of the world outside the carriage – these were the things that brought her peace.

“Tell us about the dwarven gods, Hark,” Barbara said, smiling at Hark.

Hark looked up, caught off guard by the question. He hesitated for a moment before speaking. “Well,” he began slowly, “you humans, elves, and the like tend to choose one god to follow. For example, you three worship Triskaris. Over in Arboronia, they worship Tyren, the good god of law and order. Tyren’s similar to Triskaris in many ways, yet still different. We dwarves, though, we have a pantheon. There’s Augenbraid, the god of gold, Horderok, the god of mining, Merderok, the god of smithing, and many others besides.”

“Do you have a favorite?” Maribella asked.

Hark looked into Maribella’s eyes before sighing deeply. “To be honest with you, sweet Mari, they’re all dead to me now.”

“What?” Maribella gasped.

Hark nodded solemnly. “That’s right. I’m what you might call a godless heathen, bound for an afterlife of eternal uncertainty.”

Barbara frowned. “Why would you say such a thing?”

Hark’s expression hardened as he stared out the window. “After my family was beaten, kidnapped, and sold into slavery, I lost my faith. I spent my entire life praising and singing songs and worshiping these gods. But when I needed them the most, when my family needed them, they were nowhere to be found. So now, I am returning the favor.”

Barbara’s eyes softened. “Hark, horrible things happen to good people every day. You can’t hold the gods responsible for every tragedy.”

Hark’s voice was firm. “I can. And I do.”

A heavy silence settled over the group.

After a long pause, Barbara spoke again. “What if your gods wanted you here, with us, right now, Hark? What if there’s a purpose you’re meant to fulfill?”

Hark shook his head slowly. “If they needed me, they could have asked in a different way. They’re gods, after all, infinitely wiser than any of us. Did they really have to put my family through such torment to make their point?”

Barbara weighed his words carefully before replying. “What if the answer is ‘yes,’ Hark? What if that’s the path they chose for reasons we can’t understand?”

“If that’s the case, then I disagree with them. Strongly,” he replied.

Once again, silence fell over the group, each lost in their own thoughts as the carriage continued down the road.

The caravan ground to a sudden halt. The carriages lurched as the horses whinnied in alarm. Outside, the commanding voices of royal guards clashed with the angry shouts of strangers.

“What’s going on?” Maribella whispered.

“I don’t know,” Barbara replied, making her way to the door. “But it doesn’t sound good.”

She carefully pushed open the carriage door, stepping out into the bright light of mid-day. A large mob had gathered, blocking the road ahead. Men armed with spears, clubs, and pitchforks stood in a solid line. At their forefront was a short, muscular man with broad shoulders and a square jaw whose presence seemed to command the group. 

“Where is Kaldrin Kross?” the man demanded, his voice carrying over the murmur of the crowd. 

The royal guards, who had quickly moved to form a defensive line in front of the carriages, exchanged uncertain glances. One of them stepped forward, trying to take control of the escalating situation. “What seems to be the problem here?”

“I’ll speak only to Kaldrin Kross. Bring him out!”

Barbara felt a knot tighten in her stomach as she observed the scene. The mob was imposing. The royal guards were outnumbered and seemed hesitant to escalate the situation. Barbara could sense the possibility of violence.

Kaldrin’s carriage remained conspicuously still, the curtains tightly drawn. The guards exchanged worried looks, clearly aware that the situation could slip out of their control. Barbara’s eyes darted to the other carriages in the caravan. The drivers sat frozen in their seats. No one seemed willing to step forward to defuse the situation.

The man’s patience was wearing thin. “If Kaldrin Kross doesn’t show his face right now, we’re going to set fire to his pretty little carriage!” he shouted.

The guards shifted uneasily, their hands inching toward their swords, but they made no move to draw them. The guard who had spoken earlier raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Let’s not do anything rash. Just tell us how we can work something out.”

The man turned to the guard. “More than a year ago, that snake, Kaldrin Kross, bought six of my best Blackwine Mastiffs. He promised me two pounds of gold in return. But I haven’t seen a single coin of it!”

The guards looked back at Kaldrin’s carriage, clearly torn between their duty to protect the caravan and their growing realization that Kaldrin wasn’t worth defending. 

But the man wasn’t interested in the guards. He stepped closer, his eyes wide with anger. “I know you’re in there, hiding like a coward! If you don’t come out right now, I’ll drag you out myself!”

Barbara held her breath, her hand instinctively moving to the hilt of her sword. But she didn’t draw it. This wasn’t her fight, and she knew that getting involved could only make things worse. Instead, she exchanged a worried look with Maribella, who seemed just as uncertain about what to do.

Inside Kaldrin’s luxurious carriage, the silence was deafening. The curtains remained drawn, and the door stayed shut. It was as if Kaldrin was hoping that by staying hidden, the problem would somehow go away. But Barbara knew that wasn’t going to happen. The man and his mob were too angry to back down.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kaldrin’s driver climbed from his seat to the ground. With a deep breath, he reached out and opened the door, stepping aside as Kaldrin Kross slowly emerged.

Kaldrin staggered out of the carriage. His fine clothes were disheveled. He blinked in the harsh sunlight, squinting at the mob that had gathered before him. For a moment, Barbara thought she saw a flicker of fear in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a wide, jovial smile as he made his way over to the man.

“Quinn, my friend!” Kaldrin exclaimed, spreading his arms wide. “What a surprise to see you here! What can I do for you on this fine sunny day?”

The royal guards didn’t move to support Kaldrin. Instead, they watched from a distance, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, ready to react but clearly reluctant to defend Kaldrin. It was obvious that they weren’t going to intervene unless things turned violent.

Quinn’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his anger seemed to intensify at Kaldrin’s attempt at charm. “Don’t play games with me, Kross. You know exactly why I’m here. I want my gold, and I want it now.”

Kaldrin’s smile faltered, his eyes darting around nervously. “Ah, yes… the gold. I assure you, Quinn, it’s on its way. Once this lumber deal with Elysia is finalized, I’ll have your gold, guaranteed.”

Quinn’s jaw clenched, and he took a threatening step closer to Kaldrin. “I’m done with your empty promises, Kross. You either pay me what you owe, or I’ll take your fancy carriage as payment. And I’ll be taking the driver and those fine horses with me too.”

Kaldrin’s hands fidgeted at his sides. He glanced desperately at the guards, but they remained silent, their expressions unreadable. It was clear that they weren’t going to step in to save him. Barbara watched as Kaldrin’s eyes darted around, looking for an escape, but there was none.

“No, no, you can’t take my carriage,” Kaldrin stammered, his voice betraying his panic. “It’s… it’s not worth what I owe you. Surely, we can work something out.”

“I’m taking the carriage, the horses, and the driver,” Quinn shot back. “That’ll cover part of what you owe me after making me wait more than a year.”

Kaldrin’s face drained of what color remained after drinking all morning. He looked at Barbara, his eyes pleading, but she didn’t move. She could feel Hark, Xan, and Maribella tensing inside the carriage, all of them waiting to see what would happen next. But none of them made a move to intervene. This wasn’t their fight, and they knew better than to get involved in Kaldrin’s mess.

“Wait, wait!” Kaldrin blurted out, holding up his hands. “I can give you something else. Two wagons full of produce from Elysia. Take them and the horses. That should settle the debt, right?”

Short, muscular Quinn looked up at tall, skinny Kaldrin with coldness. “You really are a piece of work, aren’t you?”

“Quinn,” Kaldrin pleaded, his voice slightly trembling. “The produce, the wagons, the horses, they’re worth more than what I owe you. It’s a fair trade.”

Quinn sneered at him. “You’re a liar and a coward, Kross. You need your ass kicked.”

“Careful.” Kaldrin tried to appear in control. “I’m still an agent of Queen Hildeburh.”

Quinn smiled. “I’d be more than happy to tell the Queen everything I know about you. Why don’t you invite her to come visit me over in Golden Meadows?”

Kaldrin grimaced. “No, no, there’s no need for that. Take the carriages. They’re yours.”

Quinn drew back and slugged Kaldrin in the stomach. The blow landed with a sickening thud, and Kaldrin fell to one knee, gasping for air.

Barbara and her friends flinched at the sight. Kaldrin lifted himself up, struggling to catch his breath. Quinn waved to his men. “You heard him. Load up the wagons. We’re taking them back to Golden Meadows.”

The drivers of the two wagons climbed down as Quinn’s men took control. Several members of the mob quickly harnessed the horses and began to ride off.

Barbara watched them go, her head spinning. She turned to Hark, who shook his head slowly.

“Scoundrel, indeed,” he muttered, his voice low.

Barbara nodded in agreement. She didn’t need to say anything. The look in Hark’s eyes told her they were thinking the same thing. Kaldrin Kross was a man of many words, but none of them could be trusted. 

As the dust settled and the sounds of the departing mob faded into the distance, an uneasy silence fell upon the caravan. The once orderly procession now felt disrupted.

Kaldrin clutched his stomach where Quinn’s punch had landed. His face was flushed in a deep shade of crimson. He straightened slowly, wincing as he drew in a sharp breath, and his eyes scanned the gathered faces around him – guards, drivers, and passengers alike.

Barbara observed him carefully from a short distance away, noting the humiliation in his face. She felt a sense of vindication. Kaldrin’s true nature had been laid bare for all to see.

Suddenly, Kaldrin’s eyes blazed as he took a step forward, his voice erupting in a furious shout that shattered the quiet.

“Every one of you will be reported to the Queen!” he roared. “You cowards! How dare you allow that backwater bumpkin to rob us like that? Do you have any idea who I am? Who I represent?”

The members of the caravan exchanged uneasy glances, but no one responded. The royal guards remained stoic as Kaldrin’s tirade continued.

“This is an outrage!” Kaldrin continued. “I will see to it that each and every one of you pays for this dereliction of duty! Mark my words!”

One of the royal guards urged his horse forward at a measured pace. He was a middle-aged man with a calm, authoritative demeanor. He approached Kaldrin and looked down at the fuming man.

“Now hold on there,” the guard said, his voice steady. “There’s no need for threats.”

Kaldrin’s glare shifted to the guard, his eyes narrowing. “No need? You stood by and did nothing while those slobs robbed us blind! You call that protection!?”

The guard’s expression remained calm. “We serve Elysia and the Pentacle, ensuring safe travel, not settling personal debts born out of crooked dealings.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd at the guard’s words. Barbara felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips, appreciating the guard’s cutting response.

Kaldrin’s face reddened further, a vein throbbing visibly at his temple. “How dare you speak to me like that! Do you know who I am? I am an esteemed agent of Luthor Sparrow and Queen Hildeburh herself! You are obligated to defend me against such unlawful attacks!”

The guard’s voice remained even. “With all due respect, sir, our obligation is to the crown and its people. Protecting the caravan from threats is our charge, but we are not here to enforce payments or guard against the consequences of your own skullduggery.”

Kaldrin sputtered, momentarily at a loss for words. He looked around wildly, seeking support from the other guards or passengers, but found only blank stares. His gaze briefly met Barbara’s, but she held his look steadily, offering no sympathy.

Frustration boiling over, Kaldrin threw his hands up in exasperation. “This is unacceptable! I will ensure that each of you answers for this failure. The Queen will hear of your negligence!”

The guard remained unfazed by Kaldrin’s outburst. “You’re welcome to take up any grievances with the appropriate authorities upon our return,” he said. “In the meantime, we should focus on continuing our journey before nightfall catches us on the road.”

Kaldrin’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air. Finally, he let out a growl of frustration and turned sharply on his heel, stalking back toward his carriage. His driver stood dutifully by the open door, eyes cast downward to avoid his employer’s wrath.

“Get me out of here!” Kaldrin barked as he approached, shoving past the driver and disappearing into the lavish interior. The driver exchanged a brief glance with the guards before climbing back into his seat and readying the horses.

As the rest of the caravan began to reorganize, preparing to set off once more, Barbara and her companions gathered closer together.

“Well, that was quite the spectacle,” Hark commented dryly.

Maribella shook her head. “He brought that upon himself. You’d think someone in his position would have more sense.”

Barbara nodded in agreement. “Perhaps this will serve as a lesson, though I won’t hold my breath.”

As they walked towards their carriage, Barbara couldn’t shake the feeling that this encounter was more than just a momentary disturbance. It was a harsh reminder of the corruption and deceit that could fester beneath the surface of even the most esteemed figures. She looked ahead at Kaldrin’s carriage, its shiny exterior gleaming in the light, and wondered what other troubles lay hidden within. 

CHAPTER 5

As day turned to evening, the caravan pulled into the village of Crowshead, a place where the scent of fish hung so heavily in the air that it seeped into everything – the clothes of the villagers, the wooden beams of the houses, even the soil. The village was a poor, run-down cluster of homes and huts. The structures were mostly cobbled together from mismatched wood, some with sagging roofs and others with walls that leaned and bowed. Smoke rose from the chimneys, carrying the scent of cooking fish.

Crowshead was located on the western banks of the dark and murky Garris Pond. The pond remained stocked with fish that the villagers depended on for their meager existence. Along the banks of the pond, men and women stood hunched over old tables, cleaning their catches with practiced motions. The sounds of scraping scales and the occasional splash of water filled the air.

The roads through the village were dusty, uneven paths, worn down by years of use and lack of upkeep. Puddles of stagnant water dotted the road, remnants of recent rains. Children darted across these roads, kicking up mud as they chased one another in games of tag or hide-and-seek. Their laughter was a rare bright spot in an otherwise gloomy setting.

On the outskirts of the village, a small Temple of Triskaris stood. The stone temple was modest, barely large enough to accommodate more than a handful of worshippers at a time. Its small steeple reached skyward, as if begging for help.

In the center of Crowshead stood the only building that hinted at any sense of hospitality, The Fish Bowl. The Fish Bowl was a two-story inn with fourteen rooms available for travelers. Its exterior showed signs of wear, but it was still the most well-maintained building in the village. The faded wooden sign above the door swung gently in the evening breeze, creaking on its rusty hinges. The smell of fish stew drifted out from the open windows on the bottom floor.

Around the perimeter of Crowshead, a palisade was slowly taking shape. The beginnings of the wooden barricade stood as a future defense against the looming threat of the undead. Logs had been driven into the ground, but the wall was far from complete. Royal guards, numbering two dozen, patrolled the perimeter, their presence a calming force amidst the poverty. The clatter of hammers and the grunts of laborers working on the palisade were a constant backdrop, the work far from finished but pressing forward.

As the caravan came to a stop, the villagers barely looked up from their work. Life in Crowshead was hard and monotonous, and the travelers were just another part of the endless routine, a fleeting presence in a village where the scent of fish was the only constant, hovering in the air like fog.

As Barbara stepped down from her carriage, she noticed Kaldrin’s door swing open with force. Before his driver could assist, Kaldrin hopped out, grinning broadly. He walked quickly across the road to The Fish Bowl and pushed open the doors. He paused, then raised his arms. “Winnie! Beatrix!” he shouted. “My, how I’ve missed you.” 

Half of the royal guards remained outside to keep watch over the caravan. The rest of the guards accompanied Barbara and her companions as they entered The Fish Bowl.

Inside, the oppressive stench of fish filled the air. The royal guards visibly recoiled at the sight and smell of the place. They found a table near the entrance, their polished armor standing out among the grimy surroundings. They exchanged uneasy glances, aware of the locals’ watchful eyes on them.

“Shouldn’t you be on patrol? It’s not often we see royal guards in the Bowl,” said a man.

“We’re traveling through with Kaldrin Kross,” one of them replied politely. 

As Barbara, Hark, Maribella, and Xan took their seats at the back of the room, they took in the scene around them. The patrons, rough and rowdy fishers, were mostly drunk, or worse. Their voices rose above the racket of clattering dishes and the occasional smashing of a bottle. The table reserved for dice players was particularly rowdy, with shouts of victory and groans of defeat filling the air as coins changed hands among the players.

Kaldrin Kross, who had arrived before them, was making himself at home. He was leaning against the bar, his arm draped around the waist of a woman whose disheveled appearance and heavy makeup marked her as one of the village’s prostitutes. Her dress was frayed, the fabric thin and stained, but Kaldrin didn’t seem to mind. He whispered something into her ear that made her laugh as he flashed a wide grin. A second prostitute sidled up to Kaldrin from the other side, her hand sliding across his chest as she purred something unintelligible. He welcomed her attention with a hearty laugh, clearly enjoying himself.

Not far from him, a trio of royal guards entered and sat stiffly at their table, their expressions reflecting the same discomfort as their comrades near the door. One guard glanced nervously at Kaldrin, frowning as he watched the man revel in the company of the two women. The guard muttered something under his breath to his companion, who nodded in silent agreement. They seemed out of place in this rowdy environment with their rigid postures.

Barbara felt a wave of irritation. Kaldrin’s antics were hardly surprising, but as a high-ranking agent of the Queen, his behavior seemed reckless. She turned her attention back to her companions, trying to ignore the raucous laughter and the occasional lewd comment that drifted over from the bar.

