A Cast of Falcons - Story

On a high hilltop, stood between the vivid green of the craggy Highland hills and the brooding steel sky, was a young man with a hooded falcon perched on his outstretched arm.

The man was tall and pale, his paleness heightened by his long flame-red hair and short red beard. His dour face made him look far older than he was. He had the appearance of a man who did not see the point in smiling, or had little reason to do so.

Although he wore the iron brigandine and crimson cloak of the Falconer Knights of Wolfridge, he was not wearing the green tabard bearing the crest of the order. Far in the distance behind him, a thin trail of rising black smoke pointed to the final resting place of the tabard, as well as the blackened remain of his former cottage, and of much more besides.

The small saker falcon had a white breast dappled with brown and its back was steel grey fringed with white. It stood on the young man's left arm anxiously making quiet clucking sounds as he stared down into the valley below him that wound northward into the mountains.

The man turned around to gaze one last time at the rugged hills of the county of Wolfridge, land of his fathers and jewel of the Kestralian Highlands.

"Torcadall," he said quietly to his falcon, as he began to unfasten the bird's anklet and jess with his right hand. "Time to go, my lad. Do not come back, for I'll not be here." He loosened the braces of Torcadall's hood and removed it, revealing two eyes of deepest shining black set in a speckled light-and-dark brown head.

He affectionately stroked the back of the bird's neck one last time, then without another word launched it into the air. The falcon leapt from his arm and took to the sky with a screech. The man gravely watched the bird become a speck against the leaden sky, then disappear from view.

After a time, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter that had been left at his cottage a week earlier, and read it once more:

Sir Angas Crieff,

I am sending you this letter because you are someone I believe we can trust.

I know you have been troubled by the actions of your king, and that in your heart you know what he does is wrong. I also know that your dissent has not gone unnoticed by your king and those loyal to him. Your life and the lives of those dear to you are in danger as long as you remain in Wolfridge.

The time for uprising is now. He must be stopped, or many more innocent lives will be lost.

If you would like to know more, meet me in the elven temple in Galdurheim.

A Friend


Then Angas Crieff, formerly of the Wolfridge Falconers, folded the letter back up and replaced it in his pocket. He turned away from his place of birth and the only home he had ever known, and set off down the path into the valley, in search of rebellion.

The city of Anfangstadt in the Lowlands of the kingdom of Kestral was a city of iron.


Pillars of black smoke from the city’s iron mines, smelters and refineries were always present, rising up beyond the rooftops of the sooty, blackened houses of its mining district, or “Iron Town” as it was known locally. Anfangstadt iron was in high demand all over the kingdom and beyond.

The other side of the city, however, was home to refinement of another sort. Stripped of its iron long ago, it had since become home to the city’s aristocrats and wealthier merchants, along with its ruler, Duke Casnir.

The duke of Anfangstadt’s palace was enormous, even by the lavish standards of the Kestralian nobility. It was spread out on a high, flat plateau that looked down on the rest of the city, and was as far removed economically and socially from the city’s mining community as it was geographically.

Among the palace’s countless amenities was one of the largest wine cellars in the world, a labyrinthine collection of corridors stocked floor to ceiling with wines of every vineyard, from any country one could name.

There was even, beyond the cellars, an abandoned mine that the duke’s grandfather had had converted into a winery. Built directly into the abandoned drifts of the plateau upon which the palace sat, the long-disused winery contained many branching tunnels filled with row after row of giant oaken tuns, along with dust-coated winemaking equipment that hadn’t seen use in more than a generation.

Inside one of these tunnels was a giant oak barrel that was indistinguishable from the others in its row but for a small section on top that had rotted from water damage and had been torn away to create an opening, and inside this barrel sat a young thief named Elliel Kish.

Kish was short and thin and possessed of a wiry strength and nimbleness, all of which served him very well in his profession. He had a boyish face topped by an unruly shag of blond hair, and had a puckish smile that revealed a missing tooth in his upper jaw.

He had found the entrance to the mine that led to the winery years ago, and had gone to great pains to make sure no one else knew of it. By now, he knew its pathways well, and had even become familiar with the inside of the palace, or sections of it at least.

He was lying on his back with his head on his rolled-up cloak, and his dark eyes were focused in the gloom on a point on the ceiling of the inside of the tun.

Kish did not normally go in for careful planning, but he had on this occasion formulated a plan which was this: sneak into my hiding barrel, wait until the middle of the night, sneak into the palace, pinch a bauble or two, then leave. Nothing else, he told himself. This was nothing more than a short and necessary visit. Anything else and he would be nicked.

He sighed to himself in the darkness. Bloody fates, he thought, what a year. He forced himself to focus on the job ahead, and what lay beyond. Just a trinket or two, he reminded himself, and he’d be set for a month.

He smiled to himself. A month of wine, women, and...more wine. Perhaps a room in Iron Town. A roof over his head and a lock on the door. Not having to worrying about waking up with a slit throat, or worse, in chains. Not having to remember things...

No more cares for a month, he thought. No more remembering...

A minute later, he was snoring softly.

*************

Kish turned to see a finely appointed bedchamber in which was standing a young woman. Her deep brown eyes brimmed over with warmth. Her skin was ivory. Her curly raven-colored hair had been released from its bounds and tumbled freely around her smooth shoulders, and she wore a white silken dress that shimmered in the candlelight.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?" said Alisa, a note of concern in her normally playful voice.

"Milady!" exclaimed Kish in a mock-wounded voice, "you're not...ashamed of me, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Elliel," she said, walking to him and taking his hand. "Of course, I'm ashamed of you. I am the daughter of the duke, while you are naught but a common footpad! Oh! If the court knew of our dalliances..."

Alisa turned and fainted theatrically into Kish's arms. He laughed as he stared at her beloved face, drinking in the view like a bottle of stolen wine. "Dearest!" he admonished, continuing the pantomime, "you wound me!"

Suddenly, Alisa's smile disappeared. "Elliel," she said seriously, "You know I do not fear for my reputation, don’t you? You know it is only your life for which I fear. Please tell me you understand." The note of concern in her voice had become a symphony.

There was never any doubt in Kish's mind that she was thinking only of him. "I would sooner die," he heard himself say.

Alisa's smile returned, once again flooding Kish's soul with warmth.

**************

Kish awoke with a start. He stared at the top of the inside of the barrel for a few moments before remembering where he was. Would you credit it, he thought to himself, to fall asleep before a job like that. Unprofessional.

The inside of the barrel was no more or less pitch black as it was when he had fallen asleep, and he had no idea how much time had passed. He made sure his tools were all accounted for: picks, dagger, cosh, and blowpipe.

He got up and peered outside the barrel. Nothing but darkness and silence greeted him. He climbed out and dropped to the ground, then began padding his way silently towards the wine cellars.

The cellars were separated from the winery by a wooden wall, in which were set large double doors big enough to accommodate the winery's barrels and equipment. Inside these double doors was set a smaller man-sized door.

Kish walked up to the door and put his ear to it. Hearing nothing, he removed his lockpicks from their holders on his armwraps and set to work. A few seconds later, there was a click, and he was in the cellars.

Kish ignored the duke’s magnificent wine collection, as he was planning to pinch a celebratory bottle on his way back out, and he soon reached the stone staircase leading to the kitchens. He climbed them and placed his ear once again to the door. This time, however, he was dismayed to hear voices.


"What now? At this time of night?" whined a youngish male voice.


"Yes, now! Go and get a bottle of the St. Lutz '32," said another voice, male and annoyed, “His grace has a visitor...”

Cursing internally, Kish turned and leapt down the stairs as quickly as he could and searched for a hiding place among the racks of wines. He sprinted to a rack as far away from the entrance as he could reach in time and crouched down behind it, just as the door to the kitchen creaked open.

Light from the kitchen flooded onto the stairs as a young member of the palace staff entered and began stomping groggily down, yawning all the way.

Suddenly, some of the kitchen light fell on the corner in which Kish was hiding, and he got a glimpse of the labels on the wines next to him.

They were all of a particular vintage from a particular vineyard: St. Lutz '32.

Cursing internally once again, Kish pulled his leaden cosh out of his belt and his hood over his head as he watched the boy stomp towards his hiding place. How could I have allowed myself to get cornered like that? he thought angrily at himself. Pillock!


As the boy approached the rack of St. Lutz, Kish readied his cosh. He knew had to knock him out before he could raise the alarm, or face disaster. His heart beat harder and harder as he prepared to pounce.

Then, without coming around to the side on which Kish was hiding, the boy unceremoniously reached over the rack from the other side, took a bottle, then turned and headed grumpily back towards the stairs, still yawning.

Kish stayed crouched where he was, clutching his cosh, his heart pounding. Once he heard the door to the kitchen slam shut, he fell back onto his arse in relief. Thank goodness the boy knows his wines, he thought, resisting a mad urge to laugh out loud.

He waited another minute, then returned to top of the stairs. This time, he didn't hear any sounds at all, and gently opened the door.

The kitchens were dark and unmanned. Brilliant, he thought gleefully. His grace is entertaining a guest, is he? His attention will be occupied, then...

Kish made his way through the galleries and past the guestrooms of the duke's palace with relative ease, avoiding what staff and guards were up at the hour. If the palace had any sort of treasury, he had never found it before. Best not to be greedy, he thought to himself, and take something they won’t miss...ah! What do we have here…?

Walking past one of palace’s salons, a glint of blue in the moonlight caught his eye. He peered inside and saw a mantelpiece on which sat a statuette of a kestrel, carved out of what looked like a single piece of pure sapphire.

You beauty! Kish thought, grinning in delight at the glittering trinket. He padded over to the mantelpiece and picked up the treasure, admiring it for a moment in the moonlight. Then he kissed it on the head and tossed it into his backpack. All he needed to do now was go back out the way he came in...

But when Kish left the room, he did not return to the kitchens, but rather went further into the palace, even climbing the stairs to the second floor. His feet seemed to be leading him somewhere and his mind was pretending not to notice.

A few minutes later, he ended up where he had told himself he would not go. He stared at the door that led to the bedchamber he had just visited in his dream. Don’t do it, you fool, he thought.

After a minute, and a brief internal struggle, he heaved a sigh and pulled out his lockpicks. Ten seconds later, he was in.

He had not visited Alise's room in nearly a year. ​The duke had ordered it to be left untouched, forbidding even servants to enter to clean it. The only change was a small portrait the duke had had put up on the wall next to the bed. He had seen it once before, on a previous “visit,” and it had been haunting his thoughts since.

Kish continued berating himself as he walked toward it. You can't steal a painting, you clot! his inner voice cried. It was bad enough you took the statue! Do you think they won’t notice!?

A few seconds later, he was standing in front of the painting, and suddenly his joy at his successful pilferage was gone, and replaced by a feeling of desolation.

He quietly lifted the portrait off the wall and sat on the bed, staring at it. The likeness was painfully accurate. He felt as if all his happiness now lived in this painting, and once he left it behind, his happiness would be left behind with it.

Sighing, he stood up to replace the painting, when he suddenly noticed that there was a small wall safe behind where the portrait had been hanging. He couldn't resist a small chuckle in disbelief at his own fool’s luck as he reflexively removed his lockpicks from his armwraps.

Was that always here? he wondered to himself as he picked the safe’s lock, or did the duke put it in after she...afterwards? A minute later, there was a soft click, and the small door opened.


Kish stood, dumbfounded, his eyes widening...

Inside the safe was a jewel. It was golden in color and star-shaped, with a dozen or more rays extending from its polyhedral core. It was larger than Kish's fist, and it glittered furiously in the moonlight as if daring him not to give it its full attention.

An aura of something more than simply monetary value was radiating from inside the star-shaped jewel. Not magic, which Kish wouldn’t have recognized anyway, but something weightier. Something that the young thief, even with his uncomplicated mind, recognized as a turning point in the history of the world, as if each of the stone’s rays represented a different branch of fate itself.

Eyes wide and heart pounding, Kish reached out his hand towards the stone...

Kish's fingers moved along the smooth, unsullied rays of the star-shaped jewel. It must be real, surely, he thought, why else would it be hidden like this?

He gently lifted it out of the small safe, noting its lightness. He held the stone to his eye, allowing the moonlight to pass through it, and searched for seam lines, air bubbles, or other telltale signs of fakery.

Finding none, he then touched his lips to the stone and to warm it. The jewel remained promisingly cool to the touch far longer than it would have if it had been made of glass.

