(Charles)

  It’d been three days since Charles left Dartmouth. He shifted in his seat again. The cushioned bench of the driver’s box was usually fortable enough, but nothing stayed fortable forever. His legs felt restless, his feet tapping out their own irritation. Hours had passed since his st stretch, and he could feel the tension building from being stu the same position for too long.

  for Vera was the reason for the forced pace of his trip. Charles was sure Nightshade’s animal handlers were adequate, but theropods were clever, and Vera was no ordinary theropod. He was worried she’d grow bored and start hunting regardless of being penned up. Dartmouth had already called for her execution, and he didn’t want her giving them another excuse to put her down.

  He’d slept just enough to remain awake as the bramble spawn carried him down the road. One full night’s rest was all he’d mao get since meeting the off-worlder, Dyn. Running mostly on naps for more than a week took its toll on him.

  If he could hold out just a bit longer, he’d reach the local Ebonscale chapter—his former home. There, he’d arrange for the pick-up and delivery of both theropods. He’d still o secure and pay for Vera’s care for the hree months. Ohat was handled, he could finally sleep like a Dyn.

  “Hope I’ve got the gems.”

  Charles thought it’d be unfortunate if, after he’d finally secured Vera’s freedom, an administrative fee would be the cause for her return to captivity. One advantage in his favor was he khe lead theropod trainer, Stablemaster Fu-tang, an old torajin.

  Fu-tang was the only torajin Charles had ever met. Unlike his own people, the torajin hadn’t officially ized Xel’oria. They were one of the primal races, like the okamijin—a nomadic people who spread across tis aually, other worlds. Their appearance was beast-like, sharing bipedal forms with fur-covered bodies, soft, rotating ears, muzzles, cws, and even tails.

  While okamijin were known for their endurand id features—long, thin muzzles and strong, cwed digits—the torajin were mraceful and felid, with shorter, wider muzzles aractable, razor-sharp cws.

  Charles thought back fondly on his time assisting with the theropods. Animals, while sometimes dangerous, followed their own type of logistinct. Charles preferred w with them because once he uood their logic, it was reliable. He knew what to expect when w with the creatures.

  People were far less predictable, each subscribing to their own enigmatic logic. Just when you think you’ve figured them out, they ge. The te of Ebonscale, “Power above all else,” created a perpetual state of dissatisfa. Once a goal was achieved, another had to be set. Obtaining power was only a prerequisite to unlog an even higher power—a never-ending cycle.

  It was a game that never ied Charles. He was tired of being a casualty to ambition. The path to power aved irayal, deceit, and exploitation. Those who faltered on that fickle path were left with bme, denial, ara.

  Bitterness desded upon him as the rooftop of the guildhall peeked over the trees. The impossible had happened. After a decade of freedom, he’d finally returned home.

  The tree liopped, giving way to a crystal fehat mirrored the tone of the stronghold it guarded. From his time here, Charles khe tall, ornate, bck barrier encircled the entire pound. Slits between the crystal posts provided just enough of a view to glimpse the formidable guildhall, while preserving mystery and keeping out those deemed unworthy.

  Like most obvious defenses, it was for show—a visual deterrent for the simple of mind and means and a dispy of vanity for the rest. The real prote came from their reputation—a well-earned one, he grudgingly admitted. No sane person would rile up that pollinator’s . Yet somehow, Dyn had been a part of the incursion.

  Charles peeped at the rge ke that sat across from the gated pound. It must have been the one Dyn had nded in during his escape. Fortuitous for Dyn to have that option avaible to him, Charles didn’t see any other way for him to have made it out. Climbing the fence would have been far too physical a task for the chubby man.

  A grand gate stood at the frorance, serving as a reception point fuests and the perfect vao present the guildhall. The t manor reached for the sky, its vertical lines asymmetrically joio the dormitories, suggesting there were many paths to the same destination, though not all of them equal.

  The gate silently swung open at his approach, providing him with three insights.

