The wind worked through the Zephyrwoods, rustling oak and maple canopies and parting the pine needles. Though fall had begun two months prior, the overgrowth remained green; the deciduous trees this far south wouldn’t shed until the northern realms saw their first snow.

  North Fork creek curved along the forest’s western edge, moving northeast past Zephyr Hollow and out of Middleshire toward the sea. Twenty or thirty feet across and deep for a creek, it left the East Larante River as it passed the northern Khelt into the Cypher Shrublands near the Amethyst Mountains.

  Some of the less refined residents of Tolbin, a sizeable town at the northeast corner of the Zephyrwoods, liked to joke with travelers about the water flowing down from the shrublands through Middleshire.

  The Umbrige merchant’s expression soured. He pushed the mug of water away and waved to the nearby server. “Beer, please.”

  “What?” Mulik asked innocently. “I was being serious, and not in a bad way.”

  The merchant gave a feeble smile and nodded. He was stout of build like most Umbriges, yet had a softness—a frailty—about him. Too many cushiony chairs and servants, Mulik had decided. He also didn’t trust clean?shaven Umbriges and found it unsettling that a man who wasn’t a king or priest should have that many rings on his fingers.

  “Sullo, tell him,” Mulik said, recruiting one of his buddies. “The goat piss from the cypher sheep in those shrublands makes a man stronger, don’t it?”

  “Surely does,” the large man with broad shoulders—Sullo—concurred.

  The man’s knuckles were huge from much use. A scar over his right eye and another under his lower lip spoke of past brawls.

  “I used to be soft like this one until I caught on.” Sullo pointed at the merchant.

  A younger man stepped out from the big man’s shadow—tall and skinny with a thin mustache. His neck gave the impression of a river crane, seeming to sink forward past his shoulders, and his large downward?curving nose added to the resemblance.

  The odd?looking fellow pointed at the merchant as well. “I’d say soft. Those hands never seen a day’s hard work.”

  The assembled rabble in the North Fork Tavern chuckled at the merchant’s obvious discomfort. He, like many before him, assumed the well?built structure—with its low tile?shingled roof and fixed window shutters after the old Grandlin style, overlooking the creek in the comfortable shade of the treeline—would be a nice place for a meal. The establishment’s owner, a roughneck in his younger days, had an endearing tolerance for the seedy, brutish elements of Tolbin and did nothing to separate them from the other patrons.

  “I know a guy,” Mulik continued. “He can get the pure thing, unfiltered by the creek. Only cost you a silver falcon or eagle for a pint of straight goat piss.”

  “I’ll run get those for you right now,” the fellow resembling a river crane offered, then began to pace back and forth between Mulik and Sullo.

  “Oh.” The merchant squirmed. “That’s quite all right. A beer is fine.”

  “You think you’re too good for our goat piss?” Sullo blurted out his line ahead of schedule, as he often did.

  His prepared lines now moot, Mulik sighed and shook his head, then went with the development.

  “Too good he thinks,” said the tall skinny man as he paced.

  “Yeah, bud. You think you’re something special or what?” Mulik demanded of the merchant.

  “Don’t answer that,” said Leopold. “You won’t get it right no matter what you say.”

  The merchant, Mulik, Sullo, the tall skinny man, and the other half?dozen men on the outdoor patio turned to see the Yunni in plain worker’s garments standing in the grass just off the stone patio. Short even for his kind, he stood under four feet but had the posture and proportions of a grown human male. He stood with his hands on his hips, feet a little more than shoulder?width apart, smiling broadly.

  “If you come through Middleshire again,” Leopold the Yunni said to the merchant, “stay in D’voe. It’s a Yunni town south of here, also on the forest’s corner and also with a lovely view of the creek.”

  After a pause for effect he added, “Without the knuckleheads and goat piss. All are welcome.”

  The merchant nodded his thanks, then abruptly left just as the server arrived with his beer.

  “Thank you.” He pointed to a silver coin on the table as he passed her.

  Without hesitation Mulik retrieved the beer, took a gulp, then handed it to Sullo, who killed it.

  The skinny fellow with the crane neck continued to pace and glared at the Yunni.

  Sullo punched the pacing man in the arm lightly—or as close to lightly as he could manage.

  “Ow, dammit, Sullo!” the man yelped, grabbing his arm and stopping his pacing.

  Sullo handed him the empty glass. “Pacing is wearing my nerves, Harce. Knock it off.”

  Harce nodded. “Sure, Sullo.”

  “You ran our entertainment off, little lad,” Mulik said to Leopold. “Bad move. Now we’re gonna have to make sport of you.”