With a giant grin, Kish placed the jewel in one of his leather pouches, then placed the pouch in his knapsack. His head was spinning at the thought of his once-in-a-lifetime haul. I might never have to work again, he thought.

He was about to shut the door to the little safe when he noticed that some papers had been stuffed into it behind the gem. Kish shoved them into his knapsack as a matter of course, then assuring himself that the safe was now properly empty, he quietly shut its door and replaced the painting of Alisa over it.

At the sight of her face, Kish’s grin turned into a mournful smile. Alisa, he thought, touching the lips of the painting, thank you. It was as if she had sent him a gift from the heavens, and he suddenly wondered if he would be able to part with it.

He was yanked out of his reverie by the sound of metal-clad footsteps outside the door. Instantly, he dropped down to the stone floor by the bed before remembering it was unlikely that they were headed for the bedroom he was in, which the duke had declared off-limits to all staff.

He crept to the door and waited for the footprints to recede. However, instead of continuing past his door, they seemed to stop in the hallway. There was a murmur of hushed speech.

A few seconds later, he heard additional armored feet joining the first group from a nearby staircase. By a minute later, there were (by Kish's estimation) six to eight armored guards gathered in the rotunda just past Alisa's room.

He waited another minute, but the voices and iron boots did not go away. Bloody fates, cursed Kish to himself, of all the times for the palace guard to start doing their job.

He turned to the window. Rappelling out was an extremely risky option, even at night time. He padded over to it and unlatched it as quietly as he could.

As he swung the window open, he could suddenly hear the voice of the duke floating up out of the night: "...his majesty knows best, I'm sure."

As quickly as he could, Kish stuck his head out the window and peeked down. The window below his was also open, and firelight shone from it.

Kish sat down on the stone floor with his back against the wall underneath the window, cursing the capriciousness of the god of luck. The duke and his guest were in the room directly under Kish. So much for rappelling...

As he sat trying to think of a way out of his situation, more pieces of the conversation floated up from the room below:

"One cannot help but be concerned," said the voice of the duke, "after what happened to Boden."

The sound of duke's aristocratic baritone twisted the corner of Kish's mouth into an unconscious sneer of contempt. Kish had been raised (insofar as he had had any sort of upbringing) to detest the upper class and their easy lives, and to him the duke was the embodiment of all that was despicable about the high-born and wealthy. Kish imagined that he could have stood in front of the duke with buttocks bared without him taking notice, since the duke was so posh one needed to be a lord or higher for him to acknowledge their existence.

"Your Grace needn't concern yourself with the Count of Boden," said another voice, "treason has its cost. Everything does...ah! Which reminds me..."

There was a quality to this second voice that drew Kish's full attention to the conversation. His keen ear detected something strange in this new baritone, and in the way he casually addressed the duke. This one, thought Kish, has friends in high places.

After a moment, there was a clink as of a bottle tapping another. "There we are," said the voice, "Chateau Gramis, '29. I have 20 bottles for you, Casnir, excluding that one of course." Even Kish, unlearned as he was in the ways of protocol, knew there was something very strange about this man. Clearly, he was some sort of merchant, yet he addressed the duke in so familiar a manner. He imagined the duke's eyes boring into the man's skull at his impertinence.

Yet, all he heard the duke say was "Twenty will be satisfactory."

"You won't be disappointed! Herbs and plum, with a topnote of black cherry, an absolutely lovely vintage," continued the voice. "I wouldn't dream of allowing anyone to get their hands on these until Your Grace had had a...chance..." his voice strained for a moment with the effort of uncorking the bottle, and there was a pop a moment later.

Kish sat, nonplussed, his mouth open. Who was this strange merchant, with a voice like a knife wrapped in a velvet cloth, who spoke to the duke as an equal? He continued to listen, fascinated.

He heard the pouring of liquid into glasses, followed a few moments later a sound of discreet spitting. Kish wondered briefly if the duke had shown his distaste at the merchant’s overfamiliarity by spitting on him, before remembering that sometimes nobles liked to spit out their wine for some reason, perhaps as a show of wealth, like as not.

"Ah! Excellent," continued the merchant, who evidently had not spat his out, "far easier on the palate than the St. Lutz, wouldn't you say?" He drained his glass. "Delivery on the morrow, payment upon delivery, as per usual, Your Grace?"

"That will be acceptable," said the duke, in an oddly stiff voice.

"Very good," said the merchant, and there was the sound of more pouring.

"Tosckar," said the duke, evidently addressing the merchant, "you do not mean to tell me that you have come to the palace in the middle of the night to peddle wine?"

"Your Grace is my most precious client," said the merchant Tosckar, "I simply had to give you the chance to sample my newest wares, perhaps have a chat, share some gossip..."

"'Gossip'?" said the duke contemptuously, "I do not indulge in such things. If you have something to tell me then spit it out, man." And now, Kish heard the anxiety in the duke's voice, as clear as a church bell. Something's not right here, he thought.

"Your Grace knows I travel far and wide, and I hear a lot of talk. And although there has been quite a bit less of it since Count Boden's execution, tongues continue to wag. It's very difficult to stop a tongue from wagging, although it can be done, as the count found out."

Kish's enjoyment of the conversation suddenly vanished, and was replaced by cold unease. The mysterious merchant had removed the velvet cloth from his voice, leaving only the knife. Kish suddenly wondered if he was about to witness a murder.

"Although I am but a humble merchant," Tosckar continued, "'even the king himself, Farmer preserve him, is a loyal customer of mine. As such, I am blessed with access to his inner circle, and the rumors which abound therein. And your name has been mentioned quite a lot recently."

The duke said nothing. Evidently, thought Kish, this is not a good thing.

"His majesty wishes to end his...robust campaign of taxation and recruitment as quickly as possible, with a minimum of fuss," continued Tosckar, his amiable tone barely concealing the menace behind his words. "Alas! If only he had confided in me a bit more. Then I would know exactly what was upsetting his majesty so. Perhaps, his mood could be improved with a small gift...incidentally, Casnir, you will recall that I am a collector, like you?"

"Eh?" said the duke, the sudden change of subject catching him off guard.

"I'm sure I have mentioned my love of curios, baubles, and the like. Have I not mentioned it in the past?"

The duke was silent.

"I was wondering if you had any items of interest for me to add to my collection, perhaps something recently acquired? For a good price, naturally."

"Speak plainly, man. What is it you want from me?" said the duke, rallying.

"The Eye, Casnir. My sources tell me that you have come into possession of The Eye. They are reliable sources, Your Grace."

"’Eye’? What ‘eye’?" said the duke, no longer able to conceal his agitation.

"The Eye of the Maiden, also known as the Heart or Star of Damas. A stunning piece, the pinnacle of the jeweler's art. Do you know, it's so beautiful that it might even be worthy of presenting to the king."

"I have no knowledge of this "eye" of which you speak, regardless of how 'reliable' you claim your sources are..." there was a pause, then the duke continued, "even had I knowledge of such a thing, why would I sell it to you? Why would I not present it to the king myself?"

"Present it to the king? Why, such a generous and loyal act would surely please his majesty! I merely wished to give Your Grace an opportunity to enrich yourself, and give myself an opportunity to improve my standing with the king. And then, of course, we might avoid the scenario that befell Count Boden. Poor Count Boden..."

At last, Kish understood why the duke had stationed guards nearby. He believed his life was in danger.

"Do you recall, Your Grace, the charges brought upon him? Of course, 'treason' was the only reason given, but those of us in the know had better insight. It seems the king was cross because he believed the count was hiding something from him. I never did find out exactly what, but I would hate for a similar fate to befall my favorite client. Best sell the jewel to me. No one need know it was ever in your possession, and I will happily undertake the risk of presenting it to the king."

Kish felt as though he had just been punched in the gut, as he realized that they were talking about the jewel he had pilfered only a few minutes ago, then again as he realized that someone, either the duke, this Tosckar, some soldiers, or any combination thereof, would likely be soon dropping into the room, either to check on the gem or to take it.

Oh, fates, he thought. Bloody, bloody, bloody fates, what have you gotten me into.

He looked up at the window. No time to put everything back, he thought. Looks like I have no choice. As softly as he could, he removed his rope and grappling hook from his pack. Drawing his hood low over his head, he affixed the hook to the windowsill as firmly as he could and began to abseil down the palace wall, fervently praying that no one happened to be looking in his direction.

A few seconds later, he was just above the open window of the room the in which the duke was entertaining his guest. He hesitated for a moment, mentally uttering one final prayer for luck, then pushed out with his feet and dropped down past the window as quickly as he could without burning off his handwraps.

Time seemed to slow down as he slid past the window. In the brief moment that he passed it, he saw the inside of the guest room with its great fireplace. He saw a small round table on which were several glasses and uncorked bottles of wine. He saw the profile of the duke, who was staring into the fire.

And for the first time, he saw Tosckar the merchant. He was tall and sallow, with loose folds under his bloodshot, rheumy eyes, and he wore an odd but lavish golden monocle. His jaw-length hair was black and greasy, but his large mustache had been meticulously groomed. His emerald green finery was of the highest quality. He made the duke seem like a commoner by comparison.

Then Tosckar saw Kish.

Tosckar’s eyes widened as Kish dropped the rest of the way as quickly as he could. He landed painfully on his shoulder, then got up as quickly as he could and began to sprint through the pre-dawn, just as shouts of “INTRUDER!” began to pierce the air.

His mind was a near blank as he ran like the wind towards the front gate, alarm bells clanging in the palace behind him. All he could think about was escape. He heard soldiers running out of guardhouses and shouting after him. He pumped his legs even faster, yet it seemed as if the courtyard would never come to an end.

Suddenly, there was a noise from the mews off to his right, and a magnificent gilded coach drawn by a pair of horses and driven by a figure in a cloak of deep crimson burst out of one of the coach houses and clattered across the cobbles, coming to a stop between Kish and the front gates.

He stopped and drew his dagger, but the cloaked figure shouted "Get on, quickly! Before the gates are shut again!"

Without thinking, Kish threw open the door of the coach and leapt aboard an instant before it took off again, tearing across the rest of the courtyard and through the gates.

Panting, Kish leapt to his feet and peered out the rear of the coach. Beyond the open gates and two dead guards on the ground, he could see the duke's guardsmen sprinting towards their own horses. Kish opened his mouth to issue a warning, but the motion of the coach as it flew violently over the cobbled city streets made him fall back onto his freshly bruised shoulder. Stifling a yelp of pain, he held onto the upholstery and waited for the wild ride to reach its terminus.

“Are you unharmed?” shouted the driver over the clatter of hooves and wheels, and Kish noticed it was the voice of a woman. “More or less!” he shouted back, then “Nice coach!”

“It belongs to a so-called merchant called Corbinian Tosckar. He is a dangerous man. Our lives are forfeit if we are caught, so we must fly!” she shouted back.

Kish’s mind swam with so many questions, that he was unable to settle on one. He settled for pulling himself back up onto the rear seat of the carriage and attempting to keep watch out the rear window for pursuers. He felt disinclined to thank his savior, however, until he knew where they were going and what her plans were.

The coach carried on through the night, occasionally turning, going up a narrow-side street, then tearing back off as soon as a straight road presented itself. All the while, Kish kept an anxious eye out the rear of the coach while trying to ignore the pain from his shoulder.

"Listen!" shouted the driver suddenly, "we're going to stop soon. When we do, we're going to get out of the coach. There will be another horse. I will get on it and pull you up after me, and we will start moving again. You must move quickly. Do you understand?"

"Who are you?" shouted Kish, "What do you want from me?"

"We will talk later! RIght now, you have a choice! Get captured by the duke's soldiers, get killed by the king's personal assassin, or escape with me!" she shouted back.

"The king’s…” Kish shouted, then fell silent. That explains it somewhat, he thought, dumbfounded.

“So ‘tis rumored, at any rate! You may take your chances with either of them, or with me!” shouted the woman, and Kish knew that, for the moment at least, they were running together.

At last, they came to a sudden stop near an alleyway. "Now!" shouted the driver, leaping off the coach's seat and running into the alleyway. I must be a complete fool, thought Kish as he shot out the door of the coach and ran after her.

True to her word, a magnificent white charger stood waiting for them in the alleyway. The woman leapt on to it and pulled the much shorter Kish up in front of her (to his embarrassment), and they galloped out the other side of the alleyway.

They kept on at top speed as dawn broke, until they reached the grimy streets of Iron Town. They made their way to a nondescript smithy that lay on the line where the houses gave way to refineries or other buildings of industry.