“Food or drink or both?” asked the barmaid, a short, squat woman with a thin beard. Her voice was rough, like she’d spent a lifetime shouting over the din of rowdy crowds.

“Food,” Barbara said. “Four of us, please.”

“I’ll try the mead,” Hark said, cracking his knuckles. “What kind do you serve here?”

“It’s mead,” she said flatly before walking back through the crowds of patrons, dodging elbows and slipping past busy tables with practiced grace.

“A little different than Cranford?” Barbara asked Xan and Maribella with a smile. 

“I never went into the tavern in Cranford,” Maribella replied. “I did like going to the bakery, though. Remember the bakery, Barbara?”

Barbara nodded solemnly. “I’ll never forget your father’s heroism. I aspire to be as brave as him.” 

“You’re plenty brave,” Maribella replied.  

“My father took me to the tavern in Cranford, once,” Xan said. “It was usually just a few farmers drinking ale and playing cards. Nothing like this.”

“There are a lot of run-down taverns like this across Zalkarath,” Hark said. “Not dwarven taverns, mind you. Dwarves have taste.”

Barbara frowned at Hark, pretending disapproval as he chuckled at himself.  

The barmaid returned with their meal. She slid the bowls of fish stew onto the table with little care, the contents sloshing onto the tabletop. The stew was a grayish color, the fish bits floating in a murky broth that smelled as bad as it looked. The spoons were crusted with old food, and the bowls themselves seemed like they hadn’t been properly cleaned in weeks.

Hark took one look at the stew and grimaced. He picked up his spoon and forced himself to take a bite. He followed it with a gulp of mead, only to gag on the foul liquid. “By the gods,” he choked. “This is worse than troll piss.” He slammed the bottle down on the table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’d rather drink from yonder pond than touch another drop of this.”

Just then, a bottle smashed against the wooden wall above their heads, sending shards of glass into their food and hair. Loud laughter was heard from across the tavern. 

Xan and Maribella exchanged uneasy glances. Maribella, who had barely touched her stew, looked pale. “I think I’ll step outside for a bit,” she said, pushing her bowl away.

Xan quickly nodded in agreement. “I’ll join you,” he said, rising from his seat. They both headed for the door, escaping into the cool night air and leaving Barbara and Hark alone at the table.

Barbara watched them go, a knot of worry forming in her chest. A big, shirtless man with a shaved head and long mustache was glaring at Hark from across the room, his gaze growing more hostile with each passing minute. He leaned over to whisper something to the man next to him, pointing at Hark with a sneer. The man he was speaking to let out a bark of laughter, slapping his knee as if whatever had been said was the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Barbara leaned in closer to Hark, her voice low. “Ignore them,” she whispered. “They’re just drunk and looking for trouble.”

Hark grunted in response. He glanced up at the man, who was now openly gesturing at him, his words too slurred to be understood but clearly meant to provoke.

Barbara sighed, her mind racing. The last thing they needed was to be caught in the middle of a drunken brawl. She glanced at the guards, hoping for some reassurance, but they looked just as uncomfortable.

Kaldrin, oblivious, was now leading the two women towards the stairs that led to the inn’s upper floor. He stumbled slightly, laughing as he caught himself. His companions giggled as they helped him regain his balance.

Barbara turned back to Hark. “We can’t stay here,” she said quietly. “This place is a disaster waiting to happen. I’m not sure it’s safe to sleep in the rooms, especially with people like him around.” She nodded toward the big man who was still glaring at Hark, his fists now clenched as if ready to fight.

Hark nodded slowly. “Aye, you’re right. The carriage might not be comfortable, but it’s safer than this place. At least we can keep an eye on our things.”

Trouble was brewing in The Fish Bowl like the foul mead in Hark’s bottle, and Barbara knew they needed to make a choice before the situation spiraled out of control.

She took a deep breath. “Let’s head back to the carriage,” she said. “We’ll take shifts keeping watch.”

Hark didn’t argue, pushing his bowl away with a look of disgust. “Agreed. Let’s get out of here.”

They both stood, leaving their meal unfinished. Barbara tossed a silver coin on the table. As they made their way to the door, Barbara could feel the eyes of the big man following them.

“Skald Redhammer!” shouted the big man. “Leaving so soon?”

Hark looked from side to side. “Are you referring to me?” 

“Don’t play dumb with me, Redhammer,” the big man replied with slurred speech. 

Outside, Maribella and Xan sat on the porch of the tavern on a creaky old wooden bench. Crowshead was lit by the bright, silvery light of the full moon and the torches and oil lamps lit around the village center. Smoke puffed from the chimneys, filling the air with burning wood and fish. It was a peaceful if eerie moment, a welcome change from the rowdiness they had just left.

“I can’t imagine living here,” Maribella muttered.

Xan kicked his legs. “But the people who do live here probably can’t imagine living anywhere else.”

Maribella shrugged, chipping at the wooden bench with her fingernail. “If I lived here, I’d want to leave.”

“Did you want to leave Cranford?” Xan asked.

“Of course not. I loved farming with my family.”

“Maybe these people love fishing with their families,” Xan said. 

Maribella paused, then asked, “You lost your dad and brother to the undead. What about your mother?”

“She died when I was very young,” he said calmly. “I don’t remember her.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Maribella replied. “I miss my mother every minute of every day.”

“I don’t consider myself lucky at all,” Xan said with mild shock. “I watched my father and sister get chewed to death.” 

Silence fell upon the two orphans. “We’re lucky in one way,” Maribella finally said. “We have Barbara.”

Xan nodded absently. “Yeah.”

At that moment, three young guards, two men and a woman, burst from the tavern. All three began breathing loud sighs of relief. “In Tiskaris’ name,” one of the men exclaimed. “It smells just as bad out here!” 

“There’s no escape,” said the other man.

“You’re Xan and you’re Maribella, right?” asked the woman. 

“That’s us,” replied Xan.

“You two had the right idea getting outside. I can’t spend another minute in this tavern. I think I’ve been spoiled by the Pentacle.”

“I hope we leave exactly at sunrise, if not before,” Maribella said. 

“I’ll make sure of it,” replied the woman. “I’m Morgan. This is Leo and Harry.” 

“A pleasure,” Maribella replied. Xan nodded politely. 

“There is no pleasure in Crowshead,” groaned Leo. 

Suddenly, three young children appeared out of the shadows, skidding to a stop in front of them. Their eyes were wide with excitement, and the smallest one stepped forward. “You’re with those wagons, right?”

The guards exchanged cautious glances. Morgan nodded. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“Wrong?” the child replied with a laugh. “Not at all. It’s a full moon tonight, which means The Divine Dagnar is about to rise from Garris Pond. Do you want to know your future?”

The guards looked at each other. “We’ve got no gold to waste on tales, boy,” Harry said.

The child’s grin widened. “Oh, it doesn’t cost a thing. The Divine Dagnar doesn’t need your gold. The future’s waiting, if you’re brave enough to look.”

The other two children nodded eagerly. “Dagnar’s always right,” one of them added. “Come on, we’ll show you the way.”

“Why not?” Morgan asked the group. “I want to know if I’ll marry Captain Treese.”

“You don’t need a fortune teller to let you down,” replied Harry with a chuckle. 

“Come on,” Maribella said, jumping from the bench. “This sounds fun.”

“I’ve been waiting more than a year for this, Redhammer,” said the big man to Hark, punching his fist into his open hand. 

“Wait a minute,” Barbara said, pushing her way between the big man and the dwarf. “This man’s name is Hark, and a year ago he was in the town of Venora. And the year before that.”

“Who are you, his wife?” asked the big man. The gathering crowd of tavern patrons laughed at this. 

“I’m his friend,” Barbara replied. “You’re mistaken about him. This isn’t Redhammer, this is Orinvaldirithar.” 

“I know Skald Redhammer when I see him,” the man said. “And if you don’t step aside, you’ll get it worse than him.”

At the sound of this, the table of royal guards stood up. “This man is with us,” said one of the guards. “Step back and leave him be.”

The big man turned and looked at them with a big, sloppy smile. “And here come his babysitters,” he taunted. His friends cackled.

“Not too smart to come into the Bowl without your swords,” said one of his friends.

“We were being respectful,” said a guard. “It appears the favor won’t be returned.”

“What did this Redhammer do, anyway?” asked Barbara.

“Why don’t you ask him yourself?” the big man replied.

“I’ve never been to Crowshead in my life, friend,” said Hark to the big man. “You are truly mistaken.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” asked the big man. 

“I’m calling you a drunken idiot whose head is so far up his ass that he needs a glass stomach to see where he’s walking,” replied Hark.

“Oh dear,” sighed Barbara. 

A crowd of excited children stood on the muddy banks of Garris Pond. The full moon shone down on the still, murky water. “He’ll be here any minute!” one of them shouted. 

Maribella, Xan, Morgan, Leo, and Harry stood awkwardly among the crowd, unsure of what to expect. 

“Does he appear from thin air or something?” asked Morgan.

“He’ll arrive on the head of the Grand Duke Leopold-Alistair Fitzwilliam XIV of Garris Pond,” said a young girl. 

“Do you have to summon him with magic?” asked Maribella.

“No, no, he’ll show up on his own. Watch,” replied the girl.

“Have you ever had your fortunes told by this Dagnar before?” Xan asked the children.

“Yes!” replied a young boy. “He said I would travel all across Zalkarath on a brown horse and meet my wife in a village called Brackenford.” 

A little girl stepped forward. “He said I would have six children, and that one of those children will get rich working in a gold mine in Arboronia.” 

“Hm,” said Morgan, unconvinced but intrigued.

Suddenly, a hush fell over the crowd as a faint ripple disturbed the surface of the pond. The children gasped, their eyes widening as they strained to see. A low rumble like distant thunder echoed through the air.

“There!” whispered a young girl, pointing excitedly. “He’s coming!”

Maribella, Xan, and the royal guards squinted into the darkness, trying to make out what the children seemed to see so clearly. The moonlight caught the edges of something moving in the water, a shadowy form gliding silently toward the shore. The ripples grew, spreading outward as the shape drew closer.

Near the banks of the pond, a massive alligator surfaced, its scaly back shimmering in the moonlight. Morgan instinctively jumped back, her hand reaching for a sword that wasn’t there. “It’s a trap!” she shouted. “They’re going to feed us to that monster!”

“Calm yourself, my dear,” came a gentle, elderly voice.

“Who said that?” Harry barked, stepping between Morgan and the alligator.

“I said that,” the voice replied. On top of the alligator’s head, standing with an almost regal poise, was a small turtle. Its head emerged slowly from beneath its shell, surveying the group calmly. “Good evening, children,” said the turtle.

“Good evening, Dagnar!” the children shouted brightly in unison. 

The turtle nodded slightly, acknowledging them. “You’ve brought friends, I see,” Dagnar observed, his head tilting to take in the guests. His eyes settled on Morgan, who remained uneasy. “Don’t be alarmed, my dear. Allow me to introduce the Grand Duke Leopold-Alistair Fitzwilliam XIV.” The alligator blinked slowly, as if on cue. “And I, new friends, am the Divine Dagnar, Oracle of Garris Pond.”

Xan and Maribella exchanged a shocked glance.

“What kind of magic is this?” Leo demanded. “Is this some kind of a joke?”

Dagnar gave a soft, grandfatherly chuckle. “Your eyes do not deceive you. Your ears hear the truth. Prick the tip of your finger and feed the pond your blood, and I will reveal to you your destiny.”

Harry scoffed, turning to Leo with a smirk. “You first.”

“Not on your life,” Leo shot back. “Morgan, you do it.”

Morgan’s eyes darted between the men and the turtle. With a sigh, she stepped forward, pulling a small whittling knife from her belt. She hesitated only for a moment before pricking her fingertip, watching a thin line of blood well up. She squeezed her hand over the pond, letting a few droplets fall into the water.

Dagnar’s eyes slowly blinked as he hummed softly, as though tasting the air. “Mmm… I see.”

Morgan leaned in. “Do you see someone named Captain Treese?”

Dagnar’s head lifted, his expression unreadable. “I do. A royal guard in the Queen’s army. He has a regal mustache.”

Morgan’s face lit up. “That’s right!” she said, a smile spreading across her face. “Is it a wedding?”

Dagnar’s voice was solemn. “It’s a funeral.”

“What?” Morgan’s smile vanished.

“Your life will end within two years. The Divine Dagnar has spoken.”

The color drained from Morgan’s face as she handed the knife to Leo. “This is nonsense,” she muttered.

Leo, appearing uneasy, took the knife and pricked his finger. He let the blood drip into the pond. “Will I be rich one day?”

“Mmm… Indeed,” Dagnar replied. “In friendship. Many friends. Gathered somberly at your funeral. You, too, will die within two years. The Divine Dagnar has spoken.”

The children, who had been watching with wide-eyed fascination, now stared at Morgan and Leo with pity.

Leo’s face was filled with disbelief. “What kind of sick joke is this?”

Harry, ever the skeptic, snatched the knife with a thin, mocking smile. “Give me the knife,” he said, pricking his finger and letting the blood fall. “Will I ever be reunited with my wife?”

“Mmm… indeed you will,” Dagnar began. “A sweet, red-haired woman with bright blue eyes.”

Harry’s smirk vanished. “That’s her. How did you know that?”

Dagnar’s voice grew heavier. “You will reunite with your wife at your funeral. You will die within two years. The Divine Dagnar has spoken.”

“Give me a break,” Harry spat. “What wizard is hiding in the bushes casting this hogwash?”

“The truth can be unsettling,” Dagnar replied calmly. “But it is the truth nonetheless.”

Hark’s fist slammed into the big man’s testicles with a devastating force, causing him to double over with a howl of agony. His massive frame buckled and he clutched at his crotch. But before he could even think of recovering, Hark was on him again, fists hammering into his head and face, each punch driving the big man further into submission.

The big man’s companions, enraged by the sight of their friend’s beating, roared in anger and charged forward. The tavern exploded into chaos. Patrons joined in, eager to join the violence that had erupted so suddenly. The remaining guards in the tavern sprang into action.

Tables were overturned in a flurry of motion, sending plates, mugs, and bottles crashing to the floor. Stools and chairs were snatched up and wielded as weapons, their wooden legs swinging wildly through the air. The sound of shattering glass and splintering wood filled the tavern as the brawl spiraled out of control.

One of the guards found himself face-to-face with a burly fisherman wielding a broken bottle. The guard ducked as the jagged glass slashed through the air, narrowly missing his head. With a swift motion, he drove his shoulder into the fisherman’s gut, sending him staggering backward. The guard followed up with a quick jab to the man’s jaw, knocking him to the floor.

Not far away, another guard, a younger man with a mop of unruly brown hair, was struggling with a wiry patron who had grabbed a stool and was using it as a makeshift shield. The guard faked to the left, then ducked under the stool’s swinging legs, delivering a punishing punch to the man’s ribs. The patron grunted in pain, but before he could react, the guard grabbed the stool and yanked it out of his hands, hurling it across the room where it smashed into a wall.

Across the room, a group of rough-looking fishers had cornered a lone guard near the bar. The guard, a tall, muscular woman with her hair tied back in a tight braid, stood her ground, her fists raised. The first fisher lunged at her, but she sidestepped his clumsy attack and brought her knee up into his stomach. As he doubled over, she grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the second man, sending both of them crashing to the ground.

“Step forward, young man,” said Dagnar to Xan.

Xan grabbed the knife from Harry and stood near the still water of the pond. As he pricked his fingertip, he winced in pain. He watched the blood drip from his fingertip. He held his hand over the water and watched the droplets of blood splash into the dark water below. 

The turtle’s eyes closed gently. “Oh my,” he said.

Xan’s face was riddled with anxiety. “Am I going to die within two years?” he asked, his voice trembling.

“No,” said Dagnar. “You will live many more years, my boy.”

“What do you see?” Xan asked.

“Statues erected in your honor. Songs celebrating your name. Children named after you.”

Xan gasped. “What?”

“It’s not every day, nay, every year that we stand in the presence of a hero, boys and girls,” said Dagnar. “I am honored to meet you, Xander the Shepherd’s Son. The Divine Dagnar has spoken.” 

The brawl had consumed the entire tavern, turning the once jovial atmosphere into a battlefield. Bodies collided with fists and fury, with no clear lines between allies and enemies. The floor was slick with spilled ale and broken glass.

In the center of it all, Hark was still pounding away at the big man, who had collapsed onto his knees, his face a bloody mess. Hark’s eyes were blazing with ferocity, his fists relentless in their assault. Around him, the guards were slowly gaining control, their training and discipline allowing them to hold their own against the drunk patrons.

But it was a struggle. Every time a guard managed to subdue one opponent, another would rise up to take their place. The patrons, fueled by ale and anger, fought with a reckless abandon that made them dangerous. The guards, outnumbered and exhausted, were fighting to keep the situation from becoming worse, but the brawl showed no signs of slowing down.