  “I hope you’re not just saying that,” Leopold replied immediately. “Sadly, you do strike me as a bit of a coward.”

  “Coward???” Mulik roared.

  “That’s the spirit,” Leopold said evenly. “Good.”

  “I’m not at odds with the idea of smacking one of the small folk,” Mulik growled. “You best get back to D’voe, wee lad.”

  “Give him a smack, Mulik,” said Harce.

  “I don’t live in D’voe,” Leopold explained. “I stay there when I pass through because I don’t like the way habens smell—the dumb ones anyway.”

  Mulik stood dumbfounded.

  Sullo stood next to him, his mouth agape, his expression suggesting he was slowly formulating a response but first needed to comprehend what had been said.

  Harce looked at Leopold, then at his two associates, and back at Leopold.

  “That means you, in case you didn’t catch on,” Leopold clarified, pointing to Mulik and Sullo in turn.

  A few laughs from behind the pair pulled Mulik and Sullo from their stupor, yet neither had an immediate reply.

  Seeing their struggle and ever the helpful soul, Leopold spoke very slowly: “I mean to say you’re both dumb, and you smell like a couple of horse turds.”

  Mulik had the look of a man who had just been punched, shaking his head vigorously to clear it.

  Sullo’s face contorted, his brow furrowed, and his mouth fell open even further.

  Harce’s expression grew steadily more anxious as he continued to look back and forth between the Yunni to his left and Mulik and Sullo to his right.

  “Stag of Wiomden,” Leopold remarked. “You guys are slow. You want me to draw you a picture—would that help?”

  Both men erupted into the beginnings of a snarl, probably intended to blossom into a curse or a threat. Leopold was far too quick for them.

  “Tell you what—let’s do this so I don’t have to kill you both.” The Yunni interrupted the infuriated thugs, turning on his heel and walking past them toward an open grassy slope that ran gently but noticeably from the treeline to the creek.

  Mulik and Sullo followed him first with their gaze, then each man reflexively took a few steps in the direction Leopold was heading. Harce brought up the rear.

  “I see you have a throwing?knife lane here.” Leopold pointed to a table with about a dozen slender throwing knives laid out atop it. Twenty?five feet ahead of the table and up the incline, a wooden rectangle—brightly painted with the circles and numbers of a typical throwing?knife board—stood upright, supported by angled beams staked into the ground.

  “Wouldn’t be much of a pub if you didn’t, am I right?” The Yunni stopped in front of the table and faced the target.

  “Best of two throws—mine against yours,” he said, pointing to Mulik. “And against your best man here, if that is not you.”

  “You win, I pay for ten pints of goat piss, leave, and never bother you again,” Leopold offered. “I win, you accept that a greater mind outwitted you in our little verbal joust a moment ago, and we go separate ways without bloodshed.”

  “Trying to get out of taking the beating you deserve,” Mulik said, his eyes still aflame.

  “Yeah, the halfling’s trying to get out of the beating he deserves,” Harce echoed.

  “Everyone knows a Yunni can throw knives, darts, barbs, spikes, even axes—anything—better than a damned elf. Why should we give you the easy way out?” Mulik demanded.

  So I don’t have to kill you and the big man, you oaf, Leopold thought.

  Instead he said, “Why? To show your charitable nature, of course.”

  Mulik, Sullo, and the other men laughed genuinely and loudly at this.

  Leopold had counted the six men on the patio by this time. He had further noted two were drunk, and a third so intoxicated he’d likely pass out soon. If things turned ugly he knew he had a total of six men to deal with between Mulik, Sullo, and Harce and the three less inebriated fellows on the patio.

  “Or perhaps you’d prefer a simple wager with potentially large gains and a challenge you deem fit for the Yunni?” Leopold suggested.

  “What large gains do you offer?” Mulik asked.

  “A gold pylon,” said the Yunni.

  “Horse shit!” called one of the other men, still on the patio with the group.

  “Yeah!” Harce seconded the motion. “Horse shit you ain’t got no gold coins.”

  “Why would I lie about it?” adked Leopold.

  Mulik laughed. “Why not just take your golden emperor from you outright?”

  “I don’t have it on my person,” said Leopold. “You think me a fool?”

  Mulik rolled his eyes. The other men groaned their disbelief.

  “It’s on my wagon.”

  The Yunni pointed to a donkey-drawn wagon parked by the creek at the foot of the incline about forty yards from where he stood. A large boulder sat next to the cart.

  The small wagon sat high off the ground, its four wheels as tall as the Yunni, and the front two slightly larger than the back two. The rear wheels were also fitted with iron lugs or studs for improved traction.