The woman guided the horse into the stable behind the building and dismounted. Kish, who was unused to horses, slid back into the seat and tried to dismount himself, clutching at the horn of the saddle and lifting his leg over the rump of the horse as best as he could.

"Come with me," said the woman once Kish had alighted, "we will be safe here for the moment."

They left the stable and went into the house behind the smithy. The house was one large room with a few cots along one of the walls. The grimy windows allowed little light into the room, but she did not light a candle.

Kish turned to the woman, who had removed the hood of her cloak to reveal a pair of blue eyes framed by a young, but stern face and long white-blonde hair.

He was unsure of what to say, but before he could utter a word, the woman finally spoke again:

"I am Valerja," she said, "and you have something of mine."

Angas Crieff, former brother of the Falconer Knights of Wolfridge and one-time servant of King Naron IV of Kestral, sat partway up a hill amidst a jagged outcrop of stones, which pierced the air like a throne of fangs. The setting sun was hidden by thick cloud, and a cold drizzle was falling which would have made it difficult for most people to start a fire. Angas, however, was an expert, and a small fire burned brightly in defiance of the rain as he sat with his back to the stone, skinning a rabbit.

It was the evening of the third night since he left his home, and Angas was still threading his way through the Dileas Mountains, which separated Kestral from the Hoarfrost Lands. He had departed from his home and his previous life with a sense of purpose, yet as he traveled he began to be troubled by doubt.

Over the last three days, he had come across many farms that had been abandoned, their denizens having been forced at spear point to join the royal army, their homesteads having been stripped of any gold or items of value, their livestock having been claimed in the name of the king. Some of the farms had been burned to the ground. More than once he had come across the corpses of defiant highlanders who had tried to stand their ground against the king's knights, once the defenders of the people, now their oppressors.

He could not shake the feeling that he was fleeing, when what he should have been doing was standing and fighting.

His rabbit skinned and dressed with thyme, he spitted it and placed it over the flame. He then leaned back against the rock in the stone semicircle in which he sat, and scowled at the fire in thought.

He realized that the voice in his head that was rebuking him for fleeing sounded very much like his father’s, or that of one of his brothers. It certainly spoke with a familiar tone of disappointment, and with the expectation that he was about to choose the wrong course of action.

Angas came from a long and famous line of knights. His father, Lord Raghnall, was a hero of the wars and well-loved by the people of Wolfridge. By the time of his death, he had become the king's most trusted advisor, as had his ancestors for generations. The Crieff family were known for their valor and skill in battle, as well as their unwavering loyalty to the crown.

Raghnall had undertaken the training of his sons himself. Angas and his siblings were each only five years of age when they were given their first bow, and six when they got their first longsword. Training was a part of each day. Rest and meals were earned, not given. Raghnall ran his household like a military camp.

As the youngest, Angas did his best to keep up with his four brothers, but he had learned from a very young age not to expect encouragement or praise. Being born a Crieff, they were told, meant being born into duty. Those bearing that name were responsible for doing everything in their power to become worthy of the knighthood and the role of the people's protector.

Angas had also learned not to expect assistance. Once, at the age of eight, while undergoing survival training in the woods with his brothers, he had struck out into the forest alone to hunt. Each boy was expected to catch his own dinner. What Angas has not expected, however, was to stumble right into a slumbering forest troll.

It had been squatting asleep among the fir trees when Angas tried to scramble onto its mossy, stone-like back. Angas gave a yelp of surprise and fell back onto the forest floor as the hideous creature rumbled awake.

Before the troll had even turned around, Angas was on his feet and running. He was small and fast and quickly out of the troll’s reach, but it gave chase, swatting aside young trees as if they were blades of grass.

Angas ran on, unaware of how much time was passing and having completely lost his bearings in his blind terror, while the slavering troll followed relentlessly, drawing nearer and nearer.

Suddenly, the troll gave a roar of anger. Startled by the noise, Angas tripped over a knot of roots and fell onto the soft needle-covered forest floor. He turned around and began to scuttle backwards, but stopped. His father was there and had already removed the troll's right arm. Another few strokes of his Raghnall’s longsword, and the troll's head fell at Angas' feet.

Angas sat, panting and staring wildly at his father, unable to speak for the pounding of his heart. He expected to be admonished, or even punished for his carelessness in stumbling into the troll, but his father simply wiped his sword off on the troll’s carcass and sheathed it, then walked over to the troll’s head and picked it up, presumably to burn it in the campfire.

As he walked past Angas on his way back to camp, Raghnall stopped. Without looking at him, he asked "Where's your bow, Angas?"

Angas gave a start at the question, then his heart sank as he realized he had dropped it somewhere in the forest as soon as he saw the troll, and he looked down at his knees, unable to bring himself to say anything.

"Go and find your bow, boy. And next time, at the very least draw your sword before you turn and run," said Raghnall, then walked away towards camp.


Angas spent all night searching in the dark for his bow, tripping over roots and scratching his face on branches, furious at himself the entire time. Stupid! he shouted at himself in his own head in anger and shame, stupid stupid stupid!! Why didn’t I draw my sword? Why did I drop my bow? Why?

He did not stumble upon his bow until the first rays of dawn began to filter through the trees. He then returned to camp, where his father and brothers were already awake. No one asked where he had been, or even acknowledged that he had been absent.

Angas never found out if his brothers knew about what had happened in the forest that night, for he never spoke of it, and his father never mentioned it in front of him. But from that point on, Angas made sure his was the first arrow nocked or the first sword drawn in battle.

Like his brothers, all Angas wanted out of life was to be worthy of knighthood and the Crieff name. To him, that meant not only prowess in battle, but patient endurance of hardship. He was also brought up to believe that a knight's duty lay not only in service to the king, but to the people as well.

At the age of twelve, he was sent away to the city of Blackhallow to be apprenticed to old Ysac, the royal falconer and master of falconry. Despite being of noble blood, Ysac's family had dedicated their lives for generations to the breeding and training of falcons, as well as to the training of young nobles in the art of falconry.

Despite his difficulty in showing it, Angas became quite fond of the peculiar old falconer, who seemed to derive endless amusement from the boy's relentlessly stern manner and ever-present frown. Ysac became the first friend Angas ever had, and when he turned fourteen, Ysac gave him Torcadall as a gift.

At the age of sixteen, Angas became the youngest man ever to have been inducted into the Falconer Knights of Wolfridge, but the occasion was a bitter one for him. Raghnall had been killed only a few months earlier while thwarting an attempt on the king's life, and his two eldest brothers had already gone off to war, never to return. By the time Angas was twenty, his last living brothers had been killed on the field of battle, and he alone of the Crieff family remained.

The people of Wolfridge mourned along with Angas. His family had stood out for generations as beacons of hope and exemplars of bravery and heroism in dark times. They opened their hearts to Angas, greeting him in the streets and openly cheering him when he passed, and although he remained as dour and taciturn as ever, he worked harder than ever to earn their praise.

It was shortly after this time that the people began to notice a change in the king’s behavior, though they were careful about who they shared these thoughts with.

Over the following months, the king had begun hiring scouts and spies en masse, and intelligence was flowing into the castle like a river, as if the kingdom were preparing for war, yet no members of the court or the military seemed to be aware of any impending threat to the country.

Then one day, the raids and arrests began. Suddenly, sedition seemed to be everywhere. Whispers abounded of a mysterious outside threat of some kind that had infiltrated the kingdom and plotted against the throne. Soldiers were sent into homes throughout the country, presumably under orders from the king, with all valuables therein confiscated under the aegis of this strange new inquisition. At the same time, the king enacted a program of limited conscription, forcing entire families into military service, and the ranks of the armies began to swell.

The populace grew anxious over this as yet unnamed outside threat while nervously trying to justify their king’s increasingly draconian behavior to themselves and each other. Yet Angas continued to carry out his duties without protest, as he believed his father would have him do. It wasn’t until the public execution that Angas at last began to question his loyalties.

One day, it was announced that the Count of Boden had been arrested on charges of treason and conspiracy against the crown. Many who heard the news were shocked - not only did this accusation seem to have come out of nowhere, but it meant that even noble blood was not proof against the king's suspicion.

As soon as he heard the news, Angas rode like fury from his post to the capital city of Gen Gurum, but to no avail. He had arrived at the town square just in time to watch the executioner's axe fall down onto the neck of Ysac, eighth Count of Boden, in front of a cheering crowd.

Angas left the town square in a daze. He had just enough presence of mind to stable his exhausted horse, then after doing so began to heedlessly wander the streets, his head full of fog.

He soon found himself in front of a tavern he visited whenever he was in town, The Pig and Peregrine. The tavern was quite full for the time of day. The execution had drawn a crowd, and folk were reluctant to return to work, preferring to use the occasion as an excuse to have a drink and a gossip.

Angas entered and took his usual seat at the table in the corner. He noticed that the mood in the tavern was subdued, but there was hushed and fevered conversation at every table. Public executions in Gen Gurum weren't rare, but none in recent memory had caused such a maelstrom of rumor. It’s that underground rebellion, muttered the tavern patrons. They plot to overthrow the king. They say that the Count had been their leader...

Angas felt his hands balling into fists. Dunderheads, he thought. His eyes were aflame and the fog in his head began to rumble with thunder. What rebellion? Who put forth these accusations? What daft fool killed him with their lies?

Suddenly he felt a friendly hand on his shoulder, and a pint of ale appeared on the table in front of him. He looked up to see Marta, the proprietress of the tavern, looking down at him sympathetically.

"You know none of it's true, pet,” she said warmly. “Pay 'em no mind." She then leaned in a bit closer and said quietly, “They’s afeared is all.”

The next day, Angas rode to his cottage, and found the letter. That was one week earlier.

Now Angas sat among the stones in the drizzle. His meal was finished, the fire was put out and the bones of the rabbit were buried. Angas stared at the ashes of the fire, watching the raindrops leave their tiny craters in the grey, wondering if his decision was the right one.

He had left it all behind for a letter. He knew it was daft, but he couldn't bear to wear the colors of the knighthood for one more day. You've left your people, your king, and your duty behind, he heard his father and his brothers saying. Did you at least draw your sword before you turned and ran?

But Angas had enough sense to know it would be his neck on the chopping block soon. There was no honor in such a death, and you can't be a knight of the people without a head on which to put your helmet.

...Of the people, he thought. Whose knight am I? The king's? The people's?

A sudden noise shook him out of his contemplation. Footsteps, distant but loud.

He grabbed his bow and scrambled up one of the large pointed stones of the outcrop. Walking along the path at the foot of the mountain were two trolls, each carrying a club over their shoulder the size of a young tree trunk.


Trolls.

A light of white-hot hatred entered Angas’ eyes. Trolls. He could already taste their blood.

With a mad war cry, Angas slid down the other side of the outcrop and began running down the hill towards the trolls like a man possessed by a demon of rage. The trolls turned their plate-sized bloodshot eyes toward him hungrily. One of them grunted something trollish at the other one, then started stomping up the hill towards Angas, its tusks a sickly yellow in the light of the setting sun.

In a flash, Angas nocked an arrow and let it fly, followed immediately by another. Each arrow struck the troll square in its left eye with an unpleasant burst of green fluid.

Go on, you scum, thought Angas, as he nocked a third arrow. Start laughing.

True to form, as Angas had seen in many a now-deceased troll in the past, the troll began to laugh menacingly as it reached up and slowly yanked the arrow out of its eye. Trolls do not feel pain, and their regenerative powers meant that its eye was already growing back.

Angas shot the third arrow, which flew with such force that it pierced the back of the troll’s skull. Laughing even more loudly, the troll reached up to pull the arrow out of its head again, but before it could Angas fired two more arrows, this time at at the troll's right eye. The troll stopped laughing gave a grunt of confusion as it realized it had been blinded.

But it was too late. Angas' longsword flashed a berserker’s signature in the air, and the troll's head fell to the ground, followed by its club, then its body. Angas managed to wrench himself away from the joy of hacking at the monster's decapitated carcass, and he forced himself to turn back to where the second troll had been.

The other troll had moved down the path and was looming over a small figure who Angas couldn't clearly see. With another war cry, Angas started running down the hillside. "Turn around, you devil!" he screamed at it as he barreled towards it brandishing his bloodied longsword.

But the troll did not turn around. Instead, it slowly began to topple backwards until it fell dead with a crash onto the path, revealing the figure in front of it. Angas, still in the grip of his berserker rage, kept on running until he reached the corpse, then leapt onto it and began to stab and hack madly at its neck.