Barbara was locked in a brutal struggle with a fisher twice her size. The fisher, his face twisted in rage, grabbed a chair and swung it at Barbara, who barely managed to raise her arm in time to block the blow. The chair shattered on impact, but the force of the hit sent Barbara stumbling backward. The fisher moved in for the knockout, but she quickly punched the sailor’s thigh. The sailor howled in pain and fell to the ground, clutching his throbbing leg.

At the same time, another guard, a woman with a bleeding lip, was grappling with a pair of drunken patrons who had her pinned against the wall. One of them had a broken bottle, the other a mug. She ducked as the bottle came slashing toward her face, then drove her elbow into the man’s jaw, forcing him to drop the bottle. With a fierce shout, she grabbed the second man by the arm and twisted it behind his back, forcing him to drop the mug. With a final shove, she sent both men crashing to the floor.

Nearby, a burly guard with a shaved head was trading blows with a man wielding a heavy iron skillet. The skillet swung through the air with a loud whoosh, but the guard ducked just in time, delivering a solid punch to the man’s face. The man grunted and swung again, but the guard sidestepped the blow and grabbed the man by the wrist, twisting it until he dropped the skillet. With a swift kick, the guard sent the man smashing into a nearby table, which collapsed under the impact.

The tavern was a scene of utter chaos. The air was thick with the sounds of grunts, curses, and the clatter of broken furniture. The guards were slowly but surely gaining control of the situation, their trained approach turning the tide of the battle. But the fight had taken its toll. The floor was littered with unconscious bodies, broken glass, and splintered wood.

Hark, his fists bloodied and his breath coming in ragged gasps, finally stepped back from the big man, who lay motionless on the floor, groaning in pain. Around him, the last few patrons were being subdued by the guards.

The brawl, which had erupted so suddenly and violently, had come to an end. The tavern was now eerily quiet, save for the occasional groan of pain or the clink of broken glass underfoot. The guards stood among the wreckage, their eyes scanning the room for any remaining threats.

It was over.

“And you, my dear?” Dagnar said to Maribella. 

Maribella looked at the turtle firmly. “I don’t want to know my future.” 

“Nervous, are we?” Dagnar asked. 

“Not nervous,” she replied. “I put my life in the hands of Triskaris. Only he knows my future, and I trust he will use me to do what’s right until he calls me home to the great Silver Fortress in the sky.”   

Dagnar tilted his head slightly. The moonlight reflected off his muddy shell, giving him an almost ethereal glow. “Ah, faith,” he murmured, his voice laced with respect. “A noble thing, indeed. But are you certain, my dear? Even the most devout can benefit from a glimpse behind the curtain of fate.”

Maribella stood her ground. “I have no need to peek behind any curtain, Dagnar. My faith is not so weak that it wavers at the promise of forbidden knowledge.”

Dagnar’s eyes, ancient and wise, seemed to peer into her soul. “Forbidden? No, no, my dear. Not forbidden. Merely… enlightening. Many have sought my counsel, not to defy their gods, but to understand their path more clearly. Triskaris may have laid the road before you, but knowing its twists and turns could help you serve him better.”

Maribella remained firm. “I walk the path he sets for me, whether it be straight or winding.”

The air around them grew still. The children, usually so talkative and excited, watched in silence, sensing the gravity of the moment. The Grand Duke Leopold-Alistair Fitzwilliam XIV remained motionless, his eyes half-lidded as if listening intently.

Dagnar exhaled slowly. “Very well, young lady. Your faith in Triskaris is admirable. But remember this: the future is not a single thread but many threads of possibilities.”

Maribella stretched her hands at her sides. “I trust in Triskaris,” she said quietly, more to herself than to Dagnar.

Dagnar nodded slowly. “As you wish.” With that, the Oracle of Garris Pond turned his attention away from Maribella, his slow eyes shifting to the others gathered around the pond. “Children,” he began. “Until we meet again. I am the Divine Dagnar! And I ride atop the Grand Duke Leopold-Alistair Fitzwilliam XIV! Goodbye!” 

“Goodbye Dagnar!” they shouted in unison. “Goodbye Grand Duke Leopold-Alistair Fitzwilliam XIV!” 

The alligator slowly sank beneath the surface of the water.

CHAPTER 6

Dearest Evelyn,

As I write this letter, the morning sun is just beginning to rise as we prepare to leave Crowshead behind. I’ve found a quiet moment to reflect on everything that’s happened, and I feel compelled to share it with you, though I must admit, my thoughts remain tangled.

Crowshead is unsettling. It’s a village that seems to have been forgotten by fortune, where the air is thick with the smell of fish. The people here are worn down, their lives centered around a big pond. There’s a sadness that hangs over the place.

The inn where we attempted to eat dinner, The Fish Bowl, was the best that Crowshead had to offer, but even that was a far cry from what I would call comfortable. The stench inside was overpowering, and the patrons were rougher than I’m used to. Kaldrin Kross wasted no time making himself at home. He seemed to revel in the company of two local women whose company wasn’t free, if you know what I mean. The sight of him draped over them, laughing and carrying on, only added to the sour taste in my mouth.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. A fight broke out in the tavern, and it quickly turned into a full-blown bar brawl. It all started with Hark, who’s normally so calm and steady, getting into it with a big brute of a man who was convinced Hark was someone named Skald Redhammer, I think he said. Before I knew it, fists and chairs were flying, and the whole place descended into chaos. The guards intervened, but the drunken patrons were relentless, and for a while, it seemed like the fight would never end.

I was relieved when we finally managed to leave the inn, though I couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt. The people of Crowshead live in such harsh conditions, and here I was, eager to escape. We ended up sleeping in our carriage, sleeping off the scrapes and bruises. Xan and Mari were already asleep when we arrived, having departed long before the fight broke out. 

Even now, as I sit in the relative peace of the caravan, my thoughts keep drifting back to you. I’ve realized, Evelyn, how much I wish you had been here with me, not because I want you to witness the ugliness of this place, but because I find comfort in your presence, even if only in my mind. I’ve been carrying thoughts of you with me throughout this journey.

I’ve come to understand that what I feel for you goes beyond simple friendship, though I’m still not sure how to express it. There’s a warmth that fills me when I think of you, a longing that I can’t quite put into words. Perhaps it’s foolish of me to even write these words, but I need you to know that you mean more to me than anyone else. I just wish I could tell you this in person, without stumbling over my own nerves.

For now, all I can do is hope that you’re safe and well in Lucidia. I look forward to the day when I can see you again. Until then, please know that you’re in my thoughts, and that your presence in my life is something I cherish more than words can say.

With all my affection,

Barbara

“How was your evening?” Barbara asked Maribella and Xan as they rode northward in their carriage. 

“By the looks of you two, much better than yours,” Xan replied, looking at Barbara’s bruised eye and split bottom lip.

Hark, whose nose was nearly purple from being smacked with a heavy mug, let out a hearty laugh. “Aye,” he said, stretching out his hands, revealing bloodied knuckles. “You missed quite the riot.”

“You should be so honored to speak to Xan,” Maribella said with a smile. “A fortune-telling turtle told him he would end up a hero. There will be songs written about him and children being named after him.” 

“What?” Barbara laughed.

“The local children took me and Mari and three guards to the edge of the pond and summoned a turtle riding on an alligator,” Xan said. “He told the guards they’d be dead within two years and that I would be a hero.”

“And you, Mari, what did this turtle reveal about your fate?” Hark asked. 

“I didn’t get my fortune told,” she replied. “I told him I left my fate in Triskaris’ hands.”

“Smart girl,” said Barbara. “When I first left Castle on Silver Lake, I met a fortune teller named Montague that told me I’d live on a farm, marry a sword swallower from Homm, and have lots of children.”

The friends laughed. “Be wary of fortune tellers,” Barbara continued. “They are usually riddled with nonsense, or at worst, frauds.”

“We used to call them flim-flammers,” added Hark. “Did this turtle ask for gold?”

“No,” replied Xan. “We just had to poke our fingers and drip blood in the pond.”

“You were probably feeding that alligator a little snack,” laughed Barbara. “Nothing is for free, remember that.”

The days following their departure from Crowshead were marked by an unexpected tranquility. The chaos of the village faded into distant memory as the caravan moved steadily northwestward along Everton Pass, leaving behind the grimy villagers and the stench of fish. The grasslands of Valkarath were a world unto themselves, an endless ocean of golden and emerald blades that swayed in the gentle breeze.

Each day began with the sun rising over the horizon. The sky, a canvas of soft pinks and oranges, gradually brightened to a brilliant blue. As the caravan pressed on, Barbara and her friends could not help but marvel at the beauty that surrounded them. The grasslands seemed to stretch forever. There was a magic to this land, a raw beauty that made the travelers feel insignificant and privileged to be part of it.

The air was crisp. With each passing day, the warmth of the Pentacle region gradually gave way to a cooler, more crisp climate. The change was subtle at first, a faint chill in the early morning hours, but as they traveled further north, the cold began to make its presence known. The travelers found themselves reaching for their coats, the thick furs providing much-needed warmth against the bite of the northern air. The coolness was refreshing, carrying with it the promise of new memories.

The grasslands were filled with life, and as the travelers gazed out from their carriage windows, they were treated to sights that spoke to the diversity and wonder of Valkarath. Herds of bison roamed the plains, grazing the abundant golden grasses. Their massive, shaggy forms were like moving hills of hair. The travelers watched in awe as the bison moved across the plains, their breath visible in the cool air.

There among the bison were herds of elk, their slender legs and graceful movements much different than the bison’s raw strength. The elk were elegant, their antlers like crowns, their eyes alert. The travelers could see the bonds between the members of each herd, the way the animals moved together, protecting one another. It was a reminder of the fragility of life in the wild.

But the grasslands were not only home to ordinary creatures. Every now and then, the travelers would catch sight of something extraordinary, such as the massive, three-headed snake that weaved its way through the tall grass. Its scales shimmered like polished emeralds in the sunlight, each head moving independently as it surveyed the landscape with unblinking eyes. The snake’s tongues flicked out, tasting the air, as it slithered with grace. The friends held their breath as the creature peacefully passed by the caravan. 

At night, the travelers would set up camp beneath the vast, star-filled sky. The grasslands, bathed in the silver light of the moon, took on an otherworldly glow. The nights were peaceful, the only sounds were those of the wind rustling through the grasses and the occasional call of a distant animal. The fire at the center of the camp would crackle loudly, its orange glow a comfort in the cool night air.

Hark took charge of the evening meals. As the group gathered around the fire, Hark would begin by carefully selecting the vegetables from their supplies, examining each one with a critical eye. “You can’t just toss everything into the pot and hope for the best,” he’d say. “Each vegetable has its own needs, its own timing.”

He would start with the hardier vegetables, such as carrots and potatoes, peeling them with swift movements and cutting them into even pieces. “Carrots are tough,” he explained one evening. “They take the longest to soften, so they go in first. But you want them to maintain a bit of bite – not too mushy. Timing is everything.”

The guards, who adored Hark, would gather around, watching him work and asking him questions. Hark, ever the patient teacher, would answer each question in detail, explaining the nuances of boiling vegetables. “Potatoes, now, are a bit different,” he’d continue, dropping the cut pieces into the pot. “You want them tender, but not falling apart. The trick is to bring the water to a rolling boil first, then reduce it to a simmer. And don’t forget the salt – just enough to enhance the flavor.”

As the vegetables boiled, Hark would occasionally lift the lid, letting the steam rise into the air. He would stir the pot with a long wooden spoon. “Now, for the rest,” he’d say, adding peas, beans, or whatever they had on hand. “These don’t need long at all. Just a few minutes at the end to keep their color and crunch. Overcooked greens lose their vibrancy. We don’t want that.”

The scent of the cooking vegetables would mix pleasantly with the scent of roasting meats, drawing everyone closer to the fire. The guards would often sneak a taste when Hark wasn’t looking, earning a scolding from the dwarf, who took great pride in his skills. The meals, simple yet hearty, became a highlight of the evenings, a time when the group could relax and share stories.

One particular evening, as the group sat around the fire enjoying one of Hark’s expertly prepared meals, they were joined by a small band of tribal natives from the region. The natives approached the camp with quiet respect. They were tall, lean people with golden skin. Their clothing was simple, made from the hides of animals and adorned with beads and feathers, each piece telling a story of their heritage.

The travelers welcomed the natives, eager to learn more about the people who called this land home. The natives, in turn, offered gifts of food. The two groups quickly fell into an easy friendship, sharing their food and stories around the fire. The natives spoke of the land, their love of Marzarona, the Sun-Goddess, and of the ancient traditions that had been passed down through generations. Their words carried a respect for the world around them.

The natives sang songs, their voices rising and falling in harmony with the crackling of the fire. The songs told of great hunts, of the changing seasons, and of the bonds that tied them to the land. The travelers listened with rapt attention, even as they shared their own songs, the melodies of distant lands and battles. 

As the night wore on, the firelight flickered on the faces of the natives and travelers alike. It was a night of connection and understanding, the kind that could only happen far from the boundaries of civilization. There, under the starry sky, the travelers felt a deep sense of peace and a connection to the land.

The following days continued in much the same way. The landscape, with its rolling hills and endless sky, seemed to stretch into infinity.

The further north they traveled, the more the landscape began to change. The grasses, once tall and golden, began to thin, giving way to patches of hardier vegetation that could withstand the colder climate. The trees, once sparse and isolated, became more frequent, their branches twisted and gnarled from years of exposure to the elements. The air, too, grew colder, the crispness of the northern wind biting at their cheeks and turning their breath to mist.

But even as the land grew more rugged, there was a beauty to it. The travelers would often find themselves gazing out at the horizon, watching as the sun dipped lower in the sky. The sunsets were spectacular, the sky burning with fiery oranges and deep reds. As night fell, the sky would darken to a deep, empty black, the stars appearing one by one until they revealed themselves by the thousands.

In these quiet moments, as the caravan moved steadily onward, Barbara would often find herself lost in thought. There was a sense of anticipation in the air, a feeling that they were on the cusp of something significant. But for now, in these peaceful days of travel, there was time to simply enjoy the journey, to appreciate the beauty of the world around them.

They would soon see flocks of birds with feathers that shimmered like gems, their colors changing with every beat of their wings. The birds moved in perfect unison, creating patterns in the sky that seemed almost deliberate, like a choreographed dance. The travelers would watch in awe as the birds flew overhead, their movements graceful and fluid.

And so, they traveled on, the days blending into one another. There was a sense of peace among the travelers, a shared understanding that they were part of something larger than themselves, something timeless and enduring. Each day brought new sights and new memories, all of which would stay with them long after the journey was over.

“We will arrive in Everton within two days,” Barbara said to her friends as they rode along in their carriage. She removed a folded map of Zalkarath from her pocket. There were six Xs on the map, symbolizing the six, now five, unicorns that lived in the region. “Around half a day from Everton is where we will find the unicorn’s forest.” She traced her finger across the map, stopping near an X located just outside Everton. 

Xan leaned in to get a better look at the map. “How are we supposed to find this unicorn?” he asked, furrowing his brow. “Don’t they have to reveal themselves to us?”

Barbara shook her head. “Not necessarily. Remember the poacher near the Pentacle? He was able to stalk and kill Aurion. I’m sure Aurion didn’t reveal himself willingly.” 

Hark, who had been quietly admiring his hammer, looked up with a glimmer in his eye. “Think we’ll run into a poacher up here?” he asked.

“It’s possible,” Barbara replied. “Our hope is to find the unicorn before any poacher does, to warn it of the danger. If we succeed, the poachers may arrive to find nothing and eventually give up.”

Hark’s expression darkened. “And what if we find a poacher first?”

Barbara smiled. “Then we will… deal with them, Hark. But remember, our priority is the unicorn.”

Xan leaned back in his seat, his thoughts clearly racing. “These unicorns… they’re more than just mythical creatures, aren’t they?”

Barbara nodded. “Yes, Xan. Each unicorn carries a piece of Zalkarath’s magic within it. When Aurion was killed, a part of that magic died with him. From what we were told by a scoundrel named Gorek Blak, the horn is used as a component in a dark spell that summons a devil-slave. There is apparently a necromancer from Drelgaroth wanting just that.”

The carriage fell into a brief silence. Outside, the landscape rolled by. The carriage continued its journey, the rhythmic clatter of wheels on the dirt road keeping steady. Each of them was lost in their thoughts, preparing themselves for what was to come.

Dearest Barbara, 

I have sent your first letter with the second caravan leaving Elysia for Everton. The shipments of timber have been arriving here every few days, and the walls around the villages in the Pentacle are slowly taking shape. While I understand the necessity of these fortifications, I must admit that I find them rather unsightly. They stand in contrast to the natural beauty of our surroundings, imposing and ugly where there was once open space. But I suppose these are the sacrifices we must make to ensure our safety from the undead.

On a brighter note, I have some exciting news to share! I’ve been studying The Astral Grimoire with Kazamir, and I’m pleased to tell you that I’ve successfully learned two of the spells. I can hardly wait to show you what I’ve mastered, though I’ll keep the specifics a surprise for now. Let’s just say that they are far more impressive than my previous capabilities.