  Crates and barrels were neatly stacked and wedged into place on the wagon and lashed with three-strand, tarred hemp rope. The load was covered by a waxed hemp tarp.

  “It’s on the wagon is it?” Mulik took a step towards the wagon. “Along with all those other goodies?”

  Sullo rubbed his hands together and moved to follow Mulik. Harce fell in right behind the big man, sneering back over his shoulder at the Yunni.

  It was now Leopold’s turn to roll his eyes.

  “Amadeus!” The Yunni called sharply. “Watch!”

  Suddenly from behind the large boulder next to the wagon emerged a dog with short gray hair, stubby ears, and a very short tail extended straight behind it. The canine had a short nose and broad face, the muscles in its jaws and neck rippled as it moved into position next to the wagon and emitted a low, short growl.

  Mulik, Sullo, and Harce stopped dead in their tracks.

  “Shit.” A man on the patio laughed; he broke the curse word into three syllables as he laughed.

  Not a particularly large dog, the canine stood around two-feet at the shoulder. Its muscles rippled along the chest and back, and it had a bearing and posture that suggested speed, power, and ferocity.

  “An Umbreth Scrub Hound,” Mulik stated the obvious.

  The breed was easy to spot with its distinct features, the stubby ears, thick neck and face, particularly the odd tail – no more than a foot long and parallel to the ground.

  “Where’s the other one?” a man on the patio asked; the same fellow who uttered the three-syllable curse word.

  “The man knows his dog breeds.” Leopold pointed to the speaker on the patio. “She’s close, you’re right to ask.”

  Umbreth Scrub Hounds had been bred for generations in Ziliador, the southernmost of the Three Kingdoms. Ferocious, very durable and powerful, they were often trained to work in pairs as guard dogs. The male’s role was a visible, assertive presence; the female typically remained out of sight, watching, unless and until an encounter developed into a fight.

  Amadeus

  Mulik thought about the dagger on his belt, but shook his head. He would lose a fight with one Umscrub; even if he managed to kill the dog it would mangle him in the process. Two of them would tear him apart.

  He turned to look back at the Yunni.

  “Name your challenge,” said Leopold. “No feats of strength or anything ridiculous that my size won’t permit. A throw, a leap, an act of speed; same terms as before with the added gold coin should I fail.”

  “That low-hanging jumin fruit up the hill, next to the little maple,” a different man from the patio called out. “Hit it with your first throw Yunni, or pay up!”

  The men on the patio roared with laughter. Mulik and Sullo scanned the treeline and found the aforementioned fruit, then joined the laughter.

  “There you have it little man,” Mulik sneered. “Don’t go to fussing either. You had the chance to lay your terms and exceptions and you did so. Make the throw or pay; else all in Tolbin will be informed of your welching and you’ll not be trusted hereabouts again.”

  The Yunni looked up the hill to the edge of the forest and quickly spotted the jumin tree with the especially low branch. The thin branch had plenty of triangular, waxy leaves but only one of the blue, bell-shaped fruits. The jumin was fat and ripe, bowing its branch and hanging alone in the open air – fifty yards or more from the throwing knife table where Leopold stood.

  Leopold smiled and nodded emphatically. “I suppose I left myself open for such a requirement.”

  “You surely did,” said Sullo as he crossed his arms. “Now hurry up and throw.”

  Leopold noticed Harce was no longer in the yard with them.

  How did that strange-looking bastard sneak away without my noticing?

  Leopold sighed and shook his head, then took a long look at the jumin.

  “You’ll never make that,” Mulik informed the Yunni. “Your little arms don’t have the strength to move the knife that far, so your inborn accuracy won’t help.”

  “It’s true,” said Leopold.

  “You wanna just forfeit then?” asked Mulik. “No shame in knowing when you’re not up to the task.”

  The men all laughed.

  “Nothing wrong with admitting you’ve fallen short,” a man on the patio pointed out.

  Leopold smiled. “Apologies if I’ve misled you.”

  Mulik grinned. “Saying sorry won’t get you out of your debt, Yunni.”

  “Of course not,” said Leopold. “I only meant I’m sorry you thought I am giving up. What I meant when I agreed with you was simply that I cannot hit the fruit with a throwing knife.”

  “Exactly,” Mulik said gruffly, his patience wearing thin. “We heard you. All know what you meant.”

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  “Good,” said Leopold.

  He then reached to his belt with his left hand and slid a steel boomerang from a specially-made sheath. He looked back at the jumin fruit, leaned to his right as if feeling the distance and angle, and took note of the proximity of large branches and tree trunks to his target.

  “Hang on…” a man on the patio started to protest.