"Peace, Sir Angas," said the figure, "this one won't regenerate. I have used a special rune which will prevent that. We had best burn the head of the other one, though."

Angas looked up suddenly at the voice, like a wild animal interrupted in mid-feed, his eyes still wide with fury, his entire body spattered with troll blood. “Who are you!?” he shouted, swinging his longsword around to point at the stranger as he tried to focus on this new voice through eyes still clouded with the red mist.

He saw a figure about a foot shorter than himself, dressed head to toe in strange light grey armor with a seashell motif and covered in multicolored opals and runes. Her entire face was concealed by a yellow mask with a strange eye symbol carved into it.

The figure held up her hands in an attempt to calm Angas. “Please, Sir Angas,” she said in a strange accent that Angas did not recognize, “my name is Rilin Telthas. I’m working with the Falcons.”

Angas, still panting from his exertions, struggled to make sense of her words.

“...The resistance,” continued Telthas. “I sent you the letter. I’ve come to warn you, Sir Angas. The path out of the mountains teems with soldiers and knights, and they are searching for you. You are a wanted man, Sir Angas.”

Angas hopped down from the troll’s corpse, having at last calmed down despite the stranger’s odd appearance. He wordlessly wiped his sword off on the grass, then stood back up and turned to stare into the mountains to the north, as if seeking a new road through them. He felt relaxed and clear-headed as he always did after a proper troll-cull.

When a minute went by and Angas still did not speak, Telthas said “I can guide you to Galdurheim in safety, if you will trust me.”

When Angas still did not reply, Telthas went on “I sense you may yet harbor doubts about us, Sir Angas. Pray ask any questions of me that you would and I will do my best to allay them.”

Angas sheathed his sword at last and turned to face Telthas.

“Of course I have no doubts,” he said, and as soon as he said it he realized it was true. “Lead on.”



"On your way. Next..."

The checkpoint guard returned the identification papers marked with Merchant Guild's official seal to the old driver of the cart and stepped back, waving him through. The old man gave a flick of the reins and his cart piled high with sacks of potatoes pulled away from the checkpoint and out the northern gates of the city of Veles, towards the Kestral-Hoarfrost border only a few miles northeast. The next cart in the queue, this one bearing a large pile of securely lashed wood, rolled forward in its place.

In the driver’s seat of a large wagon three places back in the queue was Valerja, her face concealed by the deep hood of her cloak. She flicked the reins and her wagon moved forward with the others.

Large crates marked with the names of different vegetables were stacked on Valerja’s wagon, and artfully concealed in a cavity in the center of the cargo sat Kish.

Inside his pinewood cavern, Kish shook his head to himself. They were now two days out of Anfangstadt and headed towards the Hoarfrost Lands, of all places. He had had several days to understand the situation in which he found himself, and he still found it difficult. Such fuss, he thought, over a pretty stone. I think. Or politics, or something similar..

Outside, he heard Valerja whisper, "Two more carts, then us." Kish knocked twice on the floor of the wagon to signal that he heard.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out the Star of Damas. He turned the glittering stellated orb around in his hand, allowing the scant light that had filtered into his hiding spot to shine through it.

Such fuss, he thought again, as he drowsily replayed the past two days in his head.

"I am Valerja," she had said, "and you have something of mine."

In the darkened room behind the smithy, Kish took a step backwards from the woman who had saved him. Had she gone through the trouble of staging that dramatic rescue just so that she could rob him? His mind started to race as she removed her cloak, revealing a full suit of boiled leather armor over gray tunic and trousers. By her sides swung two short swords in their scabbards.

Aside from being taller than Kish by at least a head, she was better armed and clearly no stranger to combat. What was more, Kish was cornered. He began to wonder how thick the windows were, in case he had to jump through one. The thought of it made the shoulder he injured in his fall from the palace window flare up again in pain.

But the woman called Valerja did not seem intent on violence, and had walked to one of the grimy windows to peer out of it, as if to keep watch.

"Am I mistaken?" she asked a moment later when he did not respond. Kish tried to calm himself. "Something...of yours?" he said as neutrally as he could.

"You are a thief, are you not?" said Valerja matter-of-factly. Kish found it slightly jarring to hear the term uttered so calmly, accustomed as he was to hearing it shouted instead at the back of his fleeing head.

"I had my reasons for being in the palace at that time of night," said Kish steadily.

"Invited guests do not climb out of windows," she said simply.

Kish's mind whirled. Had she somehow been watching him? "And you, Lady...Valerja? What have you to say for your own presence at the palace?" he asked defiantly.

"I should think it clear enough to divine by now, sir," replied Valerja tersely.

"Kish," said Kish. "So you were searching for...something? And you believe I have it?"

"Mr. Kish," said Valerja. "I saw which room you were in. I know what was hidden there. It was stolen from me a very long time ago and I have been on its trail ever since. How you knew it was there or how you even heard about it in the first place I do not know, but I can fathom easily enough that you had found it, and were about to be discovered with it. That is why you chose such a desperate escape route, because something forced your hand."

"Milady has the eyes of a hawk," said Kish in as friendly manner as he could muster, as he began to shift his stance as subtly as he could.

"Mr. Kish,” she said again, turning from the window and locking eyes with him, “if I am mistaken and you do not have the jewel, then I can only apologize. But you cannot imagine the gamble I took by rescuing you. So I ask you now: if you have it, please. Return it to me."

In the weak light that filtered in through the window Kish saw Valerja’s face clearly for the first time, and was taken aback. Her eyes were sapphires, and spoke of wisdom and fearlessness. Her long platinum tresses were tied back in a ponytail, and contrasted fascinatingly with her olive skin. But it was not her beauty that struck him, but rather what he read in her face. She couldn't have been more than a few years older than he was, but she was clearly carrying some sort of burden of responsibility far too heavy for one of her years.

There was no threat to him in her eyes or her voice. She merely spoke her mind, and trusted Kish to make his own judgment.

Kish removed his backpack and opened it. He took out the Star and held it out for Valerja to take.

The change that came over her was remarkable. With an intake of breath, she took the stone in both hands and held it to her bosom. She shut her eyes and embraced the stone as if welcoming home a lost child.

A moment later, her eyes opened again. “Thank you, Mr. Kish. I am greatly in your debt.” she said, and the relief in her voice and her eyes was so poignant that Kish thought he might never forgive himself for doubting that the stone was hers.

"They...they called it the 'Star of Damas,"" said Kish.

"Some call it that, yes."

"It is important to you, I see," Kish said. "An heirloom, maybe?"

"Far more. Far, far more," whispered Valerja.

Kish had a sudden realization. "So that is what you were doing in his carriage. You were waiting for him."

"Indeed," said Valerja. "Tosckar was there that night to acquire the jewel. I was planning to kill him once he had."

"I...am grateful you have since decided to alter your approach..." said Kish, hesitantly.

"Fear not, Mr. Kish. I have sought a chance to bleed that man for many moons now. I would have slit his throat had he brought me the jewel with a ribbon around it himself."

"Just Kish, please,” said Kish, feeling as though one of them had misunderstood the other. “Is that man really an assassin for the king?"

"He travels about in the guise of a merchant, but his true nature is otherwise. He is a frequent guest at court, where ‘tis said he has the ear of King Naron," she stared at the Star, which glittered in the wan light. "He took this from me himself, years ago, and I have trailed him ever since. And I know that wherever he goes, death follows."

Kish thought back to the palace and the mysterious merchant, whose every whisper sounded like a threat. "I listened to their conversation," he said, "the duke and that Tosckar. He was there for the stone, all right. He must have gotten wind that the duke had it. Only he didn't have it any more, I did." He gave a dry chuckle.

Valerja's face was grave. "I hope you are not fond of your duke..." she said.

"I am not," said Kish flatly.

"...because those who have been found or are even suspected to have been harboring the jewel have been imprisoned, executed, or assassinated. I am afraid your duke must certainly be next."

"Assassinate a duke? Someone would notice, surely. His chair would be empty at royal feasts, for a start."

"Sadly, that is not the case. The king had the count of Boden publicly executed but a few weeks ago for 'treason.' He has become desperate in his search for the jewel."

She went back to staring out of window. "And now that it has escaped his grasp by a hair, he will send all his men to get it. And the duke, if he yet lives, will likely put up a noisy show of support, and send his troops as well. But none are more dangerous than the king's knife, Tosckar."

"I see," said Kish politely as he put his backpack back on. "And he looked like such a posh fellow. Well, I suppose I had best lay low for the time being..."

"Hold," she said suddenly, turning to him, "you saw him? Did he see you?"

"Eh? Well, we may have locked eyes briefly across a crowded room, but I doubt he would remember my face as anything more than a vertical blur..."

Valerja walked up to Kish. "Then you are in grave danger," she said, and the seriousness of her tone made Kish realize for the first time he might have become involved in something troublesome.

There was a knock at the door. Kish's daggers leapt into his hands as his heart leapt up into his throat, but Valerja calmly walked to the door and opened it. Blushing furiously, Kish resheathed his daggers, reminding himself that the king’s guard do not knock.

Into the room walked a middle-aged man dressed in blacksmith's garb, whose brown beard was slightly singed around the edges. Without greeting either of them, the man said "Who is this?" pointing at Kish.

"Peace," said Valerja. "He is a friend. Conall, it is done! I have the jewel. This boy stole it for us."

"Did he now, by the Farmer," said the man called Conall, impressed. He looked at Kish, who was busy trying to bury his annoyance at being called a “boy.”

"Then we've no time to natter,” said Conall. “The cart's outside."

"Hold, Conall. He must come with me," said Valerja. Kish started. "Eh?" he said, "Come? Come where?"

Valerja turned to Kish. "Forgive me, Kish. But you must flee. You will not see sunset if you stay. If Tosckar has seen you but once, he could draw you from memory if he wished. You risk your life and the lives of those you love every minute that you tarry here."

"But I've never set foot further than Iron Town. Where would you have me go?" said Kish with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"There is a group called the Falcons," said Valerja. "They endeavor to depose Naron. If you come with me, I will petition them to grant you shelter. There is no safer place for you right now."

Kish's head was spinning. A few hours ago he was asleep in the duke's wine cellars, and now he was fleeing for his life and about to join a rebellion.


"She speaks the truth. There's room enough for the pair of you in the cart," added Conall. "I'm certain you will be handsomely rewarded once they catch wind of your deeds..."

Kish's head stopped spinning. "What's this? Reward?"

"Of course. The movement has powerful friends with deep pockets. You are certain to receive the value of the stone in compensation, and far more than if you had managed to fence it. And if there's anything or anyone you leave behind, tell me where they are and I give you my word I will protect them with my life."

"I have no such things or people," he said. "Let us go."

Two minutes later, Conall had hitched his white charger, the one on which Kish and Valerja had arrived, to a large cart disguised to look like one of his traveling forges. Inside sat Kish and Valerja side-by-side, together with a sack of provisions Conall had stuffed in after them, as they slowly proceeded towards the cart-filled road out of Anfangstadt.

"You have placed quite a great deal of trust in that man," Kish said to Valerja just loud enough for her to hear him over the sound of the wheels on the cobbles.

"You needn't fear. He is a Falcon and trustworthy beyond measure. He would fain gut himself than betray them or us," said Valerja.

"I have never heard of these 'Falcons,' where do they call home?" said Kish.

"There are hidden cells throughout Kestral and beyond, all dedicated to thwarting the mad ambition of King Naron IV of Kestral. There are also peasants who are attempting open revolt on their own,” said Valerja, with a note of concern in her voice. "Those who do so, however, are ruthlessly cut down."

"By the Harrower, how long has this been going on?" asked Kish, surprised.

"A few years now. The Falcons seek to organize the rebellion, but the king's armies grow with recruits each day. He is plotting something more than just the subjugation of his own people. And he has been frantically seeking my jewel, though I know not why."

In the darkness of the cart, Kish sat with his mouth agape. "He wants it but you don't know why?" he asked, astonished, "Is it not magical? Some artifact of power forged by the gods?"

"It is... not magical..." said Valerja, "but I am sworn to protect it with my life. As for the Falcons, they believe that the king seeks the jewel, which they see as reason enough to keep him from having it. They have agreed to help me recover it, and I in turn do what I can for them."
​
Kish never thought beyond the streets and alleyways of Anfangstadt. He doubted he would be able to recognize the king in a well-lit room, even with his profile on every coin as reference. But he had noticed that there were fewer soldiers in the city of late, which was a boon to him and those of his trade. He felt a pang of guilt that he was not able to drum up more concern for those affected by this tyrannical king...his king, he supposed...but it all sounded like a fairy tale to him.