  ‘They were expeg me,’ he thought.

  First, someone knew he o visit this Ebonscale chapter. It’d been over a decade since his st return, and he didn’t reize the guards’ faces as he rode past.

  ‘They reized my transport.’

  Sed, they had enough information about him tnize his arborhearth—an exceptionally rare form of transportation. The gate had been opened well before the guards could have made out much more than a dark carriage pulled by two bramble spawn.

  ‘They had standing orders.’

  Third, they had authority ate access. Even guild members had to stop at the gate before entering or leaving.

  Only one individual from Ebonscale had retly been to Dartmouth, knew about his court-issued business, had access to his personal records, and could pre-authorize his entry. The most obvious clue about who had taken an i in him was that the individual was still alive.

  ‘Guildmaster Maeve.’

  This possibility kept resurfag in his mind over the past three days. The best pn, he decided, was to avoid her. However, Guildmaster Maeve had a tendency of getting what she wanted, and for reasons he couldn’t uand, she wanted him to return to the guild.

  That wasn’t true; he’d thought of several reasons why returning to the fold would be her. The problem was, he didn’t have enough information to determine which was the most likely. Charles had never met her, and he’d like to keep it that way. All he knew about her was circumstantial, which was a terrible baselio uand her motives.

  ‘Scaffolding?’ he wohe sight of it erected beside the dormitory perplexed him. He’d known about the explosion from Dyn’s retelling. But why were they using mundane repair teology?

  ‘Where’s the architect?’

  There were signs of the architect’s mending ability. Charles noticed some individuals with living stone prosthetics, a known side effeending by Bo’cefus’s hand. Bo’cefus, an abaster-scaled drai, rarely took tracts that would pull him away from the stronghold. If he’d used his mending abilities, it was likely during the attack.

  ‘Did Christian Bale kill Bo’cefus?’

  Dyn’s ignorand ck of deliion during his retelli Charles with an inplete picture of that night. But seeing evidehat the stronghold was without an architect, even a week ter, pieced together enough to clude that White and Bo’cefus were indeed one and the same—and he’d been sin at the hands of Christian Bale.

  Charles ko park he stables oher side of the guildhall, opposite from the dormitories. He was curious to see what remained of the alchemy b, but not enough to dey his business and risk an enter with the Guildmaster.

  Previously, Dreadfang had let it slip that the former headmaster of the stronghold was among the dead. Only guilds rge enough to warrant multiple strongholds used headmasters; they ran the local chapter, and the only person who outrahem was the actual guildmaster. Intrigue tempted Charles as he wondered who she’d pick to repce the Old Elf.

  A young elven girl, barely past her first decade, rushed up to him as he drove into ay lot.

  “Hello,” she called up to him.

  “Yes?” he asked, peering down at her from atop the arborhearth.

  “I stable your—” The girl paused. She’d obviously never seen bramble spawn before, but that wouldn’t stop her. “I stable these beautiful creatures for you, if you’d like.

  “No, they’re fine,” he replied.

  The girl nodded and stepped back, but lingered nearby; Charles wasn’t sure if it was out of curiosity for the bramble spawn or Fu-tang’s training on proper stable attendance. Most likely, it was a mixture of both.

  He stood slowly in the driver’s box, stretg his arms above his head and leaning side to side. Normally, he’d hop dht away and be about his business, but the ck of sleep had caught up to him, and he avoided unnecessary risks. Carefully, he climbed down from the driver’s box, using the small steps attached to the side.

  The bramble spawn, eager for nourishment, wasted no time in sending exploratory roots into the loose grouh them. As they went about their subterranean work, a scratg sound rose from uhe dirt. It wouldn’t take long for them to form a robust work of roots.

  “Do you know Fu-tang?” Charles asked the stable attendant.

  The girl gave him a curious look. “He’s the best theropod handler in the world… Everyone knows Fu-tang.”