  Quick as a cat the Yunni leapt to his right, holding the boomerang close to his chest. He landed with his right foot, slowly lowering himself to build some torque then sprung back to his left hard and fast.

  At the peak of his lateral jump he whipped out a backhand throw and loosed his weapon. He touched down on the ball of his left foot, then stepped into a walk with his right leg.

  The Yunni casually slid a brown glove onto his left hand, keeping his eyes on the boomerang in flight.

  The wide v-shaped blade whistled and spun as it sailed up the hill; its surface a brilliant flash reflecting the sun’s rays. The flash approached the fruit in a straight line that looked to be twenty or so feet wide to the left; it caught a tight arc just before it would have passed the low-hanging branch and sliced directly through the middle of the bell-shaped, blue fruit.

  The spray of blue mist provoked a chorus of “ohs” from the men on the patio.

  “Son of a bitch!” Mulik exclaimed as the boomerang continued its arc, sailing along the treeline then turning out to pass over the corner of the tavern and half-circle back to the Yunni.

  Sullo watched the weapon as it flew, ducking in a near-panic as it whistled over his head.

  Leopold reached up and caught the spinning boomerang as if he were catching a ball thrown by a child. A distinctive, metallic clang followed the thump of the projectile meeting the heavy glove.

  Silence hung over the grassy incline for a moment. Mulik shook his head.

  Finally he said “That’s fair Yunni. I didn’t clarify the knife, only assumed, hence your use of another, more suitable weapon was perfectly permissible.”

  “Thank you.” Leopold half-bowed to Mulik, then to Sullo, and finally to the men on the patio.

  Not the kind of bow given to royalty, this was a customary gesture of mutual respect from Goju Dagam, Kutawazi, and similar cultures.

  “Not so fast!” Sullo blared. “I want my cut of that gold bird; I call for a reckoning round.”

  “Oooh!” said a few men on the patio.

  Mulik raised his eyebrows.

  “You’re serious?” asked the Yunni.

  “Damn right I’m serious,” Sullo grumbled. “Deny me and you’ll not wager in this town again, nor be trusted on a trade. Them’s the rules.”

  Yes, them are the rules you ignorant oaf. Leopold again kept his blunt thoughts to himself, choosing more courteous words to speak aloud.

  “What exactly are you trying to win back?” he asked. ‘You didn’t wager any goods or money in the first place.”

  “I done said I want my share of that gold,’ Sullo pointed out.

  “It’s not your gold,” the Yunni explained. “You don’t have a share of it.”

  “Because you tricked us!” Sullo bellowed.

  I should have killed this idiot in the first place.

  Leopold discreetly set his left hand beneath the boomerang’s sheath, then realized the big man was less than twenty feet away – far too close for that weapon. He assessed the throwing knives on the table; many had broken tips and all were pretty beaten up.

  I’d need to put at least two in him to slow him down enough to get to the cart. Likely need to pin a couple of the others as well; I could call the dogs up here.

  “What do you have in mind?” the Yunni asked to buy himself a few more seconds.

  Sullo chuckled.

  The dogs will make a mess and if I put throwers into three or four of these clowns on top of that… No good. I don’t have time for legal trouble right now. Kel would kill me.

  “Honestly Leopold,” Kelliard scolded as she and Chol’m approached from the treeline.

  The Yunni half-flinched at the unexpected sound of his friend’s voice.

  “I even left you a list and here you are making trouble in the pub.” Kel continued. “Chol’m is right you can’t be left unattended in public you little ruffian.”

  “I got the list.” The Yunni pointed to the wagon by the creek.

  “So you did.” the alhaka noted. “Good!”

  “Well little miss cleric of truth,” said Mulik. “Where you been the past month or more?”

  “Between Iaxta and Mord,” Kelliard replied. “I do have temple duties I must see to in order to keep my clerical standing.”

  “I see,” said the thug, who seemed to soften considerably at the sight of Kelliard. “This little rascal is one of your crew then?”

  “He is.” She looked at Leopold and winked. “I hope he hasn’t started much trouble.”

  Sullo fidgeted in the background, muttering under his breath.

  Mulik replied “If I had known he was with you Veridess Heulimus, I would have left him be.”

  “No need to be so formal Mulik.” Kel was a little embarrassed, she was rarely addressed by her title and last name in her home town. “But thank you.”

  Sullo tapped his foot and nervously looked over his shoulder.

  “What’s wrong with the big man?” Leopold asked Mulik; his voice suggested he may already know the answer.

  “What is it Sullo?” asked Mulik.

  “I done something.” Sullo replied, not looking Mulik in the eyes.