"I see," lied Kish, "but where exactly are we headed?"

"Conall will take us to a farm outside the city, where he will provide us with our own horse and cart, as well as papers..."

"Papers?" said Kish.

"Forged documents of identification, to allow me to pass through checkpoints and border crossings. Conall is a very skilled forger. There is no time to forge papers for you, however, so you will have to remain hidden." said Valerja. "From thence, north through Darden Forest, through Veles, then into the Hoarfrost, where we will at last out of the king’s reach for the time being."

"Eh?" said Kish for the third time that morning, "the..."

"We must tryst with one of the Falcons near the Veles checkpoint two days hence, so we must make haste."

It was then that at last Kish realized that he was trapped inside a box bound for the Frozen North. In the dark of the inside of the cart, he stifled a groan and put his face in his hands. Despite his internal protestations, however, he knew he had no other choice. After all, he thought to himself, I did say I had wanted a roof over my head and a room with female company...

Two hours later, the cart finally arrived at the farm. They switched to a larger wagon full of vegetable crates, Valerja taking the reins, Kish hidden in the back, and they continued north on the road that led through Darden Forest. This time, Kish was able to glimpse the lands they passed through via gaps in the crates.

He saw many sights he had never seen before as the wagon proceeded alongside the many carts comprising the brisk traffic between Anfangstadt and Kestral's other hubs of trade. He saw a forest for the first time in his life, and even spotted what he thought was a deer in the distance, watching the road with deep suspicion. They passed through the occasional checkpoint without incident, a testament to Conall's forging skills.

That night, they encamped in a clearing. Valerja gave Kish some herbs of healing for his bruised shoulder, but she would say very little about her life before meeting him, or about the nature of the jewel (about which she wouldn’t speak at all). Kish, who hadn't slept in a full day, gave up and fell asleep.

They continued on their way the next day, exiting the forest by the early afternoon. What Kish saw once they had cleared the trees worried him, unfamiliar with affairs of state though he was. The wagon passed field upon field of royal soldiers, some encamped, some traveling, some on manoeuvers. Seemingly endless ranks of pikemen, archers, heavy cavalry, and war machines. At one point, Kish spotted a phalanx of royal airships flying in the distance.

The following day, they continued northward and reached Veles by mid-morning. Valerja gave Kish the Star of Damas for safekeeping before the wagon entered the long queue for the checkpoint at the city's northern exit. The sun was bright, but as they had travelled quite far north, the air was beginning to get chillier.

Kish sat back in his little chamber among the vegetable crates. Despite the danger of discovery, he had quite enjoyed the past two days. He was well-rested and well-fed, and seeing sights he had never seen before. He smiled to himself in the wagon. And soon, he would have enough money to...

Suddenly, the wagon juddered into movement, shaking Kish out of his reverie. It was their turn. One last checkpoint and they were in the clear. He lay back and did his best impression of an onion.

Outside, he heard the guard ask for Valerja's papers. He listened as she wordlessly handed them over...

There was a pause...

Kish waited for the guard to pass them through. It felt to him as if it was taking longer than usual...

Then suddenly, just as he began to feel anxious, he heard the guard say "On your way, then. Next..." He heaved a sigh of relief as the wagon began to move forward again.

The road out of Veles split three ways outside its northern walls: west, northeast, and east. The wagon headed up the wide northeastern road into the thick woods that ringed the city and continued all the way to the border. From there, it would be but a matter of an hour or so before they crossed into the Hoarfrost Lands. Kish wondered if these Falcons would let him stay there for a while, until this rebellion business had died down, or at least until he collected his reward.

As Kish's mind wandered, he noticed through one of the gaps in the crates that the sky over Veles had suddenly flashed bright red. He sat up and crawled over to look through the gap in time to see another flare rise up over the city. Two red flares, he thought...

"Valerja..." he said, with a rapidly rising sense of panic.

"Brace yourself!" she shouted, then with a cry of "HA!" at the horses, she flicked the reins and the horses broke into a run. The wagon charged forward faster and faster as Valerja drove the horses on, while Kish did his best to keep the crates from falling onto him.

But it was too late. Coming into view ahead of them was a wooden barricade that had been laid across the road, around which stood a half-dozen soldiers. Valerja pulled on the reins and the horses slowed to a trot.

"Halt!" cried one of the soldiers. "Dismount at once! You are under arrest on suspicion of smuggling a wanted criminal!"

Through the gap, Kish saw another six soldiers emerge from the forest and approach the wagon from the rear.

Inside the wagon, Kish drew his daggers...



Kish's heart beat more and more quickly as he watched the soldiers emerge from the surrounding trees and gather behind the wagon.

"What is the meaning of this?" cried Valerja in an odd false accent to the checkpoint guards blocking the road in front of the wagon. "I have done no wrong!"

"Dismount at once!" shouted the soldier again, "you are under arrest!"

"Please," Valerja called back from under her heavy hood, "I wish only to pass with my vegetables. I must sell them ere they rot on the cart!"

“Get her off that cart and clap her in chains," was the response of the soldier in charge. "Sir!" replied a subordinate, and Kish heard the sound of a sword being drawn.

"Stay where you are!" said Valerja clearly and slowly. Somehow, Kish understood that the message was meant for him.

As softly as he could, he placed his daggers down onto the floor of the wagon and reached into his knapsack. Outside, he heard the subordinate snarl "Oi, get down from there, you!"

Kish felt around inside his knapsack until he found his small bamboo blowpipe and a small pouch of dust. He poured the dust into one end of the pipe, then slid his knapsack back on. Then he drew his green hood back over his head and waited.

Meanwhile, two dull thuds from the front of the wagon indicated to Kish that Valerja’s boot had found the hapless soldier’s head and that his arse had found the ground. “Do not touch me!” shouted Valerja in a voice full of feigned panic over the sniggering of a few of the soldiers.

“I’ve had enough of this,” growled the soldier in command. “Draw your bloody swords and get her down from there! And you lot at the back, get up onto that wagon and begin your search!”

At this, two of the soldiers at the back boosted a third onto the crates on the wagon. The soldier bent down and lifted one of the crates, which was empty, and passed it down to the soldiers waiting below. He turned to take another crate when he spotted a gap between the upper and lower layers of crates.

“What’s this?” he muttered to himself, bending down to peer into the gap. A puff of soft white powder blew out of the gap into his face.

“We’re ready,” said one of the soldiers on the ground after a few seconds had passed. But the man on the wagon did not move.

“Oi, we’re ready. Hamish!” said the soldier on the ground again. Still the man did not move. “Hamish!” said the man again.

Unseen by the soldiers on the ground, a hand reached out among the crates and gave a gentle push to the man called Hamish, who slowly toppled backwards over the edge of the wagon, falling to the ground with a clatter of armor. The other soldiers leapt back, murmuring and drawing their swords.

The captain and the others at the front, alerted by the noise, all turned to see Hamish slumbering in a heap on the road. Then a moment later, one of the checkpoint guards shouted “Captain!”

Valerja had taken advantage of the distraction to dismount, and was standing on the ground behind them. Her two blades, a pair of slightly curved short swords, were drawn. The sword in her right hand was pointed at the head of the captain.

“FLEE!” she shouted. Once again, Kish understood that the order was for him. He stood up, lifting a crate of potatoes, and tossed it overboard at the cluster of soldiers, who were still gaping at Valerja. He then grabbed his daggers and leapt over the side of the wagon before the crate landed. He alighted with a grunt and in a flash was away towards the forest.

Behind him, Kish heard numerous shouts from soldiers as Valerja attacked to cover his escape. He felt wretched leaving the fighting to her, but he knew he had to protect the stone (and himself) from capture.

Another soldier cried “He’s running into the forest!” just as he reached the tree line. He plunged into the thick pine trees and plowed forward in a cloud of green needles. He wasn’t at home in nature by any means, but he was relieved to be out of the open with plenty to climb.

He did his best to keep ducking and dodging as he ran, so as not to create too large a path for his pursuers. After about half a minute he came upon a large, sturdy pine and scurried up its boughs. He then sat among the branches peering out through the needles and catching his breath as quietly as he could.

A few seconds later, he heard one of the guards stumbling through the trees towards his location. He watched as the soldier, evidently better at tracking than his fellows, came closer and closer to the tree in which he perched.

Finally, the soldier stopped in front of Kish’s tree and looked around, then up towards its higher branches. He ducked under the thick canopy of green that skirted the lower part of the tree and peered upwards into the boughs, at which point Kish dropped, cursing, onto his head.

They tumbled winded onto the needle-strewn ground, and by the time the soldier had reopened his eyes Kish was kneeling on his chest with his daggers crossed on the man’s throat.

Kish had a repertoire of menacing voices and intimidating expressions crafted over years to help him survive. “Sh, sh, sh, sh,” he hissed, glaring wildly into the man’s eyes with a well-practiced look of madness.

The “man” that stared back at him with wide-eyed terror turned out to be no more than a tall ruddy-cheeked boy of no more than sixteen or seventeen summers. “N...n…” he muttered, shaking.

Lovely, thought Kish gleefully, this must be one of the recent recruits Valerja spoke of.

Kish’s mouth slid into its widest, most manic grin. “You’re no soldier, are you,” he whispered menacingly, “dear me, no, you’re no soldier. A farmhand, maybe? What’s a lad like you doing larking about in soldier’s fancy dress in a place like this, so far away from the homestead? Oh dear, oh dear...”

Tears began to well up in the boy’s eyes as he lay on the forest floor, goggle-eyed and quivering.

“Now, now, hush now,” whispered Kish, “be a good lad and stay quiet and you’ll have a lively story to tell all the other churls in the village one day.”

At this, the boy seemed to calm down slightly. Suddenly, Kish heard more noises emanating from the forest closing in on him. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he tried to focus on his options.

Suddenly, he heard someone unsheathing a sword behind him. “D-drop your weapons and come with us,” said another tremulous young voice.

Kish looked down at the soldier under him, his grin even more manic than before. This one sounds even younger, if that’s possible, he thought. “Well, well...” he said in his most menacing dark-alley-at-midnight voice, “another lad playing at soldiers, is it?”

Keeping his daggers crossed on the one soldier’s throat, he turned his head around slowly until he was looking over his shoulder at the assailant behind him. Another youth stood there, shakily pointing a longsword at Kish’s back.

With his right dagger still pressed against the boy’s throat, Kish raised his left dagger and pressed a switch on its hilt. The blade of the swordbreaker dagger split three ways, creating a W-shaped fork. In one smooth, swift motion, Kish calmly reached back with the swordbreaker and caught the cheap iron blade of the young soldier’s longsword in its tines. With an expert twist of his wrist, Kish snapped the blade of the longsword in half, the larger part of it flying off harmlessly into the brush as if it had been thrown there.

This was too much for the young man, who dropped his now-useless sword and started backing away, screaming for help. Kish swore and leapt to his feet off the supine boy and charged further into the forest.

Kish knew that his daggers had a slight advantage over the soldiers’ longswords as long as they were among the thick branches of the forest, but the soldiers were closing in on him and he knew had to regain the element of surprise if he was to take on multiple enemies, bumpkins or no.

This time, however, it was only a few seconds before he ran into two more slightly older and seemingly more experienced soldiers, both of whom had their swords already drawn. They advanced on him, and Kish backed away.

He continued to lose ground until he suddenly stumbled backwards into what he saw with dismay was a clearing, in which waited yet another soldier with sword drawn. The two other soldiers soon followed Kish into the clearing, and a moment later the other two younger recruits joined the group. Kish was surrounded.

“Hands above your head,” said the soldier who had been waiting in the clearing, “you’re coming with us. Dougal, your rope.”

The boy Kish had been threatening earlier took his rope from his pack and handed it to the one who spoke. The boy’s face was beet red, but whether it was from embarrassment, rage, or simply because he was still winded Kish wasn’t sure.

“Your lordships,” Kish said, hands on his daggers, “what are the charges, pray?”

“Shut your gob!” spat the soldier in charge. “Count yourself lucky we have orders to take you alive, or for a bronze coin I’d spit you myself here and now!”

“Is that right?” asked Kish politely, “I would hate for you to be chastised on my account.” He calmly drew his daggers, “Not now your military career goes so well. Why, someday you might command a whole cohort of bumpkins!”