Speaking of which, I must confess that before this, the only spell I truly knew was that simple push. Hardly the sort of magic that inspires awe. But these new spells, they feel different. There’s a depth and power to them that I’ve never experienced before.

Kashmir, as you might expect, has been rather apprehensive about my newfound abilities. He’s always been so devoted to the school of illusion, and I think these spells make him uneasy because they don’t fit neatly into his world of trickery and light. He worries, I think, about the potential for real harm. But I’ve reassured him that I will wield this new power with care. After all, I’ve always believed that magic should be used to protect and defend, not to destroy. Still, I can see the concern in his eyes.

Barbara, I find myself thinking of you often, especially when I’m practicing these spells. There’s something about the process – the focus, the intention – that makes me feel closer to you, even when we’re miles apart. I imagine you watching me, offering that steady, reassuring presence that you always possess. It gives me strength, knowing that you believe in me. And, if I’m being honest, it makes me eager to show you what I’ve learned. I want to impress you, to make you proud.

I’ve been catching myself daydreaming about your return more frequently than I’d like to admit. It’s strange. I’ve never been one for sentimentality, but lately, I’ve found myself longing for the day when we can be together again. I miss our conversations, the way you listen so intently, and the way you always seem to know exactly what to say. There’s a warmth I feel when I think of you, a comfort that’s hard to describe. It’s as if my thoughts of you are a kind of spell themselves, one that enchants me and keeps me safe.

I won’t say more for now, as I don’t want to risk sounding foolish. But know that you are in my thoughts, more often than you might realize. I look forward to the day when I can tell you everything in person. There’s so much more I want to share, so many things I want to say. Until then, take care of yourself, and please continue to write. My anticipation for your first letter has reached a boiling point!

With fondness and anticipation,

Evelyn

CHAPTER 7

On the tenth day of their journey, as the caravan began its slow, steady ascent into the high hills leading to Everton, it began to snow. What started as a light dusting quickly grew into a steady, gentle snowfall, blanketing the landscape in a soft, pristine white. The once golden grasses of the plains were gradually swallowed by the advancing cold, and the familiar sound of wheels on dirt was replaced by the muted whisper of snow beneath them.

The travelers, wrapped tightly in their furs, peered out from their carriages at the new world around them. The air, once crisp and cool, now carried the biting chill of freezing weather, seeping into their bones despite their layers of clothing. The snowflakes fluttered down endlessly.

Two short days remained in the journey, but those days felt like a lifetime. The climb towards Everton was steep and unforgiving, and the snow, though beautiful, added an extra layer of difficulty. The journey had been long, and the group was weary, but the sight of the snow-covered hills reminded them that their destination was near. Yet with each passing hour, as the snowfall thickened and the hills grew steeper, a sense of urgency began to gnaw at them. 

As the caravan wound its way higher into the hills, the snowfall showed no signs of letting up. The travelers huddled closer together, seeking warmth and comfort in each other’s presence. The world around them was silent, save for the soft crunch of snow and the creak of the carriage wheels.

The road climbing up the hills began to narrow. What had previously been a caravan traveling in a close-knit clump now stretched out into a long, single file line. The carriages moved slowly and carefully as they navigated the increasingly treacherous ascent. The drivers could no longer see one another easily, the twists and turns of the road obscuring the view ahead and behind. Each carriage and wagon was now a solitary unit, inching forward through the cold, their drivers vigilant for any sign of danger on the narrowing, icy path.

The sun began to set, but camping in the heavy snow seemed out of the question. They would likely end up sleeping in their carriages, along with sharing their shelter with their driver and a guard or two. Some type of barrier from the elements would need to be constructed for the horses, as well. 

“Barbara, how are we doing up there?” shouted the driver of her carriage.

“Cold!” she called back, her voice muffled by the wind.

“In a few more miles-” the driver began, but his voice suddenly cut off.

“In a few more miles, what?” Barbara asked, peering out of the small window facing the driver’s seat.

Silence.

A knot of unease tightened in her stomach. She pushed the window open further and saw nothing but the swirling snow and an empty driver’s seat. “Sam?” Barbara called. “Sam!?”

“This is not good,” Hark muttered.

“The horses are still pulling,” Barbara said. “I’m going to try to get them to halt.”

She pushed open the carriage door, the icy wind immediately lashing at her face as snowflakes whirled around her. Gripping the edge of the door tightly, she pulled herself out, climbing along the side of the still-moving carriage. The wheels crunched through the snow below, but she kept her focus, her hands gripping the cold wood as she carefully made her way to the front.

Snow fell steadily, clinging to her blonde hair and shoulders as she reached the driver’s seat. To her alarm, the seat was empty. Sam was gone. Without hesitation, she sat down in the driver’s seat, her fingers quickly finding the reins. With a firm tug, she brought the horses to a stop, the caravan gradually slowing as the heavy snowfall continued to blanket the world in eerie silence.

“Sam!” she shouted, but there was no response. “Sam!”

“If we leave this carriage, we’ll freeze to death,” Hark warned from inside. “We have no choice, Barbara.”

“We can’t leave him out in this snowstorm,” she said firmly. “He’s out there somewhere.”

Kaldrin Kross’ luxury carriage came into view from behind, stopping close to Barbara’s. Witt, Kaldrin’s private driver, stood up, still holding the reins. “What’s going on?” he asked.

“Our driver vanished,” Barbara replied. “Did you see Sam back there?”

“No, nothing but snow. We can’t stop, Barbara. It’s getting bad out here.”

“We can’t leave him out there to die,” she insisted.

“We have to keep moving!” Witt shouted.

“What in the four hells is going on?” Kaldrin barked from his open door. “Why are we stopped?”

“Get back in your carriage!” Barbara ordered. “Our driver just vanished. He’s out there alone.”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Kaldrin shot back, his temper flaring. “This is my caravan, and I demand-”

Suddenly, a massive, white form materialized out of the snow, a monstrous silhouette covered in thick, matted hair. Before anyone could react, it lunged, yanking Witt from his seat with terrifying speed. Witt’s yelp was cut short, swallowed by the storm as the creature vanished into the falling snow just as quickly as it had appeared.

Kaldrin’s eyes widened in terror. Without a word, he jumped into the snow, running desperately towards Barbara’s carriage. Behind him, the monstrous figure returned, its hulking form smashing into Kaldrin’s luxury carriage with a force that shattered the wood to splinters. The sound of destruction filled the air, a succession of blows from its fists reducing the carriage into a pile of fine green-painted wood in moments.

“Triskaris, save me!” Kaldrin screamed, his voice full of fear as he sprinted towards Barbara’s carriage.

Barbara, her heart racing, spun around and whipped the reins, urging the horses into a gallop. The carriage jolted forward just as Kaldrin reached it, Hark and Xan leaning out to haul him inside.

The horses surged ahead, the carriage hurtling through the snow-covered road as the white beast roared behind them, its cry a haunting echo in the storm. They dared not look back, the horror of what they had witnessed driving them forward into the blinding white.

“Were you the final carriage?” Hark asked Kaldrin.

“Yes, yes. We were the last one,” Kaldrin said, catching his breath. His face suddenly went flat. “Oh no! My horses!” 

“Your precious horses are the least of your worries,” Hark barked back as the carriage lurched wildly as the horses pulled it at top speed. 

“It’s back!” Xan yelled from the carriage.

Barbara turned her head, and her heart lurched as she saw the creature – an indistinct blur in the swirling snow – rapidly gaining on them, moving far faster than the carriage. Without hesitation, she drew her sword and climbed onto the roof, her boots slipping slightly on the icy surface. Below, Xan kicked open the carriage door, hanging halfway out with his small crossbow in hand. His blonde hair whipped wildly and his eyes narrowed as he strained to see through the blinding snow.

The storm obscured any clear view of what this thing might be, but the terror in the air was real. From inside the carriage, Kaldri began to whimper, his cries growing louder as the beast closed in. “Keep quiet, Kross!” Hark bellowed. 

From outside, Xan’s voice cut through the howling wind. “Here it comes!” he shouted.

A sudden, violent jolt sent the carriage lurching, and Barbara was thrown onto her stomach, her sword clattering from her grip and skidding across the roof. She groaned, struggling to regain her footing. Below her, Xan clung tightly to the side of the carriage as he readied his shot. 

“Look out!” Barbara cried out as she scrambled to her feet.

Xan didn’t hesitate. He squeezed the trigger, and the crossbow bolt shot through the storm, disappearing into the swirling snow. An ugly, guttural roar erupted from behind them. Xan swung back inside the carriage, his hands moving quickly as he loaded another bolt. He leaned back out, firing a second shot just as the creature came into view. He saw a hulking silhouette, all teeth and fury, panting and roaring with primal rage.

“Kill it, boy!” Hark shouted from inside.

“What is it?” Xan screamed, his voice filled with fear as he flung himself back inside to reload. The carriage shuddered violently as a massive fist smashed through the back, sending splinters flying into the snow. Xan gritted his teeth and leaned out again, squinting through the storm, trying to aim for what he believed was the creature’s head. He fired, the bolt sailing into the whiteness, bringing another agonized roar, louder and more ferocious than before.

Barbara, having regained her balance, stood once more on the carriage roof, her legs steady despite the hurtling ride. She edged cautiously toward the back, her eyes catching Xan hanging out of the side door, his crossbow raised and ready. “There it is!” he yelled, his voice barely audible over the wind and the beast’s enraged howls. He fired once more.

The beast let out a final, ear-piercing howl, and then it was gone, disappearing into the storm as suddenly as it had appeared. Barbara quickly scrambled back to the driver’s seat, grabbing the reins with a firm grip. She whipped them hard, urging the horses onward, faster, needing to put as much distance between them and the creature that had been pursuing them.

Xan collapsed inside the carriage, his hands shaking as he loaded yet another bolt, his face pale and drawn. “Is it gone?” he asked.

“I hope so,” Kaldrin whimpered. He was a pitiful sight, hunched and shaking in his seat, and Maribella, sitting beside him, looked at him with disgust.

“That thing… whatever it was… I’ve never seen anything like it,” Xan muttered, trying to calm his racing heart.

Hark grunted in agreement, his eyes still peering into the darkness behind through the fist-hole as if expecting the creature to return at any moment. “Let’s just hope we don’t see it again.”

The carriage hurtled forward through the storm, the only sounds now the pounding hooves of the horses.

After several long minutes, the carriage up ahead finally came into view through the swirling snow. The driver turned and saw Barbara’s horses and carriage barreling towards her. Quickly, she stood up and waved both hands, shouting, “Whoa! Whoa!”

Barbara yanked on the reins, bringing her horses to a grinding halt in the deep snow. Both carriages shuddered as they came to a stop.

“Something bad is back there!” Barbara yelled.

“What?” the other driver called back, her voice muffled by the thick snowfall.

“Keep moving!” Barbara shouted louder, pointing forward frantically.

The driver hesitated briefly before turning back around, sitting down, and urging her horses forward once more. The caravan resumed its slow march through the snow.

Another thirty minutes passed. The carriages in the caravan came to a halt. They were now clustered closely together in a long line along the narrow road in the high hills. Royal guards moved from carriage to carriage, inspecting for damage and ensuring everything was still intact.

One of the guards, Leo, approached Barbara’s carriage. “Where’s Kross? What happened to his carriage?” he asked.

Just then, Kaldrin opened the door and jumped down into the snow, his face pale. “I’m here,” he said.

“Is the path always this bad?” Leo asked, gesturing at the swirling snow.

“No, it’s not,” Kaldrin replied. “This is an unusually heavy snowstorm. We got unlucky.”

Leo’s eyes narrowed. “Where’s your carriage?”

Kaldrin frowned. “Destroyed. Witt and Sam were taken by this thing. We’re not safe here.”

Leo’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”

Kaldrin took a deep breath. “I think a yeti has wandered too far south.”

“A what?” Leo asked.

“A yeti,” Kaldrin repeated. “They’re indigenous to the Endless North. One must have come too far south.”

Leo turned to Barbara. “Barbara, is this true?”

Barbara nodded. “I don’t know exactly what it was, but it snatched Sam and Witt right out of their seats. Then it smashed Kaldrin’s carriage to pieces.”

Leo’s face went blank. “For the love of Triskaris… What are we supposed to do, Kross?”

“How should I know?” Kaldrin shouted, his voice rising in panic. “It’s bad enough we’re stuck in a once-in-a-decade snowstorm with no wine! You’re the one with the sword and crossbow!”

“For the love of Triskaris,” Leo muttered a second time. 

“Can the horses travel through the night?” Kaldrin asked, grasping at any solution.

“What? No!” Leo snapped. “I need to warn the others. Get back in your carriage. Now!”

Without waiting for a response, Leo hurried off on his horse, making his way down the line of wagons.

“We can’t just sit in our carriage and hope for the best,” Kaldrin said to the others. “This thing could punch holes through the walls at any second.”

“Then why don’t you stand outside and take the first watch?” Barbara snapped.

“Why should I do that?” Kaldrin whined.

“I wouldn’t trust you to watch two goldfish mating, Kross,” Hark growled. “I’ll take the first watch.”

“Very well,” Kaldrin replied, sinking back into his seat. “Did any of you happen to bring any wine?”

Barbara shot Kaldrin a long, hard look before joining Hark in the driver’s seat. Her sword was drawn, resting across her lap, while Hark’s hammer was positioned between his legs, ready to be swung at a second’s notice.

The snow continued to fall heavily, coating Barbara and Hark in a thick layer of white powder. Within minutes, Leo emerged from the darkness on foot, carrying a torch, accompanied by another guard named Winston.

“We don’t have many options, Barbara,” Leo said, his breath visible in the cold air. “The other guards and drivers are going to cram into the wagons and try to sleep. We’ll move out at first light.”

“It’s grim to say out loud,” Winston added, “but my hope is that Witt and Sam will be enough to keep this thing… occupied for a while.”

“Lord Kross?” Leo called out loudly.

“Yes?” came Kaldrin’s voice from inside the carriage.

“What do you know about yetis?” Leo asked.

“They’re big and deadly. The end.”

Leo shook his head in disgust. “If the Queen only knew what dead weight this guy has been.”

“He’s worse than dead weight. He cost us two wagons full of food,” Winston muttered.

“And embarrassed the crown in Crowshead with the whores,” Hark added.

“I can hear you,” came Kaldrin’s voice.

Leo sighed, shaking his head. “Listen, if you see anything, make as much noise as possible. There are two dozen guards and ten drivers. We need everyone alert.”

Barbara and Hark nodded, their eyes glancing around the snowy landscape as they prepared for the long night ahead.

“Try to get some sleep, Barbara,” Hark said. “You can take the next watch.”

Barbara shook her head. “I’m wide awake. I don’t think I can sleep.” 

“You’ve got to try. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Barbara stood up and stretched her arms as the snow fell heavily around her. “If you see anything-”

“I’ve got your back, my friend,” Hark interrupted. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Barbara smiled and hopped down into the snow, opened the door to the carriage, and climbed in. “Move over, Kaldrin.” 

Barbara awoke with a jolt of panic. She slapped open the window and peered outside. The first light of dawn was breaking. She kicked open the door of the carriage and leaped into the snow. “Hark!” she called out. “Hark!” She dashed back and forth around the line of carriages, which were now buried beneath inches of snow. “Hark! Where are you?” she cried again.

“Barbara?” came Hark’s voice from nearby.

Barbara nearly jumped out of her skin. “Hark!”

“I was just taking a quick whiz by that tree over there. Is everything alright?” Hark asked, emerging from the falling snow.

Barbara exhaled sharply, her breath visible in the cold air. “Don’t scare me like that,” she said, her voice trembling.

Hark chuckled warmly. “Figured I’d let you get some decent sleep. We’ve got a long day ahead. We should reach Everton by nightfall.”

“Aren’t you exhausted?” she asked.

“Aye. About ready to drop where I stand,” Hark admitted.

Barbara shook her head. “Get in the carriage and get some rest. I’ll take care of the horses.”

Leo appeared on horseback. “Barbara, how is everyone?” 

“We’re good,” she replied. “Hark stood watch the entire night. He never woke us up!” 

“I know,” he said, smiling. “I spent a couple hours with him. He’s the best of us.”

Barbara smiled at Leo’s kind words towards her friend. “He is, isn’t he?”

“He taught me more dirty poems than I’ve ever heard in my life.”

She laughed at this. “I don’t want to know.”

“Surely, you don’t,” Leo replied. 

“Let’s move!” came the shout of a royal guard towards the front of the caravan. 

“Mind if I ride alongside you this morning?” Leo asked as Barbara brushed the snow from the driver’s seat. 

“I’d like that,” she replied, sitting down and whipping the reins.

By midday, the snowfall had ceased, leaving a pristine blanket of white over the landscape. The gentle hills gradually gave way to a towering mountain known as Mortscalimor Peak as the group approached the border of the Endless North. The road remained narrow as it began to coil around the steep heights of the mountain.