  “What does that mean?” Mulik demanded.

  The sound of footfalls on tile shingles gave the answer. Harce appeared atop the tavern, a crossbow in his hands.

  Instantly the Yunni’s boomerang appeared in his left hand.

  “Leopold no!” Kelliard stepped in front of the Yunni.

  “I got it for you Sullo.” Harce called from the rooftop. “I can see both dogs from up here; the other one is behind the boulder.”

  “Harce it’s ok,” Sullo called out. “Come down from there and be careful where you point that thing.”

  The skinny man on the roof made a funny face. His confusion apparent, he raised the crossbow in the direction of the dog next to the wagon.

  Leopold leaned around Kel and spoke directly to Mulik, “Make him understand he is about to die!”

  “Leopold please.” Kel begged, “Look at me.”

  The Yunni looked her right in the eyes. “Sorry Kel. You know I’d follow you into both hells and do whatever you tell me to do but I will not let this fool kill my dogs.”

  “Harce don’t!” Mulik called. “You weren’t here to see, the Yunni took the jumin fruit with his first throw.”

  Harce’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  “He’ll kill you from here son, don’t do it.” Mulik continued. “Come on down from there.”

  The young man fidgeted, he almost lowered the crossbow but kept it raised instead.

  “I won’t let that happen.” Kel said to Leopold. “I need you to trust me.”

  The Yunni bit his lip, a tear formed in his right eye. He nodded to the cleric, his eyes begging her to be sure she knew what she was doing.

  Understanding the look in her friend’s eyes, she nodded. Kelliard then turned around to face the tavern.

  Harce had a look of disgust on his face. “Sullo you told me to fetch your crossbow so we could kill them dogs and get the Yunni’s gold.”

  A look of remorse and humiliation washed over the big man’s countenance and he averted his eyes from the others standing next to him. Looking at Harce he spoke softly.

  “I shouldn’t have done that Harce.” Sullo insisted. “I shouldn’t have told you to get the crossbow; I’m drunk and everybody knows how I act up after too much booze.”

  Leopold tightened his grip on the boomerang. He clinched his empty hand into a fist so tight his nails dug into the palm and drew blood.

  “You get scared?” Harce demanded. “Sullo I thought you was tougher than that. I looked up to you all these years and you act like this?”

  A look of resolve on his face, Harce steadied the crossbow and looked down the sites.

  Leopold raised his boomerang and looked at Kel, who faced away from him. She was saying something under her breath and pointing to the man on the roof.

  Harce saw the Umscrub through the ring that served as the crossbow’s front site. The dog was standing and growling at him, having noticed his scrutiny from forty yards away.

  “Leo.” Chol’m whispered.

  The Yunni looked up at the rotund mage and whispered, “He isn’t listening; I can’t stand down.”

  As he spoke Leopold realized the mage stared with a purpose towards the wagon where Amadeus stood growling; he was just finishing a discreet gesture with his right hand.

  Chol’m looked down at the warrior with the boomerang and nodded.

  “The hounds are safe now,” the spellcaster whispered softly; little more than mouthed really. “He could loose twenty bolts downrange and they won’t suffer the first scratch.”

  The Yunni’s shoulders instantly relaxed and his right knee half-buckled from the release of anxiety and angst. Leopold had seen enough of Chol’m’s magic to trust his assurances without question.

  “Harce,” Kelliard spoke; her voice calm and not quiet but not at all loud.

  The man on the roof cocked his head to hear better with his right ear. He stood still as a statue and shifted his eyes in the direction of the voice that called him by name.

  “Harce,” the cleric spoke again. “Lower the crossbow and look at me.

  Harce did exactly that. The weapon hanging in right hand he looked expectingly at Kelliard.

  “Good,” she said. “Please come down from there and then come over to me.”

  Harce again complied. Without a word he shuffled to the edge of the roof, sat down, then dropped down onto two bails of straw stacked against the outer wall of the tavern.

  As casually as a man headed to his fishing hole the young thug strolled across the grass to where Kelliard stood. He stopped and smiled at the cleric, never taking his eyes off hers.

  “Good,” said Kel. “Now give that crossbow to Sullo.”

  She turned to face the big man, her expression hardening considerably. In a sharp, stern voice she spoke:

  “So he can take it home and put it away!”

  Sullo looked down at the ground. He received the weapon from Harce without raising his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” the big man muttered hoarsely.

  “You should be!” Kelliard pressed. “I have half a mind to ask the constable to arrest you Sullo!”

  Sullo nodded emphatically, still looking at his feet.

  The cleric’s voice softened a good deal as she said, “Now take that home and don’t come back out of that house until you’ve sobered up.”