“I’ll not tell you again,” said the soldier through gritted teeth, “be silent. You are under arrest. If you resist I’ll have you cut down where you stand, orders or no.”

The other soldiers shuffled uncertainly as Kish’s grin came out again.

“And which one of these great heroes of the croft will you send to do it?” he asked, gesturing around the circled soldiers with one of his daggers. “Which one of these mighty knights of the empire, eh?”

He brought his menacing tone out again as he turned around and looked at the each of the other soldiers in turn. “Cut me down, you say? It’s a nasty business, cutting people. Requires a certain temperament. Anyone can stick their neighbor with a sword. Most beggars won’t. It’s not in everyone, to pierce another’s flesh with a blade and watch all their red come out. How about you, Dougal?” he whispered, pointing to the youth suddenly, who was still evidently shaken by his recent ordeal, “how about a chance to get your own back? A chance to spill some of my red?” He turned back to the leader. “Or will you be reserving that privilege for yourself, o brave peasant captain?”

The leader threw the rope onto the ground and drew his sword again. “I’ll have your head, gutter scum,” he hissed.

He charged forward with a downward slash aimed at Kish’s skull. Kish raised his swordbreaker in time to stop the blade, and the force he felt in the slash made him realize his taunts had been all too successful.

The man tried to cleave Kish’s head again, and again Kish blocked the blade in time, but the man withdrew his sword and swung yet again before Kish could counter, this time with a backhand slash the side opposite Kish’s swordbreaker, forcing Kish to block yet again.

Kish cursed under his breath. I was right, he thought, this one is no bumpkin. The man was larger than the other soldiers and much larger than Kish. He had hoped to use the soldier’s size against him, but he hadn’t been expecting him to have any skill with the sword. This one’s a proper soldier, thought Kish. No wonder he’s so cross.

Again and again the man struck, forcing Kish backwards. “Well struck, Sergeant!” shouted one of the other troops, and the others began to cheer him on as well. More sweat began to trickle down Kish’s temple. He needed to find a way out of the clearing, but the soldiers ensured he remained surrounded.

Once again, the sergeant struck at Kish’s side, forcing him to block across his own torso with the swordbreaker. This time, however, Kish managed to score an underhand jab at the sergeant’s sword arm with his right-hand dagger.

But the sergeant seemed not to notice, and stepped backwards with a barely a grunt, transferring his sword from his right hand to his left. Kish, seeing the murder in his eyes, decided the time was right to beat a hasty retreat by creating his own opening in the circle by finding its weakest link.

He turned to Dougal with with as menacing a look as he could manage. “One side, country boy,” he growled. But this time Dougal did not move, but held fast with sword raised.

Well done, lad, thought Kish, but what a time to find your spine. He heard the sergeant and the rest of the troops closing the circle around him.

Suddenly, a voice called out from the trees: “Servants of the king, stop where you are and drop your weapons. You are surrounded.”

More than a dozen men and women emerged from the forest into the clearing, each wielding a bow with a nocked arrow. One of them, a tall, red-haired man, stepped forward, arrow aimed directly at the sergeant’s head.

He nodded towards a group of the bow-wielders “You, you, and you, tie them up,” he said, then “Are you called Kish?”

Kish nodded, daggers in mid-air.

“We’re with the Falcons,” said the man.

“Valerja!” shouted Kish suddenly, “She’s at the road! We were attacked!...”

“She is...safe,” said the man. “We will take you to her.”

A few efficient minutes later, the soldiers stood bound and gagged in the center of the clearing. “Let’s go,” said the red-haired man.

The other Falcons led the soldiers through the dense woods, with Kish and and the red-haired man bringing up the rear.

“Pleased to meet you,” understated Kish, once the shock of his sudden rescue had finally lifted. “I’m Kish, but you already know that.”

“Angas,” said the man.

“So you’re the Falcons. Are you their leader?” asked Kish.

“No,” said the man.

After no other conversation seemed to be forthcoming, Kish said “Well, thank you for rescuing me. I’m sure I could have fought my way out of that, but I appreciate your involvement nonetheless.”

But the gloomy red-haired man continued forging through the branches without taking the conversational bait, and Kish gave up.

A few minutes later they broke back through the tree line to the road near to where the wagon was. Kish saw Valerja standing next to it speaking to an exotic-looking stranger. A half-dozen other men and women, presumably also Falcons, kept watch around the area.

“Kish!” shouted Valerja upon seeing him. She started to make her way towards him, and Kish saw that she had been injured. He ran up to meet her.

“Fates, are you all right!?” Kish exclaimed. She appeared to have suffered wounds in her abdomen, and she had large cuts on her sword arms that were still bleeding. “You need healing!”

“Fear not! I am well!” said Valerja. “And you, Kish? You are unharmed?”

“I am fine, and so is this,” said Kish, taking off his knapsack and handing it to Valerja. She opened it and removed the Star of Damas. With a smile of relief, she placed it into her own bag and handed Kish’s knapsack back to him.

Behind them, the red-headed man and the exotic stranger caught up.

“Greetings!” said the stranger through an unusual yellow mask. “I see you have met Sir Angas.”

“I have. Talked my ear off, he did,” said Kish.

“Telthas, this is Kish. He has done us all a great service at enormous risk to himself. He accompanies me to Galdurheim, that I may petition the Falcons to give him shelter and compensation.”

Kish bowed to Telthas. “Greetings to you, Sir Kish,” said Telthas, also bowing. “We shall be traveling with you to Galdurheim.”

“A pleasure,” said Kish. “That is...a fascinating mask.”

“It is a symbol of the organization to which I belong,” said Telthas. “I am a member of the Order of the Abyssal Eye, the Seatemplars. And what is it you do, if I may ask?”

“He’s a thief,” said Angas bluntly, giving Kish a look of stony-faced contempt.

“Wh-wha…” stuttered Kish, nonplussed. Rallying, he drew himself up and exclaimed in his most mock-insulted voice, “How dare you besmirch my name in so cavalier a fashion, sir! I am nought but a freelance collector of curios, I would have you know.”

Angas did not respond, but walked away and began to give orders to the other Falcons standing nearby by.

“Let us make haste, for a patrol is approaching. We will speak more on the way,” said Telthas, her gold-colored mask disguising her facial expression. She and Valerja turned and headed back to the wagon.

“...the greatest bloody freelance collector in the Lowlands.” muttered Kish to no one in particular, and went after them.

The Falcons had already fed the horses and removed all the vegetable crates from the wagon, leaving in their place several sacks of supplies, equipment, and other goods. There was also a pile of large strange animal pelts, black of fur but with red spines on the back of the neck.

“Black cat furs, to keep you warm,” said one of the Falcons to them. “Bought from the Black Cat Riders of the North. You will need these soon enough!”

A few minutes later, Kish, Valerja, Telthas, and Angas had said their farewells to the Falcon cell and were back on the wagon and headed towards the border. The Falcons were staying behind with the prisoners. Valerja drove while Kish sat next to her, one of the Black Cat pelts already over his shoulders, while Telthas and Angas sat in the back.

“Once again, I am in your debt,” said Valerja, “I swear I shall see to it that you are suitably rewarded!”

“Erm, you’re welcome, of course,” said Kish hesitantly. Something had been bothering him. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Valerja said nothing. She was driving the wagon normally, with no sign of pain or discomfort. The blood on her sleeves and armor had long since dried.

“I saw your injuries. They were not slight, Valerja.” continued Kish.

“Forgive me,” said Valerja. “All will be explained. For now, I ask that you wait until we are at Galdurheim. Behold, the Landamari Stone!”

She pointed at a great gray stone the height of a tower, decorated with dimly glowing blue runes, carved out of a mountainside across a valley from them to the East.

“The Great Sentinel!” said Telthas behind them. “The Hoarfrost Lands at last!”

As soon as she said this, a gentle snow began to fall on them. Kish drew his Black Cat fur around himself more tightly, trying to see into the increasingly obscured distance ahead. Angas said nothing and stared into the distance behind the wagon towards the lands they were fleeing.

And in the valley below the mountains that housed the famous Landamari Stone, several dozen pairs of shining topaz eyes, their owners concealed by forest, watched the travelers as they made their way deeper into the Hoarfrost, and waited.

Kish lay on a feather bed in a chamber in the elven temple at Galdurheim, staring at the ceiling, his head half-buried inside a giant pillow stuffed with what he thought must certainly be the down of celestials. The bed they had given him was so much more comfortable than any he had ever slept upon that he often felt as if he were floating in mid-air.

Kish had spent the last six days in Galdurheim being treated like a hero by the rime elves, or at least like a very important guest, while he awaited the decision of the council of Falcons on whether or not to give him sanctuary and how much they would pay him for the Star of Damas.

Aside from the large and luxurious bedchamber, he had been gifted with several sets of splendid new elf-tailored clothing (his old clothes had been discretely cleaned, mended, folded, and returned to his room). Temple acolytes brought him food and wine whenever he asked for it, and sometimes before.

Kish was given free run of the temple, which was more like a small city than a mere place of worship. He had spent many hours exploring its nooks and crannies and marveling at its endless surprises. A hallway might suddenly open onto a vast marketplace filled with goods from all over the Hoarfrost Lands and beyond, or onto a plaza where rime elves held lively debates over principles of magic, or simply onto a small but colorful garden with a bench at its center.

Whether it was due to elven magic or elven architecture, he never felt hemmed in or claustrophobic in the temple, despite not having left it in days, and no matter how much time he spent wandering, he always found his way back to his bedchamber without getting lost.

In short, Kish was warm and safe, well-rested and well-fed, and living in more comfort than he had known his whole life.

He wondered how long it would last, and where he would go after it was over.

His mind wandered, as it often had over the past few days, back to Valerja. He had only seen her twice since they arrived at the temple, and both times she had to rush away on Falcon business. He wondered what that entailed; he never did get the chance to ask her more about her role in the organization. Despite her prowess in battle and her strange healing ability, Kish was worried about his friend.

He hadn’t seen Telthas at all since they arrived. He hadn’t seen Angas either, but that suited Kish fine. The taciturn man had barely spoken to any of them on the way to the temple, but he seemed to regard Kish with special disdain. Bloody knight, thought Kish. Ponce off back to the castle if you’re so disgusted by the company.

He sat up on his bed. On the dresser across from him was the sapphire kestrel statuette he had stolen from the duke. It glittered merrily at him in the sunlight that poured into the room through the beautiful blue-tinted stained-glass ceiling, quietly reminding him of where he came from.

Once I get my reward, he thought, his kind will never be able to look down their noses at me again. I’ll never have to sleep an alleyway again, never have to steal again...

Never see her again, came the thought, unbidden...

The statuette continued to sparkle under the noon sun.

There was a knock at the door...

**********

Angas stood in a large grassy courtyard in the temple with his bow nocked, his arrow pointed at a distant blue globe of magical energy a rime elf had conjured as a target. The rime elf, whose name was Filarion, stood nearby watching the human with interest. He had asked to have the loan of Angas' Falconsight Bow the previous day, and had just returned it to him restrung with some kind of silver elven bowstring.

Angas' annoyance at having his bow tampered with was quickly replaced with awe as his fingers hovered next to his ear. The bowstring yielded to his strength, yet once nocked seemed to tug at his fingers with impatience.

He aimed the arrow at the magical blue globe and released. The arrow flew with a strength five times greater than his old bowstring of silk and sinew was able to generate, and lodged itself in the globe with lightning speed.

"Good shot!" exclaimed Filarion. He waved a hand, and the orb flew through the air towards Angas. He made another gesture and the orb disappeared, dropping Angas' arrow at his feet.

Angas picked up the arrow and placed it in his quiver. "I do not know what this string is made of, but it is brilliant," he said. "I thank you."

The young rime elf beamed at the compliment. "I do not get to study bows very often, you know. They're quite unpopular here. The Unkari like them, so we do not. But I think they’re fascinating. I have been training myself in the art of the bowyer, but it is slow going."

"You clearly have a talent for it," said Angas as he examined the string closely. Filarion's smile grew larger.

Angas looked up at the courtyard within the elven temple. Despite being inside an enclosed building in the Hoarfrost Lands, the courtyard looked and felt like the well-tended grounds of a palace in the spring. There was even a copse of trees on the far side of the yard, evergreens that grew nearly to the height of the faraway ceiling. He wondered if it was all a work of architecture or mere illusion.

He had yet to meet this head of the Falcons, who also governed Galdurheim as its Sorceress Regent, but he was told that the meeting would be soon. He had questions to put to her, particularly the question of why a rime elf from the Hoarfrost Lands was one of the leaders of a peasant uprising in a neighboring country. He could not shake the feeling that this Sorceress might be nothing more than an agente provocateuse.