Mortscalimor Peak loomed before them, a towering giant rising from the landscape, its snow-covered slopes gleaming coldly in the pale, cloudy light. The mountain’s rugged cliffs, sharp and jagged, were softened by the thick snow that blanketed every surface. Towering pine trees lined the mountainside, their branches bowed under the heavy weight of snow. 

As the road wound higher and higher, the air grew thinner, and the sense of isolation deepened. Everton, their destination, lay nestled near the peak. The beauty of Mortscalimor Peak was undeniable, but it also held a certain foreboding, as if guarding the secrets of the Endless North beyond.

The climb was slow and arduous, the path treacherous with ice in places, but the view of the mountain and its surroundings was breathtaking. Each turn revealed new vistas – icy waterfalls frozen in mid-cascade, snow-covered ridges disappearing into the clouds, and the endless expanse of the north stretching out below.

CHAPTER 8

Everton was a tiny, secluded village located near the top of Mortscalimor Peak. The village consisted of just two dozen log cabins, six built in neat rows on either side of a well-kept dirt road. There were no shops or inns or taverns or temples. At the end of the dirt road sat a massive manor built tastefully out of stone, logs, and planks of wood painted brown and black.

This manor was an imposing structure, towering three stories high, with its thick wooden beams and stone foundations exuding both strength and wealth. It stood as the centerpiece of Everton, sitting at the base of the peak, which extended up into the clouds. The exterior was meticulously maintained, with tasteful, decorative lamps casting an orange glow against the polished wood. Torches flickered near the front entrance, positioned along the sturdy wooden fence that enclosed the manor.

Next to the manor, a well-kept stable housed a collection of fine horses, their coats sleek and well-groomed, clearly bred and cared for by skilled stablehands. The stable itself was spacious, built with the same attention to detail as the manor.

As the caravan approached, the manor’s guards emerged to meet them. There were ten in total, men and women alike, each one large, silent, and imposing. They wore fine fur coats over regal chainmail, the craftsmanship of their armor evident even from a distance. These were not royal guards, but privately hired protectors. Longswords hung at their belts, while crossbows were slung across their broad backs.

The caravan came to a halt in front of the manor, where the guards stood in a formidable line. Their eyes were sharp, assessing the newcomers with detached professionalism. One of the guards, a towering figure with a neatly trimmed beard and a fur-lined cloak that brushed the snow, stepped forward to greet the caravan. 

Kaldrin Kross climbed over Hark, kicked open the carriage door, and hopped down onto the snowy ground. The guard standing nearby nodded respectfully. “Welcome back, Lord Kross.”

“Out of my way,” Kaldrin snapped, pushing the guard aside as he stormed toward the manor’s entrance.

“Where’s my brother?” the guard called after him.

Kaldrin stopped abruptly and turned towards the guard. “Witt’s dead. Eaten by a yeti… or something.”

The guard’s expression remained unreadable as he turned back toward the caravan. “Unload the crates,” he ordered the royal guards. “Stack them neatly under the roof by the stables. You may spend the night here in Everton. The two cabins at the far end of the road are yours. You leave at first light.” Without waiting for a response, the guard spun on his heel and headed towards the manor door.

Barbara quickly followed after him. “Excuse me,” she called out.

The guard turned around. “Yes?”

“We hitched a ride with the caravan. My name is Barbara Dignity-”

Before she could finish, Kaldrin Kross appeared in the doorway of the manor. “Barbara,” he said. “Come inside. Bring your companions.”

The guard gestured toward the manor’s entrance. “After you,” he said with a slight bow. Hark, Xan, and Maribella quickly jumped down from their carriage and followed Barbara towards the manor.

Inside the manor, luxury and opulence greeted them at every turn. The thick carpets underfoot were a deep, rich red, so plush that they seemed to swallow the sound of footsteps, adding an air of hushed reverence to the room. The furniture, consisting of grand chairs and sprawling sofas, upholstered in dark velvet, with intricate carvings along the wooden frames. Every surface was polished to a shine, reflecting the flickering light of the fire that burned in the large stone fireplace.

Above, chandeliers hung from the high, vaulted ceilings, their elaborate structures crafted from the intertwining antlers of deer, each one shaped and positioned to form an elegant, almost otherworldly appearance. The light from these chandeliers bathed the room in a soft, golden glow, casting intricate shadows along the walls.

The walls were adorned with an impressive array of paintings, each one depicting scenes of grand hunts, ancient battles, and gorgeous landscapes. The frames of these paintings were gilded, adding a touch of gold that contrasted beautifully with the deep, wood-paneled walls. Between the paintings, tapestries hung, their fine threads woven into depictions of deer and wolves, adding to the room’s sense of grandeur.

Doors led off in every direction, their dark wood polished to a mirror-like finish, with brass handles that gleamed in the firelight. The entire room exuded an aura of wealth, power, and taste.

In the center of this opulent setting, four men sat comfortably in the high-backed chairs, each one cradling a goblet of dark red wine. Their clothing was of the finest quality – tailored jackets of deep velvet and silk, embroidered coats, and boots of expensive leather. These were men accustomed to the finer things in life. Their demeanor was calm, their movements slow and deliberate as they sipped their wine. The deep red of the wine in their goblets matched the carpets. 

Kaldrin Kross had shed his heavy fur coat, which now lay draped over the back of a nearby chair. He had unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest, slightly flushed from the rapid succession of wine he had consumed. He was restless, pacing slightly, his eyes flicking toward the fire and then back to his glass as he drained it and immediately refilled it from a bottle on the table beside him.

The fire in the hearth crackled softly. The stone mantle above the fireplace was adorned with an array of hunting trophies – skulls of beasts, ornate daggers, and a pair of crossed swords that shimmered in the firelight.

Standing near the fireplace was a butler, a short, balding man with an air of quiet professionalism. His eyes were sharp, missing nothing as he surveyed the room. He was dressed in a simple tailored suit, his hands clasped behind his back as he waited, ever attentive to the needs of those he served.

One of the men seated by the fire, a thin man with a thin mustache and sharp features and an aristocratic air, rose from his chair. He set his goblet down on a small table beside him and turned to face the newcomers.

“Welcome,” he said in a smooth voice. “I am Rendrick Valsheer, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” His eyes seemed to judge Barbara and her companions.

Kaldrin, still holding his goblet of wine, waved his hand somewhat dismissively. “Barbara, these are my associates. Rendrick Valsheer,” he gestured to the man who had just introduced himself, “and the others you’ll meet soon enough.” He then looked directly at Barbara. “And this is Barbara Dignity, along with her companions Hark, Xan, and Maribella.”

Rendrick gave a slight bow before offering a clammy, weak handshake to each of them. After the formalities, he returned to his seat, lifting his goblet to his lips. “Kaldrin mentioned the caravan was two wagons light. Please, explain.”

“Tell him, Barbara, how we were beset by barbarians-” Kaldrin began.

“Silence, Kaldrin,” Rendrick snapped.

Barbara felt a wave of nervousness wash over her. 

“I… I’m not completely sure,” Barbara began hesitantly. “The caravan came to a halt in the plains, two days out from the Pentacle. There were a large number of men-”

“Barbarians,” Kaldrin interjected.

Rendrick’s cold gaze silenced Kaldrin once more. “I’m going to make an assumption, Lady Dignity,” Rendrick said, his tone calculated. “That a group of men, angry with Kaldrin for whatever reason, stopped the caravan and took two wagons filled with crates of food as some form of payment owed. Am I correct?”

Barbara clasped her hands behind her back. “It’s possible,” she admitted cautiously.

“It’s not only possible, it’s likely,” Rendrick replied, his voice matter-of-fact. “Was his carriage taken during this standoff?”

“No,” Barbara answered. “It was demolished by… some large creature that caught us in a snowstorm. It took his driver, Witt, and our driver, a man named Sam.”

Rendrick sipped his wine with a casual air, though his eyes never left Barbara. “The timber I’m shipping to the Pentacle is worth many times more than the crates of produce. We’ve sent two caravans of timber so far, putting the Pentacle in serious debt to Everton. We supply half of Valkarath with timber, did you know that?”

“I didn’t,” Barbara replied.

“Have you heard the name Jasper Vayne?” Rendrick asked.

“Lord Kross mentioned him, yes,” she replied.

“Lord Kross,” Rendrick echoed with a sneer, casting a look of disgust at Kaldrin. “Indeed.”

“Kaldrin-” Barbara began, but Rendrick pressed on.

“Jasper Vayne’s great-great-great-grandfather founded Everton over one hundred eighty years ago. It has been passed down through his bloodline over the years. The guards live in the cabins, and we, his family, live here. I am his second cousin. Here,” he gestured to the other men, “sit two of his brothers and his uncle.” The three men nodded politely, their expressions unreadable.

“Jasper currently runs Everton, and in time, he will pass it down to one of his sons.”

Barbara nodded politely.

Rendrick’s eyes narrowed as he continued. “Kaldrin Kross lives here by order of the Queen. Every time Jasper earns an ounce of gold, the Queen gets her gram. If I had my way, I’d feed Lord Kross to the bears. But since we live on this side of Valkarath, we must respect her authority.”

Barbara glanced at her friends, seeing the anxiety in their faces. The air in the room felt heavy.

“What business do you have in Everton?” Rendrick asked.

“Silent P-Pines,” Barbara stuttered, clearing her throat quickly. “We are headed to Silent Pines.”

“And what business do you have in Silent Pines?” Rendrick asked firmly.

“Our business is our own,” Barbara replied as politely as she could, her voice trembling under the pressure. “Sir.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Lady Dignity,” Rendrick said coldly. “Silent Pines is under the jurisdiction of Jasper Vayne. Therefore, your business is his business.”

Barbara glanced towards Kaldrin, hoping for some support, but he was looking away, his face flushed with embarrassment after being so thoroughly insulted. “I have promised to protect something vital to the survival of Valkarath from those who would destroy it. I will not disrupt Silent Pines, nor will harm come to any of your guards, or to the land itself. We will be quick, and then we will depart immediately. Your cooperation is deeply appreciated, sir.”

Rendrick’s eyes narrowed as he studied Barbara. “Tell me exactly what you’re protecting, and I’ll have my guards take care of this for you.” 

“With respect, Lord Valsheer, this is an undertaking I have promised I would personally oversee,” Barbara replied. 

Rendrick took a sip of his wine, and nodded his head slowly, as if considering her words in his mind. “Very well. I will grant you four days to complete your task. Upon completion, you shall return here before departing immediately.” 

“Thank you, sir,” Barbara said, hiding her relief. 

“I would like to invite you and your companions to sleep here, with us,” Rendrick said as he looked towards the butler. “Your rooms will be prepared immediately.” The butler nodded and quickly walked towards one of the many doors. “In the meantime, please make yourselves at home. There is plenty to eat and drink. Please ensure the dwarf doesn’t over-consume the wine.” 

Hark looked towards Barbara, his anxiety outweighing his desire to respond to the insult in kind. 

Dearest Evelyn,

I hope this letter finds you well, though I must admit my nerves are rattled as I write. The manor where I’m currently staying is nothing short of opulent, a place of wealth and luxury that, in many ways, reminds me of the palace at Castle on Silver Lake where I grew up. Though it doesn’t quite match the grandeur and elegance of the palace, it is still an incredibly fine place, with red carpets that seem to swallow your footsteps and elaborate chandeliers made of deer antlers. The furniture is plush and exquisite, and the walls are lined with expensive paintings, each one more grand than the last. It’s strange, really, to find such luxury in this remote corner of the world.

Despite the outward beauty, I find myself filled with anxiety. There is something unsettling about this place, something that makes me long for the simplicity of our journey rather than the splendor that surrounds me here. The man in charge, Rendrick Valsheer, is every bit as imposing as his surroundings. He treats Kaldrin Kross with a cold disdain, dismissing him with a sharpness that makes me wary of what lies beneath his calm exterior. I can’t help but feel that I’m walking on thin ice here, that every word I say is being weighed and measured. The way he spoke to Kaldrin – who, despite his faults, is still someone to be reckoned with – was both shocking and a reminder of how power can be wielded so effortlessly by those who possess it.

I must admit, my thoughts often drift to you, Evelyn. I miss you more than I can express. This journey feels heavier without you by my side, but your memory gives me strength. I look forward to receiving your letters, hoping they will arrive soon and bring with it some much-needed light.

But I cannot linger here much longer. My mind is fixed on Silent Pines and the task ahead. I must find the unicorn and ensure its safety before it’s too late. The sooner I leave this place, the better I will feel. 

Please give my regards to our friends in Lucidia. I think of them often, and I wish them well. But most of all, know that I carry you with me in spirit, and that your memory is a lifeline in this strange place.

With all my heart,

Barbara

Barbara awoke to the sound of sharp rapping on her door. As she lay in the luxurious bed within her private chambers, a sense of urgency washed over her. Without hesitation, she sprang up and began dressing. To her surprise, she noticed that her armor had been cleaned and polished while she slept, something she hadn’t requested. Her clothing, too, had been cleaned and neatly arranged, which only added to her unease. The persistent rapping continued at the door.

Quickly, she threw on her clothing and answered the door, where the butler stood waiting. “Breakfast is served, Lady Dignity,” he announced with a respectful bow. She nodded quickly and followed him down the hall.

The butler led her to a grand dining hall, and as she stepped inside, the extravagance of the room struck her. The dining table was long and ornately carved, covered with a pristine white tablecloth that nearly shimmered under the light of the massive chandeliers overhead. These chandeliers were made from the same intricate deer antlers as those in the other rooms. The walls were lined with tapestries depicting deer in various poses, and large windows draped with heavy velvet curtains allowed the morning light to filter in softly.

The table was covered with an array of dishes – freshly baked bread, roasted meats, ripe fruits, and delicate pastries. Crystal goblets filled with various juices and wines sparkled in the light.

Despite the abundance, the room was empty except for her friends, who were already seated at the far end of the table, their expressions anxious as they watched her enter. Barbara took a deep breath and approached the table. She sat down and nodded to her friends and they proceeded to eat in silence.

Outside, Barbara stood at the door with her friends, the chill morning air nipping at their faces. She turned to the butler, who had accompanied them to the door, and said, “Please thank our hosts for their hospitality.”

The butler nodded silently, then turned and retreated back into the manor. Barbara looked down the dirt road where the royal guards were busy loading timber onto the empty wagons of the caravan.

She spotted one of the guards and called out, “Leo!”

The royal guard turned, his face breaking into a warm smile. “Good morning, Barbara.”

“Good morning, Leo,” she replied as she approached him. “I have three letters for you to deliver back to the Pentacle. They’re for my… friend, Evelyn in Lucidia. Could you see that they get delivered?”

“Of course,” Leo said with a nod, taking the letters from her. “Another shipment from Elysia should arrive in a day or two.”

“Good,” Barbara replied. “Evelyn should have sent letters on that caravan.”

Leo glanced around at the manor and the surrounding area, then leaned in slightly and said, “This is one of the strangest places I’ve ever been, Barbara.”

“It is,” she said, her voice low. “I hope we’ll be on our way soon.” She gave him a small, grateful smile. “Have a safe journey back to the Pentacle, Leo.”

“Thank you, Barbara,” he replied with a nod. “Take care.”

Barbara watched as Leo turned to oversee the final preparations for departure. She felt a sense of relief, knowing that her letters would soon be on their way to Evelyn. 

Barbara rejoined her companions near the fence of the manor. She pulled out her map and knelt down, opening it carefully with her gloved hands. Her friends followed suit, kneeling beside her, their breaths visible in the cold air.

“Half a day east,” Barbara began, tracing a path with her finger, “halfway down Mortscalimor Peak is where we’ll find Silent Pines. It’s not a terribly large forest.”

Hark leaned in closer, his eyes narrowing as he studied the map. “Have you ever camped in the snow before?” he asked, glancing up at Barbara.

Barbara shook her head, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Hark, I’ve never even seen snow before this.”

Xan sneezed loudly before saying, “Neither have I.”

“I’ve never seen snow, either,” Maribella added.

Hark chuckled softly. “Well, I’ve seen it quite a few times over the years in the mountains in southern Zalkaroth. We should be fine, as long as we don’t run into any yetis.”

His attempt at humor fell flat. Barbara folded the map carefully. “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said. “Xan, are you alright?”

“I think I’m coming down with a cold,” he replied, wiping his nose with his glove. “No big deal.”

They stood up, brushing the snow from their clothes. With a final look at the manor, they began preparing for their departure, each of them silently bracing themselves for the cold that awaited them.

CHAPTER 9

Barbara and her companions hiked slowly down the mountain, the towering presence of Mortscalimor Peak looming behind them as they made their way towards Silent Pines. The air was crisp and still, with the cold biting at their cheeks. Thankfully, the sky remained clear. No snow fell from above, but the thick blanket of snow on the ground made their descent treacherous and exhausting.

The usual camaraderie that had marked their journey was absent. Instead of songs and stories, a heavy silence hung over the group. Hark, who often filled the air with tales and light-hearted banter, kept his mouth shut, his eyes focused on the path ahead. Xan and Maribella were just as quiet, each of them lost in their own thoughts. 