  Sullo nodded, then turned and walked into the treeline.

  Kelliard turned her attention back to Harce, who remained still and silent. He just stood there smiling at the young alhaka.

  “Listen carefully to what I say Harce.” The cleric of Verum looked deeply into the young man’s eyes.

  He smiled even more and nodded.

  “You are on the wrong path. You try to fit into a group you do not belong to,” said Kel.

  Harce’s smile faded and his shoulders slumped. He dropped his head forward.

  “No.” Kelliard touched his chin to gently lift his gaze back into hers. “You not belonging has nothing to do with unworthiness. You simply seek commonality where there is none.”

  “I am a cleric of Verum, and I am given true sight of others when I ask,” she continued. “I see that you are hurting and you feel alone. Your father and brother died when you were younger and you have no sense of camaraderie with other males, no group to belong to.”

  A tear streamed down Harce’s face, then another. He swallowed hard then slowly nodded.

  “Know this Harce Dunnin, who is of Baaltaran and Glorm descent, you who were taught to work wood at a young age. I know you can build sturdy frames, measure well and cut with precision, can sand and smooth and stain. You can take a pile of boards and lumber and fashion from those raw materials a stout chair for your grandfather, a lovely breadbox for your mother with little flowers carved into the sliding door, a set of toy dolls for little Annia, even a new stable door for the horse ridden by Ronius the soldier who lives across the avenue from you. You could build a house if you had the materials and a helper, isn’t that right?”

  A smile gradually grew on the face of Harce. He nodded enthusiastically to Kel’s question.

  “You have talents that serve others in wonderful ways and you should be proud of this,” the cleric went on. “You needn’t try to act mean and tough and hurtful to gain the approval of men who are not like you.”

  “Take this.” She handed the young man a small disc made from birchwood. “Turn it over in your hands and examine it.”

  Harce did as Kel said.

  One side of the disc retained the striking white bark of the birch tree, treated with druseed oil to preserve it indefinitely. On the other side a carved symbol displayed a lantern with an eye in the center pane where the light would burn in a true lantern.

  “This is a token of awakening or a talisman for a new beginning,” the cleric explained. “Go home and take this with you Harce. Think about all I have said and about what almost happened here today. By the time you go to bed tonight you will have rethought your life. Place this token under your pillow and when you awake in the morning you will no longer be the displaced man who stands before me now; you will be renewed, a man on his own path who seeks the fortune of his true nature.”

  Harce nodded, still smiling.

  “When you wake tomorrow take the token from under your pillow. Keep it with you until you meet someone who needs it; simply give it to them and tell them to keep it close to them and you will have passed on this blessing from the Lord of Truth and earned your boon.”

  Kelliard smiled at the young man. “Now go.’

  Without a word Harce turned and left. Those around Kel stood in speechless awe of what they had just witnessed.

  She dropped a heavy sigh of relief. Her shoulders lowered visibly and she rolled her neck out, then shook her head with a smile.

  As Chol’m watched Kelliard roll her neck he caught the serpentine motion of her spine, especially in her lower back. He saw her hips channel the momentum of that almost imperceptible motion.

  So subtle, he could have easily missed the rippling of her skin and the shifting of her balance. He didn’t; he instantly wanted to see it again but at the same time recoiled inwardly as he became aware of his thinking.

  The mage saw his friend’s straight back as if for the first time and realized how long her torso was. She wasn’t that much shorter than he. Her arms were toned but small, so tiny like the arms of a little doll. Chol’m had never noticed how gracefully her slender hands moved and held things and just hung at her sides; her fingers, so petite and dainty.

  The mage realized his adrenaline had started to kick; a great heat rose from his neck and face and a strange warmth grew in his solar plexus. He found himself looking at his friend’s waist, wonderfully trim above her narrow hips that were just rounded enough.

  What the hell am I doing? Chol’m demanded of himself.

  He met Kelliard’s gaze, noticing how surprisingly clear and green her eyes were—innocent yet weathered. Her thin features, not quite sharp but wonderfully elegant took hold of something within him.

  Dammit Chol’m what is wrong with you? The distressed mage again challenged his own thinking.

  He quickly looked away from Kelliard.

  “Well done.” Leopold put his boomerang away. “Sorry I doubted you sweetheart.”

  Chol’m looked back at his friend, hoping she wouldn’t catch him running his eyes all over her.

  “Thank you and it’s all right.” Kel put a hand on the Yunni’s shoulder. “It was a tough situation; I was worried I wouldn’t be able to connect with him.”