He knew he had a role to fulfill in the coming struggle to rescue Kestral from its evil monarch, but he didn't know what that role was. What he did know was that every day they dallied in this elvish garden of delights was another day both the king's army and his madness grew, and another day the realm fell further into chaos.

As if reading his mind, or at least the expression on his face, Filarion said "Patience, my human friend. The sorceress must see to the fruition of many plans, and labors to gather information from the four winds. She would be loath to waste the time of such an important guest as yourself by summoning you ere she had something useful to impart."

"Important?" said Angas, "What could she want from me?"

Suddenly, he heard a voice behind him. "Your pardon, Sir Angas." Angas turned to see a young acolyte bowing respectfully. "Sorceress Illassa has requested your presence in the council chamber in ten minutes."

**********

Ten minutes later, Angas arrived at the council chamber and let himself in.

The chamber was a long room near the center of the temple, dominated by a large rectangular table. There were many chairs, but the only attendees aside from one or two servant-acolytes were Telthas, Valerja, and Kish, seated together at one end.

Standing at the head of the table was an older rime elf he had not yet met. Her blue-white hair had been woven into a golden circlet set with rubies that matched her eyes in color and shine. She wore a dark blue cloak embossed with runes in silver and gold, over armor that shone with a teal chrome sheen. Unlike all the other rime elves Angas had met so far, the blue-green skin of her countenance showed subtle signs of age.

"Welcome, Sir Angas,” she said, “I am Illassa Freidi. It is a pleasure to meet you at last. Do please join us."

Angas stared for a moment at the sorceress. Her face seemed to radiate wisdom and fill the room with light. The ruler of Galdurheim was not what he had expected from his scant knowledge of the denizens of the Hoarfrost.

Illassa smiled at the young knight, who realized he was staring. Blushing, he took a seat next to Telthas across from Kish and Valerja, all of whom greeted him warmly. Telthas and Valerja seemed not to have noticed the redness of Angas' face, but Kish was grinning broadly at him.

"My apologies for the sudden summons," continued Illassa. “I had been waiting on various pieces of information and consulting with the council of Falcons, as well as acquiring certain items to help us in our efforts. We have much to discuss, and little time. First and foremost, I wish to extend my gratitude to you all for your services to the Falcons."

She turned to Kish. "First you, Master Elliel. Your petition for sanctuary and compensation has been granted. For retrieving the Star of Damas and restoring it to its rightful owner at great personal danger, on behalf of the council of Falcons and in my power as sorceress regent of Galdurheim, I hereby award you one bar of pure Lunesilver and the key to the city of Galdurheim."

Telthas gasped.

Kish stood up and bowed. "I thank you, your ladyship," he said smiling politely. "Er...may I ask what that entails, exactly?"

"It means that you may dwell in Galdurheim as long as you wish, and call it your home. You may keep your current quarters, or you may wish to choose from another, but it will be given to you as part of your reward, together with the Lunesilver."

"...which should fetch about...20 million gold on the open market, I reckon," added Telthas.

Kish's polite smile was gone. He slowly leaned backwards and fell numbly onto his chair with a thump, gaping vacantly into the middle distance.

"And for you, Sir Angas," continued Illassa, "for your successful rescue operation in Veles, I would like to offer you full membership in the Falcons and a place on the council of Falcons, if you would have it."

But Angas said "I cannot. Not yet...not until I know more about your organization and what your intentions are."

"Sir Angas..." said Telthas, but Illassa said "I understand. Please inform us of your decision as soon as you can. In the meantime, let us discuss our next step."

"Our next step," said Telthas, turning to Valerja, "must be to head to the Abyss! We must heed the wisdom of the Pateras Tagma!"

"I am sorry," said Valerja, shaking her head, "there can be no discussion. The Star stays with me."

"Our elders have foreseen a tragedy of cataclysmic proportion if the jewel falls into the wrong hands! It must be destroyed!" Telthas beseeched, turning to Illassa.

"Hold," said Angas, "I came to discuss the fate of Kestral. What is all this about a jewel?"

"This jewel. It is called the Star of Damas," said Valerja, producing the gemstone. "It is...very important that I do not lose it."

"The king of Kestral seeks it," said Illassa. "It is a part of his plans, somehow."

"It is a sleeping disaster!" exclaimed Telthas. "This jewel, this man Corbinian Tosckar, all has been foretold in our tomes!"

"Tosckar..." said Angas. "I know that name..."

At the mention of Tosckar, Kish snapped out of his reverie. "The king’s personal-merchant-assassin, you mean? He was...foretold?"

"He is not as he seems," continued Telthas. "He professes to work only for the king, but in truth he has been corrupting and controlling him somehow. We believe he has, in effect, been ruling Kestral for years now."

At this, a knot began to tighten in Angas' stomach. "Controlling? How...how can this be? What of the king's advisors?"

"If they do not cooperate in the king's paranoid delusions, they are exiled or forced into hiding..." said Illassa solemnly.

"...Or killed," said Angas quietly.

"Indeed. It is his hand behind the recent events in Kestral. We do not know all of his motives yet, but one thing is for certain. Nearly everything he does, almost all the chaos he has sown, was to get his hands on the Star of Damas. And once word reaches him, as it likely has by now, that those possessing the Star have fled to the Hoarfrost Lands, then we will be in danger even here. Even as we speak, his armies are on the move, and his influence begins to extend even beyond the northern Kestralian border."

"I have witnessed his work," said Valerja. "He has been forcing many peasants into the royal army, while plundering their chattels. The army is now bloated and useless, full of children and farmers...that's it, isn't it..." She looked up at Illassa. "He means to cripple the country, not strengthen it."

"I agree with your assessment, Valerja," said Illassa. "In addition to stealing the jewel, he wishes to weaken the country."

"For invasion, you mean,” said Angas. “Likely then he is from Elheim or Gao Tesi. The war goes against them, and they are desperate..."

"I do not believe this to be the case." said Illassa. "I must show you something..."

She walked over to a side table and brought back three large feathers of iridescent blue-green, which she placed on the table in front of them.

"Over the past year, I have been having strange dreams, warning me of an impending disaster, yet I do not possess the Oracular Vision, and what is more, our Oracle had not reported any similar premonitions of disaster.

"Over time, the dreams became clearer and clearer, and I realized that they are not premonitions at all. They are communications. A woman’s voice sending a warning and a vision.”

“A warning? Who from?” asked Telthas.

Illassa shook her head. “I know not. Every night, she sends the same message:

‘When the star rises in the time of the fifth feather, the Zerua will bring down the sky.’

“...then a vision of a vast army of airships and flying beasts, awaiting the order to attack.”

The room was silent, as each person pondered the message and the vision. Eventually, Angas spoke.

"Whatever these ‘Zerua’ are, the Kestralian army is not prepared for an attack from the skies," he said. "We have few airships and they are not fitted for air combat.”

"Indeed," said Illassa. "Kestral would be conquered immediately, and the Hoarfrost Lands would quickly follow."

"This must be where the Star of Damas comes in," said Telthas. "They must need it to advance their plans somehow. Yet I do not believe this to be a matter of mere warfare. The disaster foretold by the elders of the Order of the Abyssal Eye is far direr!"

"More dire than the fall of my homeland and the death of countless innocents, Telthas?" retorted Angas angrily.

"Of course we work to stop this as well. This can all be prevented if we destroy the jewel!"

"Never," said Valerja. "I have sworn an oath that I will protect this jewel and see it to its destination, and I will fight against its destruction until my final ounce of strength leaves me. It is my duty. I am sorry."

At the mention of duty, the knot in Angas' stomach tightened further. I, too, swore an oath once, he thought.

"...And the feathers?" interjected Kish.

"Six months ago, I awoke from one of these dreams of warning to find the first of these feathers next to my pillow, and twice more since then. There is no possible way the feather could have been left there by an intruder. I believe these were sent to me by this foreign Oracle as a sort of token of trust.”

“Three feathers," said Valerja. "And we have until ‘the time of the fifth feather.’ How often have they appeared?"

"One appeared six months ago. The second appeared one month ago. The third appeared seven days ago," replied Illassa. "I believe their appearances are tied in with recent events."

They all stared at the feathers, which lay on the table, scintillating innocently.

"Valerja speaks the truth, Dame Telthas," continued Illassa. "The Star must not be destroyed, even if it could be, which I doubt. We spent many, many years seeking it together. We found it at last, but it was taken from us by force..."

"Illassa..." said Valerja. Kish looked at her, confused.

"Tosckar knew he could not harm Valerja, so he harmed me, and forced Valerja to relinquish the stone. And now we have it again, we must allow Valerja to fulfill her duty. It has a much greater purpose."

“But what purpose could possibly be greater than the lives of millions, Sorceress?” asked Telthas. “What could even be worth the risk?”

“I...cannot say, Dame Telthas,” said Illassa. “I am not among those who know.”

Telthas’ mask went from Illassa to Valerja. Valerja lowered her eyes.

“You don’t know?” asked Telthas incredulously. “Neither of you?”

“I can remember only that I must recover the jewel and protect it at all costs, until I am able to bring it to a certain place,” said Valerja. “But I cannot recall any more. My mind has faded with the years. Either that or there is something else preventing me from knowing or revealing more than I should. All I understand is that I am bound to my duty to recover the jewel and bring it home. Only then, will I be able to rest.”

Kish was astonished. “Rest? Many years? What do you mean, Valerja?" he asked.

"I have...lost count of how old I am..." said Valerja. "But I am very old indeed. I have lived for hundreds of years."

Kish's eyes widened. "So...once you bring the jewel to your home..."

"Yes. Once I have fulfilled my duties, I will finally be allowed to die." said Valerja.

She closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. Kish looked at her in horror. "What? Why?"

Valerja opened her eyes and turned to him. She smiled, but Kish could see the same look in her eyes that he saw the first time he saw them, the look of someone carrying too heavy a burden for too long.

"My friend," she said, "I have lived for too long. My body may be eternal, but my heart and my mind are not. I must fulfill my duties while my head is yet clear."

Kish was speechless. Why would anyone want to die? Why did I have to give her the stone in the first place? To lose another friend, so soon after meeting...he cleared his throat and tried to conceal his consternation.

Illassa smiled at Kish. “I know it is difficult to understand, Master Elliel. But Valerja is human, and humans are not built for the gift of immortality. I too want what is best for her,” she said kindly.

“Forgive me, Valerja, Sorceress,” said Telthas. “I did not know of your struggle. The warnings of our elders concerned me.”

“On the contrary, Dame Telthas,” said Illassa. “There is wisdom in your words. We know very little about the jewel. It is not magical, but possesses some sort of power. Its true purpose has been locked away, yet there are those who are aware of it and seek to use it somehow. That is why our next step will be to consult with the Pateras Tagma, the head of the Order of the Abyssal Eye.”

Despite her mask, Telthas’ relief and gratitude was palpable.

“You will also consult the library of the Order, which is the greatest repository of arcane knowledge in the Abyss and beyond. We must learn more about the nature of the jewel and why Tosckar seeks it. Once we have, we will be better equipped to make a decision. Are you agreed, Valerja?”

"Agreed," said Valerja. "At the very least, we will be further out of Tosckar's reach in the Abyss."

"Thank you," sighed Telthas. "That is all I ask."

Kish looked down at the table in front of him. Angas said nothing.

"It is settled, then. You two shall leave at once for Kersos. I have written a letter for the Pateras Tagma, please deliver it to him with my apologies for not coming in person." She handed the letter to Valerja, who placed it in her pack together with the Star of Damas.

"I will not be joining you, for I must continue my work. I believe I have nearly developed an artifact that may enable us to fight these 'Zerua' on our own terms, but we will need the Order’s assistance. It is all in the letter."

"Understood. We will send word as soon as we arrive," said Valerja.

"Er, excuse me..." said a voice, and Kish was surprised to hear that it was his own. "I...I should like to petition the Falcons for membership. I feel as if I could be of assistance. Somehow."

Valerja turned to Kish, a look of surprise on her face, but Illassa smiled at him. "Master Elliel," she said, "this is not a decision to be made lightly. It is a dangerous life, bereft of comfort or safety."

"I believe this conflict is my conflict as well. There are those who I wish to...in any case, I'm not quite ready to retire," said Kish, blushing. "I would like to go with you to the Abyss, if I may."

