The tabby’s sudden interjection pushed Ferrier over the edge, his shoulders slumping forward with a silent nod. Never removing his hand from the man’s shoulder, Bird stepped over the low railing and seated himself on his right.

  “You found us!” Iskvold brightened. “That was quick!” The drow turned around a chair from the table behind her and perched on Ferrier’s left.

  “Frankly, you’re pretty hard to miss in this neighborhood,” The cat quipped with a smile.

  Whydah shot him a questioning look through arched brows, pupils darting quickly to Ferrier. Bird raised his own in return before nodding confidently back at her. The cat had arrived late to the conversation and had no intention of taking over. Protégé or not, this was Whydah’s show.

  She offered a small smile of appreciation with a confirming nod in reply before turning to face Ferrier across the table.

  “Mister Ferrier,” she began, “I think we have the opportunity to help each other. I won’t tell you who we are, but we know who you are and that you’re part of the Crimson Dominion. We also know who and what the Red Queen is.”

  The man’s eyes widened in surprise before his shoulders relaxed. Tipping back his head, eyes closed, he muttered, “Oh, thank Gond,” under his breath.

  “I also get the impression,” Whydah continued, “that you’re less than thrilled with her plan and your part in it, on account of you hating your life and regularly considering topping yourself.”

  An uncomfortable silence swallowed the table. Iskvold opened her mouth to speak before feeling Whydah’s hand on her arm. Looking over to see the halfing silently shake her head, she bit her tongue. They continued to wait him out. Ferrier considered his words very carefully. “Hypothetically speaking,” he glanced around the table, “you can’t underestimate the impact on a subject’s psyche when they are forced to act in violent opposition to their beliefs and character.” He paused, noting the suspicious confusion on their faces. “Under such circumstances, I would be concerned that such a subject might be a significant risk for defection if presented with even a faint hope of breaking free of that madness. How would you propose to accomplish that?”

  Iskvold rolled her eyes in frustration. “Do all solicitors deliberately avoid speaking plainly?” Once again, she felt the halfling’s hand on her forearm.

  Her eyes locking on Ferrier, Whydah nodded. “We have access to some pretty talented casters. We’d be willing to help make that happen, in exchange for intelligence about the Dominion, the structure of their operation, and help getting in with them.”

  Ferrier’s chin dipped as he shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “We may not look like much,” Whydah lobbied, “but we’ve already outwitted her once. I know you’re scared, but—”

  Ferrier’s head snapped up, his eyes pleading. “No, you don’t understand. Even if I wanted to, I can’t.” He opened his mouth wide, pulling in a deep breath as if to speak, before dramatically clamping his jaw shut. He silently tipped his head in her direction with one eyebrow raised.

  She recalled the arcane energy that overcame him earlier. “You’re saying the magic prevents you from talking about it?”

  His eyes were rimmed with sadness as he nodded in reply. “And somehow, she knows. I got paid a visit with an ominous warning the last time it happened.”

  Bird got up from his chair and began to pace, one paw idly stroking his whiskers. “Let’s just dispel the magic, problem solved!”

  Ferrier sighed in exasperation. “Listen, Son, many have taken that path. In every case, the subject didn’t live to see the next dawn.”

  Whydah puzzled through the details, her features contorted. “So, you can’t tell us what we need to know without breaking the spell, but doing so is a death sentence?”

  Ferrier spread his hands wide, his expression grim.

  “Anyone have any suggestions?” Whydah cast a desperate glance around at the conversation’s participants. The only sound was the clicking of Bird’s claws against the stone until Iskvold drew in a sharp breath. The others turned to see her gaze fixed on the parchment spread across the table. She lifted her head slowly to Ferrier. “What if you write it down?”

  “How would that work?” Bird probed.

  Ignoring the question for the moment, the drow’s eyes sparkled as she held Ferrier’s gaze intently. “I assume that, as a solicitor, you correspond with others in the organization about official business, right?”

  “Of course,” he nodded hesitantly.

  “And have you ever been magically stopped from writing about the organization’s details?”