  A flash of heat rushed into the mage’s face when he saw Kel lay her hand on Leopold. Chol’m recognized the heat in his face for what it was – anger and petty jealousy. Flustered by the sight and furious with himself for reacting that way Chol’m faked a cough so he could turn away and cover his face.

  He tensed his muscles and called forth his will, something he did regularly in the practice of his magic. He forced the ridiculous thoughts and emotions from his body and from his awareness.

  Ignus. Teiné. F’larik. Fire cleanse this foolery from me.

  He silently cast a quick incantation to bring the attention of elemental fire to his mind and body; his aim was to burn away any residue leftover from the nonsensical thoughts and feelings.

  “Suddenly I’ve the feeling I should be at temple in the morning.” Mulik only half-joked.

  The men on the balcony sat in awkward and at least partially reverant silence.

  “Chol’m are you all right?” Kel asked.

  The instant he heard her voice the mage realized he had failed her. She had needed him after the ordeal with Harce and the incredible charm spell she had just woven spur of the moment.

  Instead of being the rock on which his dear friend had come to rely, the steady pillar always there for her to lean against in moments of emotional fatigue or trial, he had been gawking at her figure and on the verge of fantasizing about her naked body like some lowbrow hoodlum.

  The subsequent wave of guilt nearly caused the mage to vomit. He quickly gathered himself and turned to face Kelliard.

  “Sorry I don’t know what happened there; just felt a little rough for a moment; never mind that how are you Kel? That was absolutely amazing honey.”

  “Thank you. I wasn’t sure if you had a charm on hand or not I hope I didn’t cut you off.” Kelliard meant every word sincerely.

  That had to be stressful and she executed flawlessly. I couldn’t have done as well. Yet her biggest concern is whether or not she deprived me of the opportunity.

  Chol’m saw vividly what he knew he already knew. Kelliard was a creature of genuine compassion and legitimate caring for others. She was truly a good person; he felt ashamed of his own selfishness in that moment.

  Truthfully he wouldn’t have lost any sleep if Leopold had just loosed his boomerang and gutted the thug on the roof. Yet to Kel this had been unthinkable; she really cared about saving the little hoodlum bastard; not only that she wanted to set the man’s life back on track – and she probably did!

  “Absolutely not Kel,” Chol’m assured the cleric. “I very much doubt I could have pulled off a glamor spell in that small span of time and without being able to touch the subject. Well done; better than that, hell you were amazing!”

  “Thank you.” Kelliard smiled at her friend.

  Whether or not he imagined it Chol’m could not say, but he thought he noticed something telling in her eyes as she thanked him. Did she recognize the tiniest trace of something in his compliment? Had she caught on to the fact that he had tried to sneak just a smidgen of “hey baby” into his words without setting off any alarm bells?

  Chol’m gods damn it if you don’t end this utterly ridiculous nonsense right now I’m going to cut one of your fingers off! The Hugh who professed to be taller and fatter than most of his people screamed this dire warning at the top of his silent lungs, daring himself to test himself on his threat to himself.

  A calm, confident smile returned to his friend outwardly concealed – Chol’m so hoped it concealed – the absolute madness of all that stirred and fumbled and screamed and threatened inside of him.

  “Looks like Leo has our supplies ready,” he spoke like a man who was not losing his mind, then followed up with something entirely unlike what a crazy person would say. “Just have to stop by my study and grab my travel-library.”

  “We’re finally doing it.” Kelliard clapped her hands together and leaned forward a little, her entire upper body shaking with excitement.

  Chol’m accepted the probability that he would soon lose a finger. He skipped past trying to reason the notion away and went directly into thoughts of how he might justify the totally insane act to his friends after the fact.

  “I am so excited,” she announced. “I’ve been waiting all year for the two of us…” she quickly looked at Leopold and amended herself. “For all of us to be on the trail to the Amethyst Mountains to retrieve that tablet!”

  The trio began moving towards the Yunni’s wagon as they continued their conversation.

  “Let’s get on that trail then.” Leopold replied evenly. “Where are we meeting Gerlod and Hesettyia?”

  Chol’m almost replied but decided to let Kelliard answer the Yunni. This gave him the opportunity to watch the little movements and expressions of her face as she spoke, without her noticing him.

  “Southwest of Zephyr Hollow,” Kel informed the warrior. “Camping in the hills just outside of town.”

  The magic-user was very much on the verge of tears. Clearly he could not keep his eyes off his friend of many years; he felt completely helpless and just baffled by the whole situation.

  “May good fortune follow and you return safe.” Mulik called behind the three adventurers.

  “Thanks Mulik.” Kel waved back.