The snow underfoot was a constant challenge. It was deep in some places, packed and uneven in others, and the ground beneath them was riddled with hidden pitfalls. Every so often, one of them would misstep, their foot sinking into a concealed hole or slipping into a burrow, sending them tumbling into the snow. Without fail, the nearest friend would reach out, offering a hand to help lift them back to their feet. 

As they trudged through the snow, the occasional deer would appear among the trees, their movements graceful. The sight of these creatures, so at home in this frozen world, was a small comfort, a reminder that life persisted even in the coldest of places.

After a particularly steep descent, Xan finally broke the silence, his voice low but clear in the still air. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined the forest,” he said, wiping snow from his furs.

Hark glanced over at him. “You get used to it after a while,” he replied. “The trick is to keep moving. Once you stop, that’s when the cold really gets to you.”

Xan nodded, pulling his furs tighter around him. “I’ll take your word for it. But I have to say, I prefer the warmth of a good hearth to this.”

Hark managed a small smile, his breath visible in the cold air. “You and me both, boy. But there’s something about the cold that sharpens the senses. Makes you aware of every step, every breath.”

“Or every fall,” Xan muttered, glancing at the snow-covered ground, followed by a sneeze.

Hark let out a soft chuckle. “Yeah, that too.”

They continued on, their pace steady but cautious. As the day wore on, the sight of the mostly-flat expanse of closely clustered pine trees of Silent Pines growing closer brought a small sense of relief. “There,” Barbara said, pointing ahead. “We made it.” 

Barbara and her companions huddled together at a vantage point on the mountainside, gazing out across the expanse of Silent Pines. The forest stretched out before them, a sea of towering pine trees. Though they could see the entire forest from their vantage point, the sheer size of it made the task ahead daunting.

Barbara scanned the landscape, her eyes narrowing as she focused on the distant treetops swaying gently in the cold breeze. “Somewhere down there is a unicorn,” she said.

“At least, we hope there is,” Hark replied.

Xan looked over at the group. “Should we split up? Cover more ground that way?” he suggested.

Hark immediately shook his head. “No. Never split up the party.”

Barbara nodded in agreement. “We’ll stick together. We’ll start at the northwestern corner,” she pointed to a distant point in the forest, “and then work our way down to the southeastern corner. After that, we’ll move north to the northeastern corner and then back down to the southwest. We’ll criss-cross Silent Pines. It’s the best way to ensure we cover every inch.”

Maribella glanced nervously at the dense forest below. “We only have three and a half days left. What if we take longer than that?”

Barbara took a deep breath. “I have no idea, but I don’t want to test Rendrick’s patience. We need to do this quickly, but we also need to be thorough.”

Hark adjusted his furs. “Every step counts.”

Xan sighed, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm. “It’s a lot of ground to cover, but I have a feeling we’ll find the unicorn.”

“I have the same feeling,” Barbara agreed. 

Maribella nodded. “Let’s just hope we find it before something else does.”

Barbara rose to her feet. “We move now. Stick close, keep your eyes and ears open, and stay focused.”

With that, the group descended from their vantage point, making their way towards the dark forest below. 

Silent Pines felt like stepping into another world. The trees towered above, their trunks thick and ancient. The branches, high above, intertwined so densely that only small, scattered patches of sunlight broke through.

The silence was almost unsettling. The only sounds were the muffled footsteps of Barbara and her companions, cushioned by the thick layer of pine needles and soft, undisturbed snow beneath their feet. Each step felt like an intrusion into a place that had known only stillness for countless years.

As they ventured deeper into Silent Pines, the sense of being watched grew stronger, as if the very forest was aware of their presence. The stillness, though beautiful, held an edge of tension, a reminder that this was a place untouched by human hands. The air was thick with the scent of pine and earth, which was calming, yet it also carried a hint of something powerful, something that had existed long before their arrival and would remain long after they had gone.

Barbara and her companions moved swiftly through the forest, their steps deliberate and urgent. The silence of Silent Pines only seemed to amplify the sound of their footsteps, crunching softly against the snow-covered ground. Their senses were heightened as they scanned their surroundings, eyes constantly shifting from side to side, searching for any sign of the unicorn.

Their breaths puffed out in visible clouds in the cold air, but none of them spoke. Every so often, one of them would stop abruptly, causing the others to freeze in place, hearts racing as they followed a pointing finger. But time and again, their hopes were dashed. What at first seemed to be the glimmer of white fur in the distance would turn out to be nothing more than a pale rock formation or a cluster of snow clinging to the trees.

Each false alarm brought frustration, but they pressed on. The forest seemed to play tricks on them, making it difficult to distinguish between what was real and what was imagined. The sense of urgency drove them forward.

A little past midday, they climbed up into a formation of rocks and sat together, taking a much-needed break. As they settled down, Hark opened his pouch and passed around small handfuls of dried elk meat. The jerky was tough but satisfying, a simple meal to keep them going. Though they were beginning to feel the weariness from the morning’s search, their spirits remained unshaken. They were tired, but not deterred.

The stillness of Silent Pines urged them to speak in hushed whispers, fearing they might either startle the unicorn or reveal their presence to something less friendly.

Hark, sensing the need for a good laugh, leaned in with a grin. “Alright, here’s one for you. So, there are these two orcs – big, dumb, and stubborn. They’re out in the woods and spot this elk. Naturally, neither wants to share. The first orc says, ‘That elk is mine, I saw it first!’ The second orc, not backing down, says, ‘No, it’s mine!’

“They argue back and forth, but then the first orc gets an idea. ‘Alright,’ he says, ‘let’s settle this like real orcs. Whoever can piss the farthest gets the elk!’ The second orc thinks for a second and says, ‘You’re on!’”

Hark paused. “So, the first orc steps up, whips it out, and lets loose. He gets a pretty good distance, and he’s feeling confident. But then the second orc steps up, and just as he’s about to start, he pauses and says, ‘Wait a second, there’s something I should do first.’ The first orc, confused, asks, ‘What’s that?’

“The second orc smiles and says, ‘Move the elk!’” Hark took a small bow, grinning as he looked around at his companions.

The group looked at each other, unimpressed. “Not funny,” Maribella said, shaking her head.

Suddenly, loud laughter echoed from above, startling them. “Move the elk! That’s the funniest joke I’ve ever heard!” a young man’s voice called out.

Startled, the group immediately jumped to their feet and drew their weapons.

“Hey, easy there!” said the man, his tone light and unbothered. He sat casually high at the top of the rock formation, his legs swinging absently. He was dressed in furs that draped over green leather armor, the armor barely visible beneath the thick layers. His face was pale white, with a thin brown mustache above his lip, and his expression was full of humor, showing not a hint of fear. 

Taking a noisy bite from an apple, the man continued, “Sheath your weapons. I’m no threat.”

Barbara kept her sword pointed at him. “Who are you?”

The man grinned. “You wouldn’t be able to pronounce it. Just call me Sterling.” With that, he jumped down from the rocks, landing gracefully in the midst of the group. “You’re Barbara Dignity. There’s Xander Shears, Maribella Tiller, and who could forget Harkoriltharion Orinvaldirithar?”

Hark’s eyes narrowed. “How did you know our names? Especially my full name?”

Sterling smiled wider. “In some circles, you’ve become quite well-known. Let’s just say I’ve been expecting you.”

“Expecting us? For what?” Barbara demanded, her voice rising.

Sterling quickly held a finger to his lips. “Not so loud! They might hear you.”

“Who?” Hark asked, lowering his voice.

“Those two gentlemen carrying longbows a few miles south,” Sterling replied calmly. “They’re stalking the unicorn that lives in this forest. They’ve been at it for days. Their rations are running low, and so is their patience.”

“You know about the unicorn?” Barbara asked.

“Of course,” Sterling said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “This is my forest. I live here.”

Hark wasn’t satisfied. “But how do you know about us?”

Sterling grinned mischievously. “A little crow told me,” he said, pausing for effect. “A little crow named Mr. Peeps!”

Sterling then burst into uncontrollable laughter, repeating the name with glee. “Mr. Peeps!” He continued laughing, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he looked at each of them.

Barbara, though still cautious, slowly sheathed her sword. “Does Rendrick Valsheer know of you?” she asked.

“We’ve never been introduced,” Sterling replied with a shrug. “Hey! We’re missing someone, aren’t we? Where’s Evelyn Moon?”

Barbara blushed at the mention of Evelyn’s name. “She’s home in Lucidia, studying magic with her mentor.”

“What a shame, I would love to meet her,” Sterling said.

Hark slid his hammer into his belt. “We all miss Evelyn,” he said.

“I’m sure you do,” Sterling replied.

“Can you take us to these two men with bows?” Barbara asked.

“Of course,” Sterling replied with a playful grin. “They fancy themselves serious hunters, but they bumble around like two orcs in a pissing contest.”

Hark chuckled. “I like this guy,” he said.

“And I am endlessly fond of you, Harkoriltharion,” Sterling replied with mock seriousness.

“Call me Hark,” he said, smiling.

“Hark,” Sterling said with a laugh. “Who goes there?”

Hark laughed, while Xan and Maribella exchanged exasperated looks. Xan sighed, “At least these two can keep each other amused.”

“Could you lead us to the unicorn, as well?” Barbara asked.

Sterling paused before answering. “He’s very elusive, Barbara Dignity.”

“At the very least, could you at least warn him that there are poachers out to kill him?” she tried.

“Consider it done,” he replied with a smile. He waved his arm enthusiastically. “Come on now, let’s get to those trespassers before the sun goes down.” 

With Sterling in the lead, the group moved swiftly through Silent Pines. Sterling navigated the forest with grace and ease, darting around trees, leaping over pits, and slipping through thick underbrush without the slightest effort. The group followed his lead, trying their best to keep up with his pace. Their own footsteps, though careful, were clumsy by comparison, often catching on roots or sinking into the soft forest floor.

Sterling’s energy was infectious, and though the group was focused on their mission, they couldn’t help but be drawn into his lighthearted mood. From time to time, he would hum silly tunes. Occasionally, he would glance back at them with a mischievous smile, his eyes twinkling with a secret amusement that only he seemed to understand. “Not much farther,” he would whisper as he led them deeper into Silent Pines.

The forest, which had initially seemed so foreboding, began to take on a different character under Sterling’s guidance. The tall, ancient trees no longer loomed threateningly but seemed to sway gently in the breeze. The underbrush, thick and tangled, appeared to give way just before the group reached it. Even the shadows seemed to lighten, revealing patches of soft moss and vibrant, colorful fungi that dotted the forest floor like jewels.

After nearly an hour of walking, Sterling suddenly turned to the group and held a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. He then pointed downward in a tapping motion and knelt to the ground. The group quickly followed his lead, hunching down beside him. Sterling tapped his nose and inhaled deeply. Following his cue, the others breathed in through their noses and caught the faint, unmistakable scent of smoke in the air. 

Sterling smiled.

CHAPTER 10

In the distance, two men bundled in thick furs were hunched over a small fire. Their faces were hidden by the hoods pulled low over their heads. One of the men was slowly spinning a squirrel skewered on a makeshift spit. The smoke from the fire spiraled up into the still air in a thin line. It was a meager meal for men who had clearly been in the forest for days. 

Sterling turned towards the group and exhaled slowly. “I know that squirrel,” he said with a frown. “We used to engage in deep discussions centered around the philosophies of early dwarven painters.” He sighed, shaking his head. “What a waste, to be transformed into a turd in those men’s bowels.”

“That squirrel won’t make it past their guts,” Hark whispered.

“What do you mean?” Sterling asked.

Hark ran his thumb across his throat. “It’s the end for those two.”

“Oh my,” Sterling replied.

“Is there a problem with that?” Barbara asked.

“Count me out of that business,” Sterling said.

“What?” Barbara asked, her voice rising slightly. “They’re going to murder the unicorn!”

“No, they’re not,” Sterling chuckled. “There’s zero chance of that happening.”

“Tell that to Aurion!” Barbara whispered.

Sterling’s face fell. “That was a fluke,” he began. “Aurion was… well, let’s just say he wasn’t the most vigilant of unicorns. The rest of the unicorns are now well aware of these poachers.”

“They are?” Barbara asked, her face brightening with hope. “How?”

“Word travels fast in the realm of beasts, Barbara Dignity,” Sterling replied. “Much faster than in the realms you’re used to.”

Hark nodded slowly. “You see, Barbara? Glennawar looks out for her own, unlike the dwarven gods.”

Sterling nodded in agreement. “Very true,” he said, before adding with a sigh, “except for our unfortunate friend, the squirrel over there.”

Hark frowned. “That’s it, isn’t it? I’m just like that squirrel to my gods. ‘Let him get cooked and eaten,’ they said. ‘Old Hark isn’t worth intervention.’”

Sterling frowned as well. “Stop it, Hark. Your gods clearly have bigger plans for you than they did for that squirrel.”

“Hmph,” Hark muttered.

Barbara looked towards the two men by the fire back and to Sterling. “So you’re not going to help us deal with these two?”

Sterling looked genuinely surprised. “Who, me? Heavens, no. I’m non-violent to my very bones. It goes against my beliefs to kill for sport.”

“This isn’t sport, this is righteous justice!” Barbara insisted.

“Your higher power may sanction that, but mine does not,” Sterling replied firmly.

“And who is your higher power?” Hark asked.

“Shh!” Sterling said, holding a finger to his lips. “Do you want them to hear us?”

Barbara turned to the others, her voice low. “Hark, you’ll sneak behind them and draw them out. When they stand to face you, Mari and I will take them from behind.”

“What about me?” Xan asked.

“You’ll stand by that tree over there and keep watch,” she said. “If things don’t go as planned, you’ll fill them with bolts.”

Xan nodded, a smile spreading across his face.

Barbara and Maribella positioned themselves behind a large tree, its thick trunk offering ample cover as they prepared to strike. Above them, Sterling had climbed into the branches of the tree, seeking a better view. Nearby, Xan crouched by the next tree, his crossbow loaded and ready, eyes fixed on the scene ahead. 

It had been about ten minutes, though it felt much longer in the stillness of the forest. Hark moved slowly and as quietly as possible, carefully maneuvering himself behind the two men. The poachers were now engrossed in their meal, hunched over the small fire as they picked at the cooked squirrel, their conversation reduced to low murmurs. 

Up above, Sterling suddenly made a noise that mimicked the chatter of a squirrel. Barbara and Maribella instinctively glanced up, spotting him in the branches above. He was pointing toward something in the distance behind the two men. Following his gesture, they saw Hark, who was creeping forward slowly, almost comically resembling an animated pile of furs as he moved with deliberate caution.

“Get ready,” Barbara whispered, her voice barely audible as she silently unsheathed her sword. Maribella gave a quick nod as she slipped her dagger from its sheath.

Just then, Xan sneezed loudly, the sound echoing through the stillness of the forest. Barbara’s heart sank as the two men by the fire immediately jumped to their feet. “Who’s there?” one of them shouted. They began advancing towards Xan’s tree, their hands swiftly drawing long, thin swords from their belts.

“Back here, lads,” Hark’s voice called out from the distance. The men whipped their heads around and saw the dwarf standing confidently, holding his hammer and ready for action.

“It’s a couple of sneaky cowards that don’t know the meaning of a fair fight,” one of the men barked. 

“Like the fair fight you were going to give the unicorn?” Barbara replied, stepping out from her cover, her sword shining in the dim light.

“Ah, so that’s what this is about,” the other man sneered, raising his sword with a wicked grin. “I’ll take this one. You take the dwarf,” he said to his partner.

“Gladly,” the other man replied. 

But as the first man charged towards Hark, he suddenly dropped to the ground with a howl, his body collapsing in a lifeless heap. Xan’s bolt had struck him square in the back of the neck, killing him instantly. The remaining man whirled around in shock, his eyes wide as he took in his fallen comrade. Panic flashed across his face as he turned back to Barbara. “Cowards!” he shouted, his voice trembling with rage. “Shooting a man in the back?” 

“Xan, hold your shot,” Barbara commanded. “He wants to look his killer in the eye.”

Maribella emerged from behind the tree, a smile spreading across her face as she flipped the dagger into the air, catching it with practiced ease. 

The man saw he was outnumbered and gave up. He threw his sword clattering to the ground. “It doesn’t have to come to this,” he said, the fear rising in his voice.

“Who sent you?” Barbara demanded.

The man hesitated, his eyes darting from side to side. Hark stepped forward, picked up the man’s sword, and tossed it into the brush. The man glanced briefly at Hark before returning his eyes to Barbara. “Lord Thalrakus sent me,” he repeated.

“Where is Thalrakus located?” Barbara pressed.

“Drelgaroth,” the man replied.

“Drelagroth is a big place. Will you draw me a map?” Barbara asked.

The man hesitated again. “I can’t betray him like that,” he said, his voice shaking. “I’d rather take a crossbow bolt to the neck than face the horrors Lord Thalrakus would unleash on me.”

“Very well,” Barbara said calmly. “But tell me this before we grant you a merciful end. How many villages have the undead infected?”

