Reralt sat in his castle, utterly confused. The chamberlain was nowhere to be found, and things—apparently—needed doing. Unfortunately, Reralt didn’t even have the faintest idea how to do them.

  A stack of papers lay scattered across his dressing mirror, where he usually perfected his look: the angle of his cheekbones, the gleam of oil on his skin catching the light just so. The mirror, once a proud tool of vanity, now functioned—reluctantly—as a desk.

  The papers discussed taxes, supply routes, and one particularly rude note about a monastery.

  Reralt wanted to summon Fedeggs. Naturally, that had always been the chamberlain’s job. But now Reralt found himself in unfamiliar territory: how does one summon a person?

  He tried shouting Fedeggs’s name. No response. The castle was too big. His voice echoed with an air of impotence.

  Next, he attempted an old tactic: throwing things out of the window. That had drawn attention in the past. Now? Nothing.

  “Very irresponsible of you all!” Reralt yelled as he flung a small hand mirror. It was one he had strong feelings for.

  Then he noticed several ropes, each ending in a small bell. Excellent. A system!

  He yanked all of them at once.

  All the bells clattered to the floor.

  Apparently, there was a reason the chamberlain had stopped using that system.

  At last, in an act no lord should ever be forced to commit, Reralt did the unthinkable.

  He left his room.

  And began searching.

  ***

  Fedeggs had developed a sixth sense—specifically, it was avoiding Reralt when Reralt needed something.

  The chamberlain had the official right to summon him. Reralt, as far as Fedeggs was concerned, did not. Probably not in the contract. Then again, Fedeggs couldn’t read. The chamberlain usually just gave orders and Fedeggs obeyed—simple, efficient, and, more importantly, spared him eternal damnation.

  He was currently hiding in the chamber next to Reralt’s.

  Of course he’d heard the shouting. And the crashing. And what may or may not have been a clarion. But none of that was his problem. If it were truly important, surely the chamberlain would summon him. And the chamberlain, Fedeggs was relieved to remember, was very much not in the castle.

  He bit into a chunk of bread and tried to relax.

  “The good life,” he smiled to himself. “May he never return.”

  Then came commotion from the courtyard—someone asking for permission to enter.

  That, too, was the chamberlain’s responsibility. Normally handled quickly. Quietly. Smoothly.

  Fedeggs leaned back. “Nice and quiet,” he mumbled.

  Then he sat up, muttered a quiet curse.

  The chains of the drawbridge rattled and snapped. With a metallic shriek, it slammed down. Hoofbeats echoed off the stone. A voice followed—serene, soft, and absolutely livid.

  Fedeggs stood, made a half-hearted move to open the door and peek outside.

  Reralt got there first.

  Just as Fedeggs touched the handle, the door exploded open with force.

  He was yanked out into the hallway, flung like a forgotten sack of potatoes, and hurled clean through a window.

  Bill whimpered.

  ***

  Reralt looked out of the window.

  Was that—Mary?

  He smiled, hopeful that little Babshee was with her. Then, with great focus, he began sketching a plan on the floor, trying to remember how to exit the castle. After three failed attempts, he gave up entirely and bolted out the window.

  There is a time and place for plans, he thought.

  Luckily, Fedeggs broke his fall.

  Unluckily, so did Fedeggs’s left arm.

  Much to the amusement of Bill.

  Reralt approached Mary with arms wide open. “If you didn’t bring my godchild…”

  He paused. Her look could turn a grown man to stone—which, well…

  “Mary,” he said, suddenly very grown-up, “what’s wrong?”

  She started crying—big tears, blurted, chaotic sentences; words without structure, meaning refusing to line up—only stopping to drag in air in fragmented, broken gulps.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  He gently helped her dismount the horse.

  “Someone fetch us some lunch…” he commanded, glancing around to see if anyone moved.

  They did.

  He supported Mary—she seemed to have ridden non-stop from Reachtown to his castle. He blinked. A thought arrived. The need to use the situation, to finally meet his first need of the day.

  “…and some wine,” he added, already drunk on the thrill of newfound authority.

  ***

  They sat in the never-used room normally reserved for eating with guests—

  which, according to the chamberlain, should never happen at all.

  Reralt looked around.

  A long table, polished redwood, stretched down the room. Plates, cutlery, and half-warm food had been dropped onto it by hurried serving wenches. Twenty chairs circled the table, all padded with the same deep red leather.

  Mary picked up a full jug of wine and downed it in one go.

  Reralt frowned.

  He tried asking for more, but no one responded. He still hadn’t quite figured out how summoning worked.

  “They took Syril,” Mary said after catching her breath, dabbing her face with a napkin a serving wench laid out for her.

  Then she raised a hand.

  Another jug of wine appeared.