  “No, that would make it practically impossible to do my job,” he acknowledged

  “Exactly!” she said, pointing a finger at him excitedly before turning to her companions. “That’s the thing about written documents. You can never be certain where they ultimately end up. The Vault is full of private correspondence that I’m sure the author never intended to see the light of day.”

  “You’re suggesting he write us letters with the details of the Dominion’s operations?” Whydah’s tone was skeptical.

  “Not to us, specifically.” Iskvold continued. “He could address them to other members of the Dominion, just in case they were ever discovered.”

  Ferrier thought for a moment. “But how would you get them?”

  “We don’t exactly have a fixed address for the foreseeable future,” Whydah agreed.

  Iskvold considered this new dimension of the challenge, but it was Bird who spoke up.

  “I might be able to help with that,” the tabby offered. “The Guild moves information, among other things, all over the continent. If our man here were to drop the letters off with them instead of using the standard courier methods…” his hand waved dismissively, “the Guild could get it to me, especially if we paid them.”

  “Local organized crime has that kind of reach?” Iskvold asked with suspicion.

  The tabby chuckled in response. “Sometimes, I forget how sheltered you were. First of all, it’s not local. The Guild is everywhere, and very well connected. Second, I had a good chat with the leader here in Chagrothlond earlier this afternoon. I read him in on what we know, and he’s going to spread it around the entire continent.”

  Ferrier cast his eyes skyward as he thought it through. “This could work. You tell me what you want to know, and I’ll draft a series of letters. How about I address them to specific individuals I know to be major players within the structure? The truly nasty ones who are involved because they want to be…kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

  “I like it!” Whydah chirped before shooting Bird a grin. “The guild will also know what to do with those names!”

  “And then,” Ferrier continued, “I drop each letter off, where?”

  “The Roc and Raven pub in the northern quarter,” Bird confirmed. “Tell them it’s for Downy. I need to have another word with him first, but I don’t see a problem. There will be some delay, of course, but I’ll check in with the guild wherever we go, and he can get them to us.”

  “Thank you,” Ferrier gushed, fighting back tears. “You’ve given me hope. I have been a prisoner within my own mind and body for a very long time!”

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Segwyn was the first to return to the Smashed Skull. The setting sun still streamed through the Shanderusha Gap, cleaving the veil of shade cast by the Glimmerstones on either side. The town guard had no record of arrests associated with the altercation in the alley, and a quick browse of the cells yielded no one matching Tsuta’s description.

  The pub was still fairly quiet. Seeing none of his friends had yet returned, the ranger brushed back his cloak before taking a seat on a bench at one of the longer, empty tables in the middle of the floor. Silently tipping his head to the bartender, who nodded in confirmation before filling a horn with ale, he pulled a rumpled piece of paper from his pocket, smoothing it out on the table’s surface. Even the pub’s dim lighting was superior to the shaded garrison wall where he found it. The improved visibility triggered a twitch in his shoulders along with a silent smile as he took in its image. She’s never going to forgive me!

  Sensing the barkeep’s approach, Segwyn crumpled the paper and returned it to his pocket ahead of the dull pop of horn on wood. Reaching for the handle, he nodded in thanks before the bartender retreated. The squeal of the door hinge pulled his attention to the entrance, his eyes locking with Lunish. The tips of her braids bounced playfully as she shook her head, worry squeezing her features as she crossed the floor.

  The druid flung herself up onto the bench across from him. “Well, no sign of him at any of the healers in the quarter,” she said, watching Segwyn signal to the barkeep for another horn. “So, he wasn’t taken from the alley alive and unconscious, at least not by the guards.”

  “He’s not in shackles either,” Segwyn conceded.

  “I really hope Glynnie also comes up empty, given where he went,” Lunish muttered, leaning back to avoid the splash when the barkeep plopped a second horn of ale on the table in front of her.

  “Sorry,” he muttered when she shot him a withering look. “Do yous want to pay as you go, or…?”

  Segwyn straightened in his seat, pulling a silver coin from his jerkin, flipping it to the barkeep. “There will be a few more coming, so hold onto the rest for now.”

  The man nodded and withdrew.

  Traffic in the pub began to rise as the sun set. An elven couple entered, with Glynfir right behind. “Sorry, I’m a bit late.” His words dripped with frustration. “The pyre’s set up just past the eastern edge of town, off the corner of the wild quarter. It’s a long walk!”