“A few,” the man answered. “Less than ten. Most of them near the border, along the Zyrell River. He tried to infiltrate farther north, in the village of Cranford, but was stopped by a small group of villagers and royal guards. There was a mage among them, we were told.”

“You were told this by Maldrakara, weren’t you?” Barbara asked.

The man’s eyes widened. “How did you know?” he asked.

“Where is Maldrakara now?” she ignored his question with her own.

“She’s with Lord Thalrakus,” he replied.

“How large is Thalrakus’ army?” 

The man exhaled steam from his mouth. “There ain’t many.” 

“Where’s he located?” she tried again.

“I won’t answer that,” he replied. 

“On your knees,” Barbara ordered, her voice devoid of emotion.

The man quietly wept, sinking to his knees in the snow. Barbara slowly circled behind him, her expression stern.

“May your god have mercy on your soul,” she said.

“I’m going to hell,” the man muttered, tears streaming down his face. “There will be no mercy for me.”

Barbara raised her sword high above her head, uttering a brief prayer before bringing it down swiftly. The blade sliced cleanly through the man’s neck. His lifeless body and head fell forward with dull thumps into the snow.

And with that, Barbara had killed her second living human, both of them poachers. The cause was noble, and justice had been served, but guilt began to fester. As she looked down at the lifeless body, a wave of sadness washed over her. This wasn’t like slaying the undead, this was the taking of a life, a soul that had once been like hers, full of thoughts, fears, and likely, regrets. The blood gushing into the snow was a reminder that even in the pursuit of righteousness, killing leaves a stain that was not easily washed away. She sheathed her sword as she wondered if the sadness she felt was the price of justice, a reminder that even the noblest of causes came with a cost. 

Sterling expertly climbed down the tree, his voice cutting through the silence. “I hate that you did that,” he said as he hopped onto the ground. “But I understand why you did.” 

Maribella stepped forward, staring at the man’s body as his blood slowly seeped into the snow. She studied his eerie, expressionless face. For a long moment, she stood there, silently staring at the corpse, lost in thought.

Barbara looked at Sterling. “Would you walk us back to Everton?” she asked.

“Of course,” Sterling said. “But first, I want to show you something. Something far worse than these two men. Perhaps you could help.”

Barbara nodded her head solemnly. “Sure.”

“Are you going to bury these men?” Sterling asked.

“No,” she replied. “Let your friends in the forest eat them.” 

CHAPTER 11

Sterling led the group back towards Everton, though their path veered more north than west, winding through the dense and silent woods. The air was thick with the tension of what had just transpired. Sterling, usually so full of quips and mischief, was unusually quiet, his steps deliberate as he guided them through the underbrush. His cheerful demeanor was gone, replaced by a heavy silence.

Barbara and her companions matched his mood, each lost in their own thoughts. The executions had been a solemn exercise, performed out of necessity rather than glory, and the gravity of taking human lives, even those of enemies, was a burden none of them could easily shake off.

Despite their experiences in slaying hundreds of undead, facing relentless waves of creatures that had long since lost their humanity, killing living, breathing men was different. The undead were a force to be reckoned with, a mindless threat that demanded swift and ruthless eradication. But these men, poachers though they were, had names, faces, probably families and loved ones. They weren’t driven by some unnatural hunger or twisted curse but by their own choices, however misguided.

As they walked, the forest seemed to reflect their somber mood. The trees stood tall and silent, their branches barely rustling in the light breeze. The sky above was overcast and becoming dark. Even the birds, which had occasionally chirped or fluttered in the canopy above, were absent, leaving only the sound of their footsteps crunching through the snow to break the stillness.

Barbara’s mind drifted back to the look in the poacher’s eyes just before she delivered the final blow. There had been fear, but also a resignation that she found eerie. To see it in the eyes of a living man, someone who could have made different choices, left her with a hollow feeling in her chest. However, she understood that he was too dangerous to be kept alive.

Hark silently walked with his hammer strapped to his belt. Maribella and Xan were similarly subdued, their expressions distant as they processed the events in their own ways. The camaraderie that often lifted their spirits was missing, replaced by a shared sense of introspection.

As the group trudged on, the path ahead grew steeper as they moved deeper into the northern reaches of the forest. Barbara couldn’t help but wonder what Sterling was about to show them. 

Sterling finally broke the silence. “We’ll reach it soon,” he said, as if answering their thoughts. 

As night fell, the group found themselves standing before a tall wooden fence, its imposing presence emphasized by the small but sharp metal spikes that jutted out in every direction along the top. The fence stretched endlessly in both directions, disappearing into the darkness beyond the reach of their eyes. The air carried  the smell of food cooking over distant fires. 

Sterling’s expression became dark as he turned to face the group. “Jasper Vayne is the worst kind of villain,” he began. “He tells everyone his family became rich from selling timber, and while that’s marginally true, the real wealth comes from behind this fence.”

Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “What is it?” she asked.

Sterling sighed. “A silver mine,” he said. “Worked by dwarven slaves.”

Hark gritted his teeth. “Dwarven slaves?” 

“Dwarven slaves,” Sterling repeated. “They’re trapped here in this mine, forced to dig for silver. The rest of them are made to cut down the trees that Vayne ships across Zalkarath. The logging camp is a few miles east of here. Those guards you’ve seen posted around his mansion? They’re not just guards. They’re slavemasters. Overseers.”

Barbara felt a chill run down her spine as she listened to Sterling’s words. The realization of what lay behind the fence, hidden from the world, made her blood run cold. “Slavery is outlawed in Zalkarath,” Barbara said. 

“Yet it thrives,” Sterling replied.

“How many of them live here?” Hark asked.

“Around two hundred here at the mines,” Sterling answered. “Another three hundred in the timber camp.” 

“So we should break them free, right now,” Maribella said. 

“It’s not that easy,” Sterling replied. “They’ll be slaughtered in droves by Vayne’s men.” 

“Let’s set up camp,” Barbara said quietly. “I need to think this over.”

“There’s nothing to think over,” Sterling interjected firmly. “You must report this to the Queen.”

“Couldn’t we just… burn down that big house?” Maribella suggested.

“What good will that do?” Barbara replied, shaking her head. “Besides, there are innocent people in there – children, their mothers, servants.”

“So let’s kill Jasper Vayne and his brothers and cousins and uncles,” Maribella insisted.

“Aye,” Hark added, nodding in agreement. “I like the sound of that.”

Barbara turned to Maribella, her expression stern. “You’re too young to be this bloodthirsty, Mari. And Hark, don’t encourage her. Sterling’s right. We have to report this to the Queen.”

“I’m with Mari on this one, Barbara,” Xan chimed in. “They’re a bunch of aristocrats, not fighters. We can handle this ourselves.”

“No,” Barbara replied firmly.

“What’s the Queen going to do?” Xan challenged.

“She can send in the royal guards to arrest this wicked family,” Sterling explained.

“Exactly,” Barbara agreed.

“It’ll be a bloodbath,” Hark warned. “They won’t go quietly.”

Barbara sighed deeply. “I’m not risking your lives.”

“But you’ll risk the guards’ lives?” Xan argued.

“They swore to defend the crown,” Barbara snapped back. “They signed their lives away the moment they became royal guards. It’s part of their oath.”

“Barbara is right on this one,” Sterling said.

“Thank you, Sterling,” Barbara said.

“Fine,” Maribella said with frustration in her voice. 

“Sterling,” Barbara said, “I would be honored if you would join us on our journey back to the Pentacle.”

Sterling shook his head gently. “My home is here.”

Barbara persisted. “I understand that, but we’ll be traveling on foot. On the way here, we were attacked by a large beast. I believe your skills as a woodsman would be invaluable to us.”

Sterling considered her words for a moment before replying, “I’ll do this – I’ll guide you to the base of Mortscalimor Peak, but after that, I must return to Silent Pines.”

Barbara studied him for a long moment, her eyes searching his. “Please, Sterling. Join us,” she urged.

Sterling hesitated before offering a small smile. “This is my home, Barbara Dignity. I can’t leave.”

She sighed deeply. “Very well. Let’s set up camp.”

The following day, the group approached Everton at mid-morning. Snowflakes began to drift down from the gray sky. The gentle snowfall gave the place an almost serene quality. Everton, with its log cabins along the dirt road, almost seemed peaceful. 

As they drew closer to the manor at the end of the dirt road, the crunch of snow underfoot was the only sound, until the occasional murmur of voices and the snort of horses from the stables reached their ears. Several guards, clad in thick furs, moved about near the stables. “The next caravan arrives tomorrow. Move those empty crates,” said a voice.

The group approached the manor slowly, their hearts pounding in their chests as the snow crunched beneath their boots. The imposing structure loomed before them. The manor felt more forbidding than ever, as if it were a beast lying in wait. Despite the fear gnawing at them, they moved forward with determination, ready to face the crooked Vaynes. 

Barbara approached the door with a confident nod to the guards stationed near the stables. “Good morning,” she greeted them. The guards acknowledged her with brief nods before returning to their work, lifting empty crates in pairs. Just as Barbara raised her hand to knock, the door swung open silently, revealing the butler standing in the entrance. He bowed deeply, his face expressionless, and gestured for her to enter. Without a word, Barbara stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the manor’s interior enveloping her as the door quietly closed behind her.

Inside, Rendrick, Kaldrin, and two of the Vayne brothers sat in a semicircle around the roaring fireplace, their faces lit by the orange glow of the fire. As Barbara entered, Rendrick quickly stood, a thin smile playing on his lips as he approached, holding a goblet of wine.

“Welcome back, Lady Dignity,” he greeted. “That was quick.”

“Lord Valsheer,” Barbara acknowledged with a slight nod.

“I trust your business in Silent Pines has concluded?” he asked, his tone polite.

“It has,” Barbara replied.

Rendrick turned towards Sterling, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you before,” he said.

“That’s because you’ve never seen me before,” Sterling replied, flashing a charming smile.

Rendrick hesitated for a moment, then extended his hand. “Rendrick Valsheer,” he introduced himself, the smile on his face growing slightly more forced.

Sterling glanced at the offered hand with disdain, making no move to accept it. Rendrick’s smile faltered, and after an awkward pause, he withdrew his hand and turned back to Barbara, clearing his throat. “Good,” he said, regaining his composure. “May I offer you some wine?”

“We’ll be leaving immediately,” Barbara replied.

A dark smile grew across Rendrick’s face. “Of course, of course,” he said smoothly. “But first, tell me something, Lady Dignity.”

Barbara stared at him, her eyes narrowing but remaining silent.

“When you sliced into that man’s neck as he knelt helplessly in the snow – how did that make you feel?” Rendrick asked, his voice laced with malice.

“What?” Barbara gasped, her eyes widening in shock.

“And you, boy,” Rendrick continued, turning his gaze to Xan. “When you shot a crossbow bolt into his partner’s neck, did you feel anything? Any satisfaction?”

Barbara’s hand instinctively reached for her sword, but before she could draw it, the door behind them burst open with a thunderous crash.

“Take them,” Rendrick ordered sharply.

A dozen guards swarmed through the door, grabbing Barbara and her companions from behind before they could react. Cold shackles snapped around their wrists, the metal biting into their skin. Xan struggled fiercely, kicking at the guards, but one of them roughly covered his mouth with a hand and yanked him backward. “Barbara!” he cried out, his voice muffled and desperate.

Sterling’s expression turned to one of disbelief as the guards shackled him as well. “This is a mistake,” he protested, but his words fell on deaf ears.

The group found themselves overpowered and bound, their weapons useless as they were dragged further into the manor, the triumphant smirk on Rendrick’s face the last thing they saw before being pulled away.

They were dragged down a narrow hallway, dimly lit by flickering candles, towards a room at the end of the corridor. The guards roughly flung them through the doors and against the wooden walls, causing Hark and Maribella to lose their balance and fall to the ground.

“Those men were enemies of Valkarath!” Barbara shouted as Rendrick and Kaldrin entered the room behind them.

Rendrick’s expression remained indifferent. “It’s not so much the murders that offend me,” he replied. “It’s the trespassing near the silver mine that cannot go unpunished.”

“What silver mine?” Hark attempted to interject.

“Save it, dwarf,” Rendrick spat. “My scouts tracked your every step, heard every word.” He then turned towards Sterling, delivering a hard punch to his ribs. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Sterling coughed violently, struggling to stand upright. “I am Kylnarthravorynthilakorr, protector of Silent Pines,” he declared.

Rendrick’s face darkened. “Jasper Vayne is the protector and proprietor of Silent Pines,” he said coldly.

“Jasper Vayne is trash,” Sterling shot back.

Rendrick slapped Sterling across the face. “Watch your tongue, young man,” he hissed. Then, turning to the guards, he ordered, “Disarm them.”

The guards wasted no time, roughly unsheathing the group’s weapons and tossing them to the wooden floor with loud clangs. They dug through their furs and clothing, searching for hidden items. “Look at this, Lord Valsheer,” one guard said, holding up Barbara’s unicorn horn dagger.

“Ah,” Rendrick said, taking the weapon from the guard and holding it in his hand with admiration. “A fine gift for my wife.” He turned to the guard with a dismissive wave. “Melt off this tacky lightning bolt ‘D’ symbol on the hilt first.”

“Yes, Lord Valsheer,” the guard replied obediently before continuing his search. His hands rifled through Barbara’s belongings until he found a small vial tucked away in a pouch. He handed it to Rendrick with a curious look.

Rendrick held the vial up to the light, turning it upside down and back again, watching the purple liquid inside slosh around. “What’s this?” he asked.

Barbara stared him in the face, refusing to look away. “A potion,” she replied.

Rendrick’s eyes narrowed as he studied the vial. “A potion, you say?” He swirled the liquid around once more, trying to decipher its purpose. “What kind of potion?”

Barbara stared him in the face, remaining silent. 

Rendrick locked eyes with her for a long moment. Finally, he gave the guard a dismissive look and handed the vial back to him. “Keep it,” he said. “I’ll decide what to do with it later.”

The guard nodded and pocketed the vial, moving on to finish his search. Barbara silently watched him, her mind racing as she considered the implications of Rendrick having Gwynevere’s potion in his possession.

Rendrick turned his attention back to Barbara and Sterling, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “‘Slavery is outlawed!’” he mocked, his voice a cruel imitation of Barbara. “‘Report him to the Queen!’” he continued, now mimicking Sterling’s softer tone, his eyes narrowing as he spat the words with disdain. “Can’t we just burn down their house?” he shouted in Maribella’s face. 

Kaldrin Kross, who had remained silent throughout the humiliating ordeal, finally found his voice. “They’ve learned their lesson, Rendrick,” he said. “Let them go. They won’t bother you after this.”

Rendrick, still fixated on Maribella, let out a loud, mocking laugh. “Let them go? Are you serious, Kross?”

“I traveled with them for twelve days,” Kaldrin continued, trying to keep his voice steady. “They mean no harm. Barbara was raised by the Queen. You’re playing with fire.”

Rendrick turned slowly to face Kaldrin, a sinister smile spreading across his face. “All the more reason to extinguish the fire before it spreads. I have plans for them, Kross.”

“Oh?” Kaldrin replied, his voice tight with tension. “And what plans are those?”

“They will spend the rest of their lives among their beloved slaves, mining silver for Jasper Vayne until they fall over dead!” Rendrick declared, his voice rising with twisted glee.

“You can’t be serious,” Kaldrin pleaded.

Rendrick’s laugh echoed through the room. “This comes directly from Jasper himself,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do about it, Kross.”

Barbara and her companions exchanged looks of horror, but none more devastated than Hark. “Lord Valsheer,” Hark said, his voice trembling. “That’s a death sentence. I’m an old man. I can’t swing a pickaxe!”

Rendrick’s laughter grew even colder. “Then we won’t have to worry about keeping your belly full for long, will we, dwarf?”

Barbara’s voice was desperate. “Listen to Lord Kross. We’re no threat to Lord Vayne or Everton.”

Rendrick waved his hand dismissively. “Guards, load them into the wagon,” he commanded. “Get them out of my sight and into the mines.”

The guards moved quickly, grabbing Barbara, Sterling, Hark, and the others and dragging them toward the door. The reality of their fate set in as they were forced out, despair settling over their souls.

CHAPTER 12

Dearest Barbara,

I cannot begin to tell you how much joy your letters have brought me. Each one is a treasure, a small piece of you that I can hold onto in your absence. I find myself rereading them often, and they never fail to lift my spirits. I patiently await the next batch, eager to hear more about your journey and all that you are facing.

I have some news of my own. I have managed to learn four spells from The Astral Grimoire, though it has come at a cost. Kazamir, who was once so dedicated to my training, has stepped back and refused to train me further. It has created a rift in our relationship. He fears the potential harm these spells could bring, not just to others but to me as well. His concern is understandable, but I cannot bring myself to consider abandoning the knowledge I’ve gained. I’ve learned to translate the spells myself, and I now spend my days pouring over the spellbook, trying to teach myself the final two spells. It’s been a challenge, but I feel closer to unlocking them with each passing day.