  ‘Excellent. He’s still here,’ Charles thought, relieved to know he’d be dealing with someone familiar. He gnced back at the girl. “Where I find him?” he asked.

  She thought for a moment and then said, “You might find him at the pond.”

  ‘That body of water is much te to be called a pond,’ Charles thought, a faint crease f on his brow. “Across from the stronghold?” he asked, pointing to the one Dyn had used as a nding pad.

  “No, the one behind the guildhall,” she said, pointing in the opposite dire.

  ‘That’s new,’ he thought.

  Notig the on her face, Charles gave a reassuring nod. “They’ll care for themselves. Be sure no one disturbs them.”

  That seemed to satisfy her, and she returo tend to the other stabled creatures. Charles looked up at the guildhall. The most direct route would have been to cut through, but Guildmaster Maeve was likely inside.

  He decided against cutting through and instead made his way around the guildhall to the backside of the stronghold, where he found a o-him body of water, smaller than a ke but rger than a pool. Pond had been an appropriate description. A dock extended out over the water, with peared to be a partially submerged stable nearby. An e, bck, and white-striped torajin stood waist-deep ier, looking remarkably fit for his age.

  Fu-tang’s coat was lighter than Charles remembered, and his bright es were fading—a natural sign of age among the primal races. This torajin would be a hundred in just a few more years, sidered elderly among his people. The magic of being an adventurer had kept him in his prime for decades lohan most.

  Still, Charles knew better than to uimate him. Whatever time might have taken in speed and strength, it had returwo-fold in experiend wisdom. When you knew how to avoid trouble, fast reflexes were redundant—or so Fu-tang liked to say.

  Charles’s footsteps ched softly on the gravel as he approached. “Charles?” Fu-tang looked up as the rugged elf drew near.

  “Hello, Fu-tang,” Charles replied, a small, respectful nod.

  The torajin waded over and nimbly lifted himself onto the dock. He was soaked from the waist down, water rushing down his shorts, legs, and onto the purple wooden sts.

  “I didn’t believe them when they said you were ing back,” Fu-tang said.

  “I’m not back,” he quickly crified, his gaze surveying how the stronghold had ged.

  Fu-tang’s expression suggested he wasirely vinced. “You don’t know what the future holds,” he said. “As I recall, you specifically stated you’d never set foot on these grounds agai, here you are.”

  Charles sighed, looking past the torajin at the pond. “Unfortunately, I didn’t have a choice.”

  “There’s always a choice.” Fu-tang gave a slight nod, affirming a well-known truth.

  Fu-tang was correct. Charles could have chosen to let Vera die, but he’d rather swallow his pride tha her suffer for his as. He exhaled slowly, recalling how, before he’d left, Fu-tang had cautioned him about thinking in absolutes. To Fu-tang, everything was a teachable moment.

  “There are two theropods currently stabled at Nightshade. One of the theropods is yours. The other—Vera, the albino—has been transferred to me as part of resolving a situation involving a refugee.

  “I need your assistaransp them back here. Also, I need a personal favor; I’ve a court order that Vera must remain in your care for three months of rehabilitation. She…” Charles gnced aside, hesitating for a split sed, “…temporarily maimed an officer.”

  The torajin nodded. “I’ve already dispatched a team.”

  “When?” Charles gnced ba the dire he’d e. “I didn’t see anyone from Ebonscale on the road.”

  “A quest was made for a flying transport to expedite the team’s arrival. They’re most likely already on their way back,” Fu-tang said.

  ‘A Quest?’ Quests were issued by guildmasters and headmasters. This wasn’t good.

  Guildmaster Maeve had already offered to cover his court debts for reinstating his membership with Ebonscale. He’d deed; he knew everything had a prid would rather pay a high price up front than owe an unspecified debt ter. Now, she had ied guild resources in him, so he couldn’t refuse.

  Charles let out a slow, measured sigh. “That’s unfortunate,” he finally said aloud.