  “Likely to make sure the flames don’t spread,” Segwyn mused.

  “I’m guessing you didn’t find him?” Lunish asked hopefully.

  “Nope,” Glynfir hesitated. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there.”

  Lunish eyed him suspiciously. “What does that mean?”

  The wizard shrugged, his hands spread. “It was in full burn by the time I arrived, so I couldn’t recognize any of the bodies.”

  The druid scowled, “Gondammit.” She slapped the surface of the table. “We’re no further ahead than we were before!”

  After the arrival of another horn, the three sat in silence, pondering their next move, until Whydah and Iskvold breezed through the door, grinning.

  “What’s got you two so happy?” Glynfir asked. “Were you able to make progress in locating Ferrier?

  “Better than that,” Iskvold beamed, sitting down next to Lunish. She leaned forward conspiratorially, the others following suit while Whydah scrambled onto the bench. “We found him,” she whispered excitedly before drumming her fingertips rapidly against the tabletop to build the suspense, “and Whydah turned him!”

  “Meaning what?” Segwyn asked. “And why didn’t you send us a message when you found him?”

  “Meaning…he’s going to feed us information about the Dominion from the inside!” Whydah answered with a smile.

  “Why would he choose to be our inside man?” Segwyn asked suspiciously. “How can we trust what he tells us?”

  “Because,” Iskvold explained, “apparently a lot of the Dominion, including one Mr. Ferrier, have been compelled to do her bidding— forced by her magic! Seems he’s understandably desperate to be free of the torment.”

  “Fantastic!” the wizard crowed as he turned to a blushing Whydah. “Well done! Now tell us all about it!”

  Iskvold recounted their discussion with the solicitor in detail, including Bird taking another detour to make the final arrangements with the Guild before realizing they were one short. “Wait, where’s Tsuta?”

  Ranger, wizard, and druid exchanged looks for a moment before Glynfir finally spoke. “Well, we’re not entirely sure…”

  “What do you mean you’re not sure?” Iskvold pressed, her eyes rapidly shifting among the three of them.

  “There was a bit of an incident,” the wizard replied before turning to Lunish, eyebrows raised. “Lulu?”

  The gnome bowed her head, letting out a deep breath before detailing the encounter at The Broken Spoke, the fight in the alley, and their subsequent search for the bald monk.

  Whydah leaned in, her voice low. “So, the guys in the alley were all Dominion; they had the tattoos?”

  “I only saw one on the leader, I didn’t have time to check the others, but I would bet on it,” Lunish confirmed.

  “Reapers,” Whydah breathed flatly. “That’s what Ferrier called them.”

  “So, what is he going to write us letters about?” Segwyn pressed for details.

  Whydah counted out their requests on her fingers, keeping her voice low. “The structure of the organization, the different roles, how they recruit, where and when they gather, and anything else he can think of that would be helpful.”

  Segwyn nodded in admiration. “Really well done, both of you!”

  “But what do we do about Tsuta?” There was a definite edge of anguish in Lunish’s voice.

  “Don’t worry,” Whydah placed her hand over the gnome’s. “This was the identified meeting point, and it’s just starting to get dark. We’ll give him another hour, and if he hasn’t turned up, I’ll use my location spell and we’ll go hunt him down, okay?”

  “Okay.” Lunish’s shoulders relaxed as she nodded.

  Traffic in the Smashed Skull continued to build as the sun sank. Laborers and shopkeepers alike trickled in alone or in pairs, the din of ambient conversation rising to match. Finally, a familiar form, dressed in black leather, face hidden in shadow, strode to the table. Peeling back the hood, Bird’s ears sprang back into their natural position with a head shake. “We’re all set,” he grinned. “Downy will receive our mail from Ferrier and move it along to us, assuming we’re somewhere big enough for a Guild presence.” The tabby plunked a gold coin onto the table, sliding it towards Whydah. “Thanks for the loan. I managed to find a couple of unsuspecting donors for the ‘Support your Local Tabby’ fund on my way through the western quarter.”