  Reralt tried the same.

  Nothing.

  “They took what?!” he roared, the words finally sinking in. He rose with sudden fury—ready to throw a full-grown tantrum. The chairs and table would not survive.

  Mary placed a hand on his arm. Her touch was cold—so cold it almost burned. For a moment, it calmed him.

  Almost.

  With a burst of righteous indignation, Reralt hurled his chair down the length of the hall.

  “I will get her back!” he declared, then ran to the door. “Sword!” he yelled.

  Almost immediately, someone brought it.

  Mary waited. She took a bite of food.

  From down the hallway, she heard his voice booming:

  “My horse! My kingdom for a horse!”

  Then, after a beat, in a much more casual tone:

  “Packed with oil, of course.”

  Moments later, the gates opened. She heard him ride off.

  Mary sampled the pickled tomatoes and onions.

  They were very good.

  A second jug of wine arrived. She took a swig straight from it.

  Reralt burst back in, sword in hand, hair windswept.

  “So who took her?” he asked, breathless.

  “Devin,” she spat. “Devin, the Gnome Extinguisher.”

  “I’ve heard that name before…” Reralt squinted, trying to force his brain to focus on something other than the recent wine deficit. He found the last of it and drank.

  “Huh?” Fedeggs appeared, his arm now braced. “I only know one Devin.”

  They both looked at him.

  “The chamberlain,” he said, nodding.

  “Of course!” Reralt bellowed—and bolted again.

  Mary stood slowly, collected herself, and packed a few snacks for the road. Then she called for more wine and a few water bags.

  As she stepped outside, she turned to the only soul still present.

  “You realise you’re in charge now until we return,” she said to the messenger.

  Fedeggs blinked. “That’s not in the contract,” he muttered, already planning to ignore it.

  Mary’s hair began to shift—gently writhing.

  Her skin took on a faint greenish shimmer.

  “Oh yes it is,” she hissed, the sibilance unmistakable.

  Fedeggs nodded.

  Very quickly.

  Mary climbed slowly onto her horse—a fierce white creature, barely winded from the long journey. They looked at each other, a bond that ran deep, but with a strange, unspoken history.

  Reralt came riding back to the gate.

  “So,” he asked, still buzzing with heroic energy, “where should I seek?”

  “I’ll join you,” Mary said. “Narro followed the trail. I think I know where to start—

  or at least who to ask.”

  “You?” Reralt eyed the small, scrawny Mary and frowned.

  “Because I’m a woman?” she said, clearly insulted.

  “No—because you’re a tiny, weak person,” Reralt said, with brutal sincerity.

  She hit him.

  Hard.

  He flew off his horse like he’d been struck by a catapult.

  Or a very small, very angry rock.

  Which was now standing over him, waiting to see if he’d changed his mind.

  Reralt stood up, mouth open with awe.

  “That was MIGHTY,” he exclaimed happily. “You pack a punch, tiny lady.”

  Mary calmed down and smiled at Reralt.

  “Let’s go? Reralt and Mary, on a mighty adventure.” Reralt, excited, climbed back on his horse.

  Confused, Mary looked over her shoulder. Fedeggs gave her a thumbs-up; he was enjoying this a lot.

  “Meow?”

  The Void came sprinting toward Reralt, leapt gracefully up the side of his horse, and settled into her own tiny saddle.

  She stared at Mary—cautious, judging—and then gave Reralt an extra-long cuddle, just to clarify who was the real favourite.

  Mary sighed.

  “We’re going to the Wise Men,” she said. “Bottom of the map.”

  She nudged her horse forward, riding slowly out of the castle gate.

  “Wait—my map? There’s a guy there?” Reralt blinked. “Never saw anyone there.”

  “Yes. He might have some reason to avoid you.”

  “And Narro?” Reralt asked, narrowing his eyes.

  “Narro’s headed to the Sorcerers of the Shore,” Mary replied, her voice already tinged with regret.

  “Huh,” Reralt said, frowning. “Hope he brought a big bag of money with him.”

  ***

  (Fedeggs got a ring of literacy so now he can read and write. I did not forget he couldn’t — how dare you.)

  Something happened today.

  Something unexpected. Unwanted also—but by now I’m pretty much used to that.

  I am in charge.

  The scary lady told me. I need to… do things.

  This would be so much easier if I hadn’t spent the last five years trying to be invisible.

  I just asked what was on the menu today, and they told me I need to decide.

  I have a strange feeling about this.

  And for once, it doesn’t hurt.

  See you tomorrow.

  — Fedeggs

  need him to be able to read and write.

  You see the difference? it's subtle...

  Stay tuned.

  If you for some reason want to cheer me Reralt or Narro on, hit that follow button, favorite button and sprinkle a rating or review. I will let them know!