  Chol’m spoke up, desperately hoping to re-focus and get clear of his sudden fixation on Kelliard. “Yes, they had a meeting with a sergeant of the militia this morning; a safety advisory based on the latest reconnaissance.”

  “How far out do their scouts go?” asked the Yunni in his all-business tone of voice.

  “The eastern Khelt from the southwest corner of Vorrigon’s Wall up to lower fork of the Larante River just north of Otium Basin,” Chol’m clarified.

  “They scout the basin itself or no?” Leopold followed up.

  The three of them reached the wagon. Both of Leopold’s hounds rushed to meet him, whining as they came.

  “Yes actually,” the mage replied. “The entire lakeshore north to south on both sides, then into the Angipowoods and Cypher Shrublands. Not sure how thorough they are in the latter areas and they don’t go into the Purple Forest or further into the foothills; they leave those to Iaxta and Mord.”

  “Gotta stop somewhere and pass the responsibility on I suppose,” Leopold observed as he scratched the ears of both dogs.

  When the Yunni finished scratching, Amadeus and Phoebes—the female—turned their attention to Kel and Chol’m. They carefully sniffed both the mage and the cleric, likely trying to detect any traces of dogs the humans might have been spending time with while the hounds were gone.

  “I’m glad to get any information they have,” said Kel as she knelt to pet Phoebes. “The incidents of hobgoblin encounters make me more than a little uneasy.”

  “Hells yes uneasy.” Leopold agreed. “Not just wild hobgobs either; my understanding is these were confirmed patrols from Dirus Foedus.”

  “That’s the story,” said Chol’m as he stroked the neck of Amadeus. “Not just rumor either. The militia posted an official advisory and increased manpower on the wall; definitely hobgoblin soldiers from the Pact Lands.”

  “That’s not all that unusual, correct?” Kelliard asked.

  “It’s not uncommon for their patrols to be as far north as southern Ziliador.” Chol’m affirmed. “Show of force exercises, much of which I believe is just to make us jump and keep us on edge.”

  “Certainly their military runs deep patrols all the time,” the Yunni agreed. “I don’t see this as a threat to Middleshire – not an imminent one at least – but it could be real trouble for any travelers who cross paths with a company of hobgobs out there.”

  Kel and Chol’m nodded in agreement.

  “I really wish you’d consider upping the muscle on this one Kel.” Leopold took his seat in the wagon. “The church will surely reimburse the expense and I’ll help pay.”

  “As will I!” Chol’m blurted out so loudly Kelliard flinched.

  Leopold raised his eyebrows and had a good look at the mage.

  Chol’m instantly feared his outburst had exposed his sudden bizarre feelings for Kel.

  “You can pay my share as well if it means that much to you Chol’m.” Leopold offered, then laughed.

  Chol’m faked a laugh, poorly. “Just don’t want to be the pinchfist in the group.”

  “Nobody thinks that,” Kel assured him.

  She then turned to Leopold. “What do you have in mind for extra muscle? I hate trying to manage too big a group.”

  “Precisely why we should go professional,” Leopold explained. “Adamantite Wagon and Brixel’s Brace both have outposts in Zephyr Hollow. A small unit with its own leader who answers to you and keeps his men in line.”

  “It’s a fine idea,” Chol’m agreed. “They could travel to the mountains with us and either await our return from the ruins of press on with us. Put them where we need them and keep them out of our way otherwise.”

  “Ok,” Kel agreed. “We’ll meet you in the square by the gate Leo.”

  “You got it.” The Yunni clapped his hands. “Amadeus! Phoebes! Up!”

  The hounds leapt onto the back of the wagon and made themselves comfortable atop the tarp. Leopold snapped the reins and the donkey began a casual stroll along the creek.

  Chol’m’s head began to throb. He felt very tired.

  “What is it?” Kel asked as the pair walked along the creek towards the mage’s study on the outskirts of Tolbin.

  “I feel a little wonky. I’ll be fine, may take a healing potion,” the mage explained.

  “Save the potion,” the cleric suggested. “Let me fix you.”

  “I may do it.” Chol’m realized his sudden infatuation for his friend had slipped away. In fact while he knew the experience took place, he had trouble remembering it in very much detail.

  He laughed to himself as the obvious explanation of the whole bizarre incident became clear. He had somehow or another been affected by Kelliard’s charm spell.

  How this had happened he did not yet understand. Still, this was the only plausible scenario, especially given the abrupt onset of the experience and the way it wore off like a hangover.

  “What’s funny?” asked the cleric.

  “Nothing,” the magic-user lied. He would explain later; he was still too embarrassed in that moment to disclose the matter to anyone.