  “What’s he going to do with the names Ferrier puts on the letters?” Whydah asked, suspecting she already knew the answer.

  “That’s not the sort of question one asks a Guild master,” Bird said dismissively. “Just know they will be dealt with swiftly and creatively!” The tabby glanced around the busy establishment. “Where’s Stick?”

  A disembodied voice came from the crowd near the door, “I’m here,” as the white robed monk stepped into view.

  “Where have you been!?” Lunish scolded before lowering her elevated tone. “You had us all worried!”

  Tsuta shrugged, his tone casual, as if describing a mundane trip to the market. “They poisoned me. I had to magically make myself appear dead to get away from the guards. I woke up an hour later, under a tarp on the corpse cart, headed for the pyre, I assume. Luckily, the body disposal process isn’t the most timely around here.” Despite the shock painted on the faces of his friends, he continued, unbothered. “I was still poisoned, so I dragged myself to a temple in the eastern quarter for some help.” He shrugged. “Then I just walked back. Sorry, I’m late, it’s farther than you think.”

  The druid rounded on him, her cheeks flushed. “Did it ever cross your mind to send a message, maybe let someone know? We scoured the entire quarter for you, beside ourselves with worry!”

  The bald monk shrugged it off with a confused look. “I knew where you’d be at sundown. Besides, I’m magically tapped out.”

  Lunish shook her head in frustration while Whydah and Iskvold stifled a grin, all too familiar with their bald friend’s social peculiarities. Segwyn fetched two more horns from the bar before the group caught each other up on the day’s activities.

  “So, where now?” Glynfir asked the table.

  “Irdri, obviously,” Lunish replied. The confused faces of her friends fueled a brief silence as she gazed from one to the other. “Did I forget to mention that I heard back from Snuggles?” The faces of her friends gave her the answer. She felt her cheeks flush, and her tone rose defensively. “I’m sorry! It happened in the middle of the alley chaos, and I’ve been a little preoccupied!” She looked pointedly at Tsuta, bracing her hands on the table, as if to stand.

  “It’s fine, Lulu,” the wizard said calmly, his hand moving to her forearm in consolation. “What did she say?”

  The gnome cautiously sank back into her seat. “She said Irdri was the Dominion’s stronghold and gave me the name of another agent who lives in the woods, south of the city—Sugarplum.”

  Bird let out a chuckle purr. “You have to love The Hub and their code names. I wonder if we’ll get to meet Cuddle Bunny, Honey, and Snookums too before this is over!” he quipped.

  “Looks like we’re headed into Siremiria,” Segwyn agreed. “The question is, do we stay the night here or hit the road and stay in the Tiny Hut?”

  “It might be wise to get out of town,” Iskvold offered. “We seem to have made a few waves here, and who knows if there were more reapers at the Broken Spoke that witnessed Tsuta’s rather straightforward attempt at information gathering.” The corners of her mouth flickered in amusement as she glanced at the stoic monk. “They could still be looking for him.”

  The table nodded in agreement as Segwyn fished the crumpled paper out of his pocket. “Let’s also remember Tsuta isn’t the only one unwelcome in Chagrothlond. I found this plastered on the garrison wall and thought you might appreciate it.”

  They all leaned in for a look as the ranger smoothed the parchment out on the table’s surface. ‘Wanted’ was written in black across the top, followed by a crude picture of what appeared to be a young boy in dirty overalls, wearing a familiar hat.

  Everyone broke up laughing before Lunish spoke, her tone once again defensive. “You don’t think that’s me?” she asked incredulously. “I wouldn’t be caught dead in overalls!”

  “Read the part below the picture,” Segwyn prompted before Glynfir leaned in further to see the fine print at the bottom.

  “…for breaking into the commander’s office, likely in the company of a mustached half-elven wizard and a dwarf,” he read out loud. “It’s definitely you, Lulu!”

  Everyone but Lunish roared again in laughter while the gnome silently seethed.

  “Maybe we should eat here before we hit the road?” Whydah suggested when the giggles faded. “Anyone know what’s good?”

  “Their pork pie is actually quite nice,” Lunish muttered sullenly from her seat.

  The Glimmerstone Enigma and The Siremirian Conundrum?

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