I miss you more than words can express, Barbara. Though it’s been over thirty days since you left, there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t think of you. Gwynevere and the rest of Lucidia send their love and well wishes, and I hope you can feel the warmth of their thoughts even from afar.

Barbara, you mean so much to me. Your strength and your courage are a constant source of inspiration. I carry you with me in everything I do, and I look forward to the day we can reunite.

Until then, stay safe, and know that you are always in my thoughts.

With all my love,

Evelyn

Barbara swung her pickaxe with a dull, rhythmic thud, the metal striking the rock over and over again. The sound echoed through the narrow tunnels, a steady, monotonous beat that sounded along with the grunts and groans of the other miners. Each strike sent a jolt through her arms, the impact vibrating up to her shoulders. Her hands, once strong, had become raw and blistered, the relentless work wearing them down as it wore down her spirit.

Day after day, the process was the same. Each of them – Barbara, Hark, Sterling, Maribella, and Xan – had been forced into this grueling routine, their bodies aching from the endless toil. The air in the mines was thick with dust and the smell of the oil lanterns that provided just enough light to see by. The walls of the tunnel were close and confining.

“How long do you think we can keep this up?” Maribella whispered to Barbara one day as they worked side by side.

Barbara didn’t answer immediately, her pickaxe biting into the rock with another dull thud. “As long as we have to,” she finally said. “There’s no other choice.”

Maribella’s face was pale and long. She had always been strong, but this work was breaking her, just as it was breaking them all. The daily quota loomed over them like a dark cloud. Failure to meet it meant punishment, and the slavemasters were not known for their mercy. The sound of the whip cracking through the air had become a daily occurrence, each crack followed by the agonized cries of some poor soul who hadn’t managed to mine enough silver.

The slavemasters, clad in leather and metal, patrolled the outside of the tunnels like predators, their eyes always on the lookout for signs of weakness. They carried long whips, their leather stained with the blood of the slaves. Those who faltered, who couldn’t meet the quota, were dragged before the others and whipped until their backs were nothing but raw, bloody flesh. Hark, too old and weary to keep up with the grueling demands, was at constant risk of falling short. To protect him, the others would quietly slip some of their own haul into his basket, ensuring he would avoid the whip.

“Here, Hark,” Xan murmured one evening, passing a chunk of ore to the dwarf as they prepared to head back to the surface. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep you safe for another day.”

Hark looked at the younger man, his eyes half-lidded. “Thank you, boy,” he whispered. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up.”

“We have your back,” Sterling added. “We won’t let them whip you again.”

The conditions in the mine were abysmal. The air was always damp and cold, no matter how deep they ventured. Water dripped constantly from the ceiling, pooling on the muddy floor. The tunnels were low and narrow, forcing the humans to stoop as they worked, their backs aching from the strain. The only light came from the flickering lanterns, casting eerie shadows along the walls.

At the end of each grueling day, the slaves were herded back to their miserable camp, a collection of dilapidated shacks that barely provided shelter. The shacks were made from rotting wood, hastily nailed together and full of holes that let the bitter cold seep in. The roofs were little more than thatched straw, offering no protection from the snow, soaking through the weak structures and turning the dirt floors into freezing mud.

Snow days were the worst. The snow would fall heavily, blanketing the camp in white powder, but the beauty of it was lost on those who lived there. The cold seeped into their bones, making every movement painful. The wind howled through the camp, whistling through the gaps in the walls and making the shacks creak ominously. Inside, the slaves huddled together for warmth, sharing what little heat they could muster, but it was never enough.

The dwarven women did their best to maintain some semblance of life in the camp. They cooked the meager rations of gruel over smoky fires, the thin soup barely enough to keep hunger away. The stench of unwashed bodies and the ever-present smoke filled the air, mingling with the damp smell of the mud. The women and elderly tried to keep their shacks clean, sweeping away the worst of the dirt and mud, but it was futile. The filth was ingrained in everything.

Children were born in the camp, though few survived past infancy. The cold, the hunger, the lack of proper care – it was too much for their tiny bodies to withstand. The cries of babies echoed through the camp, their wails of hunger and misery a haunting backdrop. The older children, those who managed to survive, were put to work as soon as they were able to hold a pickaxe. They were small and thin, their faces gaunt, their eyes too old for their years.

“How can they do this to children?” Maribella asked one night as she watched a mother rock her sickly infant.

“They don’t care,” Barbara replied. “To them, we’re just tools, meant to be used until we’re broken.”

Xan was now sullen and withdrawn. The conditions were wearing on him. “I don’t know how much more of this I can take,” he muttered as they sat around a small fire one night, trying to find some warmth in the freezing cold.

“We have to stay strong,” Barbara replied, though she felt despair pressing down on her. “We can’t let them break us.”

Sterling stared into the flames, his usual spark of defiance dimmed by the reality of their situation. “They’re trying to wear us down,” he said quietly. “We have to find a way out of this somehow.”

The days blended together, each one an endless cycle of pain, exhaustion, and despair. The dwarves had been reduced to mere shadows of their former selves, their spirits crushed. Many of them had worked in the mines their entire lives, born into slavery and knowing nothing else. Their faces were hollow, their eyes lifeless, as they went through the motions of survival, day after day, without hope of escape.

Despite the bleakness of their situation, the companions clung to each other for support. They shared what little they had, offering words of encouragement and comfort in the darkest moments. But even that small solace was not enough. The grueling work, the constant fear of punishment, the abysmal living conditions – it all wore them down, stripping away their strength and their hope.

Barbara struck the wall of the mine once more, her muscles screaming in protest, her hands raw and bleeding from the endless labor. The pickaxe bit into the rock, breaking free a small chunk of silver ore, but the satisfaction of the find was hollow. She couldn’t help but wonder how much longer they could endure this. Yet, even in the face of such overwhelming odds, she knew they had to keep going. For if they gave up now, there would be no hope left for any of them.

The cold nights in the shacks were the worst. The thin blankets they were given did little to ward off the chill, and they huddled together, shivering and praying for sleep to take them away from the misery, if only for a few hours. But sleep was often elusive, stolen away by the howling winds, the cries of children, and the persistent hunger. Morning came too soon, and with it, another day of toil in the mines.

Hark’s old body was failing him, the days of hard labor taking their toll. He moved slowly, his breathing labored, but he refused to give up. “I won’t let them break me,” he muttered to himself as he chipped away at the rock, his hands trembling.

Sterling, usually so full of life, was growing quieter by the day. The responsibility of protecting his forest weighed heavily on him. “We have to find a way out of this,” he whispered to Barbara one evening as they sat together in the shack, the fire burning low. 

Barbara nodded, but her heart was heavy with doubt. The overseers were everywhere, the camp was surrounded by high fences, and even if they managed to escape, where would they go? The wilderness was unforgiving, and they were weak, malnourished, and without supplies. But she couldn’t let Sterling see her fear. “We’ll find a way,” she said. 

The reality of their lives in the mines was a relentless assault on their spirits. Every day, they faced the same grueling work, the same miserable conditions, the same cruel punishments. They watched as their fellow slaves, the dwarves who had been there long before them, withered away, their bodies breaking under the strain, their minds numbed by years of suffering.

The companions tried to keep each other’s spirits up, sharing stories of better times, of dreams for the future, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend that there was a future to hope for. The mine was a place of despair, where hope was crushed as surely as the rocks they chipped away at day after day.

As Barbara lifted her pickaxe once more, the weight of it almost too much to bear, she couldn’t help but feel the crushing reality of their situation. But even in the darkest moments, she knew they had to keep going. For themselves, for each other, and for the dwarves who had suffered so much for so long. They couldn’t let this place break them. 

Barbara and her companions gradually became acquainted with the other dwarves in the camp, a weary group of nearly two hundred souls. Most of them were born in the camp, and the others had been slaves for so long that the memory of life outside had faded, leaving only a few who could still recall the world beyond the dark tunnels. Among them was Drilda, an older dwarf woman whose spirit remained unbroken despite the relentless hardships.

Drilda maintained a spirit of quiet resilience. Her eyes still held the spark of life. She was known among the dwarves for her refusal to give in, even when everything around her seemed hopeless.

One evening, as the cold wind howled outside their shacks, Drilda sat by the fire, stirring a pot of thin, tasteless gruel. Maribella, seeking warmth and perhaps a shred of comfort, joined her. Drilda’s voice was soft  as she spoke. “Losing hope is how you die here,” Drilda said, her eyes focused on the swirling gruel in the pot. “Not through sickness or exhaustion. Those will wear you down, but it’s the loss of hope that finishes you. I’ve seen it hundreds of times.”

Maribella listened intently. Drilda’s hands, rough and calloused from years of labor, moved steadily as she stirred, her gaze never leaving the pot.

“This place breaks you if you let it,” Drilda continued. “But you can’t let it. You hold on to whatever hope you can find, even if it’s just a glimmer. That’s what keeps you alive.”

Maribella nodded slowly, her red hair matted with dirt and grime. In this bleak and unforgiving world, hope was the most precious resource they had, and it was in short supply. Drilda, however, had managed to preserve hers, and in doing so, she offered hope to those around her.

A dwarf couple, a man and a woman, approached Hark with their two young children, each child holding tightly to their parents’ hands. The man stepped forward, his voice filled with respect. “Hark,” he said softly, “would you teach our children about the gods?”

Hark, who had been slumped against the wall of the shack, barely looked up. His eyes were heavy with the weight of depression that had taken hold of him. His once lively face was now riddled with despair, his spirit seemingly crushed. Dirt and grime were caked in his white beard and hair. He blinked slowly, trying to focus on the family standing before him. “You want to know about the gods, do you?” he murmured.

The woman nodded, her expression gentle but pleading. “Yes, Hark,” she said. “Please, teach our children about the gods.”

Hark let out a long, shaky breath, struggling to find the words. He looked at the children, their wide eyes filled with innocence and curiosity. For a moment, he was silent, his mind searching for the words to use. 

“The gods,” Hark began, his voice barely above a whisper. He paused, the words catching in his throat. He glanced at the children again. After a moment, he sighed deeply. “The gods… are all dead.”

The couple exchanged a troubled glance. The children, too young to fully understand, looked to their parents for reassurance, but found none.

The woman knelt down, pulling her children close. “Hark,” she said softly, “there must be something left. Some hope, some belief. They need something to hold on to.”

Hark closed his eyes. “I used to believe,” he said, his voice strained. “I used to think the gods watched over us, protected us. But after everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve lost….”

The man placed a hand on Hark’s shoulder, his grip firm. “Even if you’ve lost your faith, Hark, these children need to hear about the gods. Not for us, but for them. To give them something to believe in, something to hold on to in this darkness.”

Hark opened his eyes. He could see the desperation of the man, the need to protect his children from the harshness of the world they were growing up in. Slowly, Hark began to speak. “If you want the truth, I’ll give it to you,” he whispered. He closed his eyes, leaned back, and took a slow, wheezing breath before saying this: “The gods are truly dead.”

One cold morning, Sterling and Barbara sat outside side by side on a log, using old, stained rags to wash the grime and sweat from their faces and necks. The rags, worn thin and stiff with age, did little more than smear the dirt around. The air was damp and chilly, their breath visible in the cold.

Sterling scrubbed at a patch of dirt on his cheek, his movements slow. “Where were Rendrick’s scouts? How did I not see them, hear them, smell them?” he asked, more to himself than Barbara. 

“You can’t blame yourself, Sterling,” she said. 

“I know every pine needle in that forest,” he continued. “I heard you coming a mile away.” 

“You’re going to drive yourself crazy,” Barbara said. “What happened has happened.”  

 “We have to find a way out of this,” he muttered.

Barbara paused, her rag resting on her neck, and looked over at him. “You say that often, Sterling,” she replied.

Sterling sighed, dropping the rag into the dirty water bucket with a faint splash. “I know,” he admitted. “But it’s all I can think about. Every day we wake up here. Every day we’re forced to endure this. It eats away at me.”

Barbara nodded slowly, her eyes distant as she stared at the dwarves loading up their mining gear. “It eats at me too,” she said after a moment. “We’re running out of strength.”

Sterling turned to face her. “That’s why we have to get out of here, Barbara. This can’t be the end of my story.”

Barbara looked back at him, searching his face for any trace of the confidence he once had. It was still there, buried beneath layers of exhaustion, but it was faint, flickering like a candle in a storm.

“It’s terrifying and heartbreaking to think we might die here,” she said. “Every day, it feels like we’re sinking deeper into this nightmare.”

Sterling sighed slowly. “We’ll find a way out of here, I promise.”

As the words left his mouth, a small crow fluttered down and landed in front of him. 

CHAPTER 13

Dearest Barbara,

It has been nearly three hundred days since you left, and I find myself writing to you once more, though I understand that my letters are in vain. Not a single word has come from you since that first batch of letters, and the silence has become unbearable. I try to remain hopeful, to tell myself that you’re simply too busy with your journey, too caught up in the challenges you must be facing. But as each day passes without news, I can’t help but feel that something has gone terribly wrong.

I’ve asked the royal guards who travel with the caravans if they’ve seen any sign of you, but they always shake their heads and say no. They tell me they’ve heard nothing, seen nothing, and it’s as if you’ve vanished into thin air. When they asked the guards at Everton about you, they simply shrugged and offered no answers. It’s infuriating, and the more I inquire, the more it feels like I’m being met with walls rather than doors. I’m left with this growing sense of dread that something has happened to you, something that I can’t fix or even reach.

Barbara, I don’t know what to do. Every day, I wake up with this ache in my chest, this gnawing fear that you’ve been hurt or worse. I keep asking myself what I can do to help, how I can reach you, but the truth is I have no idea where to start. You’re out there somewhere, facing who knows what dangers, and here I am, stuck in Lucidia, feeling utterly useless. I’ve thought about setting out to find you myself, but I don’t even know where to begin. The world feels so vast, and I’m just one person, completely lost.

The Astral Grimoire has been my only solace, though even that has begun to lose its luster. I haven’t yet managed to learn the final two spells. I spend my days pouring over that spellbook, studying, hoping that somewhere in its pages there’s a spell that can guide me to you. But there’s nothing. 

I miss you, Barbara. I miss you more than I can put into words. Every day without you feels like a shadow has settled over my heart. I find myself replaying our last moments together, clinging to the memory of your voice, your smile, your strength. I know I’ve always been more reserved with my feelings, but I can’t keep it in any longer. I’ve loved you for as long as I’ve known you, and the thought of something happening to you is more than I can bear.

I’ve tried to keep going, to stay strong for you, but it’s getting harder with each passing day. I find myself falling into a deep depression, the weight of not knowing crushing me. I’ve lost count of how many nights I’ve spent lying awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering where you are, if you’re safe, if you’re even alive. I know you’re strong, stronger than anyone I’ve ever known, but even you have your limits. And the thought that you might have reached those limits and fallen beyond them – it’s tearing me apart.

Gwynevere and the others in Lucidia have tried to comfort me, to reassure me that you’ll return, but their words feel empty. They don’t understand how deeply this fear has rooted itself in my heart. I’ve tried to focus on my studies, to lose myself in the magic, but it’s no use. Everything feels meaningless without you here. Every spell I learn, every page I turn, it’s all just a distraction from the growing void inside me.

I’m not going to send this letter with the guards, I know they will simply return it. I write it more for me, truth be told. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up, pretending to be okay when every fiber of my being is screaming that you’re not.

Please, Barbara, come back to me. I can’t bear the thought of living in a world where you’re not by my side. I’ll keep waiting, keep hoping, keep praying that you’ll find your way back. But until then, know that you’re in my thoughts, every moment of every day.

With all my love,

Evelyn

Evelyn threw herself onto her bed, clutching the letter in her trembling hands. The despair was too much to bear, and she let out a heart-wrenching wail, her body shaking with the force of her sobs. She writhed on the bed, the letter crumpling under her grasp as she pressed it to her chest, as if trying to hold onto some piece of Barbara, some connection to the woman she feared she had lost forever.

As her cries filled the room, a soft, insistent tapping began at her door. At first, she ignored it, her grief too overwhelming to care who might be on the other side. But the tapping persisted, a quiet but steady intrusion into her world of sorrow.

“Go away!” she shouted. But the tapping continued, a maddening rhythm that refused to be silenced.

Frustration flared within her, and she sprang from her bed, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. Anger surged through her veins as she stormed towards the door, her vision blurred by tears. She flung the door open with a force that nearly wrenched it from its hinges, ready to unleash her fury on whoever dared to disturb her in this moment of agony.

“What?” she shouted, but the words caught in her throat as she looked around and saw no one. The doorway was empty.

“Down here,” came a small, pinched voice, startling her from her anger. Evelyn looked down. At her doorstep stood a crow. The bird’s beady eyes fixed on her with an unsettling intelligence, and it cocked its head slightly, as if studying her reaction.

“Is this a joke?” Evelyn demanded. “Is that you, Kazamir? Stop playing games!”

But the crow didn’t move, didn’t flutter away or caw in response. Instead, it spoke, its voice clear and oddly formal. “My name is Mr. Peeps,” the crow said. “And I’m here about Barbara Dignity.”