"In that case, with the power vested in me as a member of the Council of Falcons, I proclaim Master Elliel Kish to be a full member. Welcome to the Falcons," said Illassa.

Kish nodded as solemnly as he could, but his mind reeled with the implications of the conversation. He finally had everything he had ever wanted, and he had put it aside.

Then he noticed Angas' face. He was frowning, as always, but there was clearly something on his mind. Illassa seemed to notice this as well. "Do not be troubled, Sir Angas," she said. "There is much we are doing to rescue Kestral and its people from the darkness. With your aid, the Falcons shall restore the light of hope to it."

But Angas’ hand was balled up into a fist on the table, and on his brow was a thunderstorm. "I..I did not know..." said Angas, "I did not know he was being manipulated. I thought he had merely gone mad...and what of him now? Where is the king now?"

"I do not know,” said Illassa gently, “but rest assured that our numbers are many, and include servants and lords. We will free him from Tosckar's grasp as soon as it is safe to do so. In the meantime, I would ask that you remain here in Galdurheim and join the Falcon war council."

Angas said nothing for a moment.

Suddenly a rime elven soldier who ran into the room. "Sorceress!" he shouted, "We are under attack! A great army of Black Cat Riders approaches from the south, led by a group of Kestralian airships!"

The four of them stood up. "We have run out of time. Andra!" shouted Illassa at one of the acolytes, "The haldakristals and the gatesilver! Hurry!"

"We can fight our way out, Illassa, fear not!" said Valerja.

"There is no need," said Illassa, as Andra returned with two fist-sized blue gemstones and two small suede pouches. "I have made travelstones for you."

Telthas gasped as Illassa placed them on the table. "But these are beyond the art of any alive today!" she exclaimed. "And two of them!"

"It was quite difficult," said Illassa, "but we must discuss it another time. These will transport you instantly to your destination."

She unstopped one of the suede pouches and poured the silvery dust inside onto one of the blue gems. The gem absorbed the magical dust and took on a violet glow, and a large rune appeared on its surface.

"Once you see the rune, raise the stone in your hand and call out your destination, and you will be transported there instantly."

In the next instant, several things happened at once.

Something in the expression on Angas’ face began to set off alarms at the back of Kish’s mind. Before he knew it, time seemed to slow down as his instincts kicked in, setting his body into motion. As if through treacle, he saw Angas reach across the table to pick up the activated travelstone.

“NO!” he shouted, lunging across the table, his hand flying towards Angas’ to strike the travelstone out of it, just as Angas picked it up and shouted:

“GEN GURUM!”

There was a flash, and both Angas and Kish were gone.

Elsewhere, in Sorceress Illassa’s bedchamber, a fourth blue-green feather manifested itself in the air, and slowly fluttered down onto her bed.

​There was a flash, and both Angas and Kish were gone.

"Fool!" shouted Valerja in shock, but a strange smile played on Illassa's lips. Telthas noticed this.

"Sorceress, did you have a hand in this?" she asked, confused.

"I did not," she replied, "though I did feel in my heart that he would essay something foolhardy, as did Master Elliel, it seems."

She turned to Valerja and put her hand on her shoulder. "However, my heart also tells me that this is not a disaster. I believe Sir Angas has gone where he believes he is most needed. His loyalty to the king shall not betray his loyalty to our cause."

She took the remaining haldakristal and placed it in Valerja's hand. "But there is no more time to talk. You two must depart for Kersos now. Leave the Kestralian army to us."

She emptied the remaining pouch of gatesilver onto the haldakristal, and the glowing rune of travel appeared on its surface. She then took Telthas' hand and placed it on top of the activated travelstone.

"Go!" said Illassa, stepping back.

"KERSOS!" shouted Valerja and Telthas together. A light from within the travelstone enveloped them, and they vanished.

Illassa nodded with satisfaction at the empty air, then turned to her aides. "Andra, have General Dranuran meet me on the parapets. Mornfrid, come with me. What is the status of our defensive preparations?..."

**********

With a soft flash of blue light, Angas and Kish materialized inside a small room of grey stone.

They both looked around, slightly disoriented. Angas was the first to recover from his confusion. Ignoring Kish, he drew his sword and walked out the door.

Kish shook his head. He realized he was now holding the travelstone, now discharged. He pocketed it and charged after Angas.

"Oi, what do you think you're playing at?" he hissed angrily, as he walked through the door into a long stone corridor. He turned and spotted Angas striding purposefully down the hallway, and ran after him as quietly as he could.

"Is this the king's castle?" he whispered at Angas' back. "Are we in Gen Gurum?" But Angas continued pacing down the long corridor.

"Stop ignoring me, you bloody prat!" Kish growled in frustration. "Do you mean to get us executed? Answer me!"

At last, Angas stopped and turned around. "Follow me not, thief," he whispered through gritted teeth. "Go back to the Falcons, or the sewers, or wherever you plan to live out your days."

"Ah, there it is," said Kish in bitter triumph, "typical bloody toff. Too good to associate with common folk, eh?"

"You're not common folk, you knave." said Angas. "You're who I protect the common folk from. When they told me I had to rescue a thief, I was against it. Thieves should be hanged, not rescued."

"Oh, thank you very much! I never asked for a rescue. I was doing quite well on my own."

"No you weren't. That sergeant would have had you. If we hadn't stepped in, you would have been slaughtered. A waste of time it was, rescuing the likes of you."

Kish could barely contain his fury. Taunts and menacing speech were part of his arsenal, but he was unused to being on the receiving end of it.

"No it wasn't, you bloody fool. I had the jewel, remember? I was trying to keep it out of the hands of the army. If you hadn't bothered rescuing me, we'd all be in it up to our eyes."

"Sod the jewel," said Angas angrily. "I went to the Falcons to save my country, but all they talk about is some sparkling trinket. They’re not falcons, they’re magpies."

"Save your country?" said Kish. "How? By barging into the king's castle and slaughtering your way to the throne room? What will that accomplish, save landing your head on a pike?"

"It is my duty. It always was. If I had known that the king was being controlled, I would have done this sooner. He must be alive, and if he is alive, I will save him!"

He turned to proceed down the hall, but Kish stayed where he was.

"Where is everyone?" he asked suddenly.

Angas stopped and began looking around slowly. They hadn't come across a soul since they had arrived. As he turned, he began to see more signs of vacancy. A thick layer of dust lined every surface. The wall-sconces lining the hallway were empty, leaving the corridor dim despite the fact that it was midday.

He sheathed his sword. He had expected to have to fight Tosckar’s cronies on his way to the throne room, but it looked as if nobody had been in the castle for days, or even weeks.

He broke into a run.

"You owe me a bar of Lunesilver," muttered Kish, and ran after him.

**********

Another flash of blue light announced the arrival of Valerja and Telthas in the Abyss, on the outskirts of the city-state of Kersos.

"Incredible!" sighed Telthas, seemingly unaffected by the instantaneous travel. "There it is...the home of the Order! The travelstone lives up to its reputation."

Valerja shook her head and looked around. The Abyss was nowhere near as cthonic as its name suggested. A powerful enchantment over the entire country allowed land-dwellers to walk and breathe freely in the underwater domain, provided that they did not stray too far from the cities. The streets of Kersos were lit by large pearls in lamppost-like cages that illuminated its coralline paths and turquoise-tiled buildings.

She sighed. A part of her knew that what she saw was beautiful...yet she could no longer remember how to react.

Then she turned, and beheld for the first time the Temple of the Cult of the Abyssal Eye.

What she beheld was less a building than a giant organism that seemed to pulsate in its own purplish light. It was surrounded by a fence of giant, jagged teeth, giving the impression that a devil-fish was about to devour it from below. Eyeballs the height of a man, disembodied yet somehow alive, swiveled on giant spikes as if they were keeping watch. The shock of the building's hideousness was so great that Valerja didn't even realize she had drawn her swords. All at once, every eyeball in sight swiveled toward her.

"What...what is this demonic place?" whispered Valerja, her knuckles white around the hilts of her swords.

"This is the home of our order, Lady Valerja," said Telthas. "Forgive me for not warning you. Its appearance is unpleasant, but that is a necessary part of the work we do. Please follow me."

Telthas walked up the steps to the entrance without a trace of discomfort. Valerja hesitatingly sheathed her short swords and followed. In the months since they met, Telthas had spoken little of the order to which she belonged, save that it was an extremely secretive group dedicated to the acquisition of arcana and the battle against evil. Telthas herself had proven to be a warrior of great valor and a repository of knowledge on magic and magical creatures. If it hadn’t been for this, Valerja would never have followed her into an edifice with such an evil facade.

They arrived at the door of the temple. Telthas pulled on a rope, and a deep, sonorous bell sounded somewhere inside the structure. A moment later, a small hatch opened in the door, revealing a grate through which an eye presented itself from behind a small section of a mask similar to Telthas'.

"Who dares to draw the attention of the Cult of the Abyssal Eye?" came a voice from behind the door in an accent similar to Telthas', but filled with menace and loathing.

"It is I, brother," said Telthas. "Admit us, it is urgent! We must speak with the Pateras Tagma!"

"Telthas!" said the voice, this time without a trace of evil. "You have returned to us! But who is that with you?"

"This is Lady Valerja," said Telthas. She turned to Valerja. "The letter please, Lady Valerja," she said.

Valerja took the letter from her backpack and handed it to Telthas.

"Here," she said, sliding the letter into the grate, "please take this to the Pateras Tagma as quickly as you can!"

The letter disappeared into the hatch. "I go," said the voice, and the hatch shut with a snap.

"Forgive us," said Telthas to Valerja, "but ours is a very secretive order. Very few outsiders are allowed within the walls of our temple."

"He said 'Cult' of the Abyssal Eye," said Valerja.

"Yes. This is what the other denizens of the Abyss call us. They revile us, but it is all necessary for maintaining our privacy, without which we cannot conduct our work and protect the Abyss," said Telthas with pride.

Valerja looked up at the symbol of the eye etched into the archway above the door. To spend a life in service to those to hate you, she thought. Who would choose such a life? Who would commit themselves to such a duty?

A few minutes later, the front door opened. A knight in seashell armor and wearing a golden mask similar to Telthas' beckoned to them to enter.

"Thank you for waiting," said the voice of the mask from before. "Please follow me. The Pateras Tagma wishes to see you."

**********

Ten minutes later, Illassa joined General Dranuran and his battalion of conjurers on the parapets of the elven temple. What they referred to as the "parapets" was actually a giant concentric pair of rune-covered stone rings the circumference of the entire building, magically hovering above the roof and rotating slowly.

"All townsfolk have gathered in the building and all temple defenses have been invoked, sorceress," he said.

Around them, blue magical energy arced to and from the stone rings to a giant orb of magic in their center. Above them, the faintest hint of blue in the air indicated to the eagle-eyed that the elven temple's magical shield was up and at full power. Below them, thousands of elves lined the balconies and walls, preparing their spells and eyeing the Black Cat hordes approaching from the distance.

Illassa looked upwards at the five Kestralian airships approaching the temple from the south. "The fox. He is far out of the range of even our most powerful spells," she muttered.

"It is perplexing," said General Dranuran. "There are no human weapons that can pierce our wards, and each of our spectrals can destroy fifty Black Cat mercenaries without getting out of bed. But he must be here for the star. He cannot be here to parley, surely."

Suddenly, a magically amplified voice cut through the cold Hoarfrost air.

"Illassa!" came a voice from above. "A sorceress? Congratulations! You were a mere spectral when we last met."

She focused on the source of the voice, and her elven eyes made out a familiar figure standing on the deck of the foremost airship.

"Corbinian Tosckar! Your presence here is an act of war," she said, her own voice magically amplified. "You and your mercenaries will leave at once or prepare to be slaughtered."

"My mercenaries?" came Tosckar's taunting reply. "Do you think those filthy pissants are with me? How vulgar! I have come on a mutually beneficial trade mission."

"You have nothing we want," said Illassa. "Begone."

"I've come a long way, now. I really must insist," he replied, the knife-edge in his tone suddenly manifesting.

"Sorceress," muttered Dranuran. "Please return to the temple. I fear he is plotting something."

Illassa nodded, and turned to reenter the building.

"You aggrieve me, Illassa. I'm afraid you leave me with no choice..." said Tosckar as she walked away. Dranuran remained on the roof, squinting at the tiny figure in the sky, when his eyes suddenly widened.

"Sorceress!" he shouted, turning and running at Illassa full tilt, tackling her from behind. She flew forward and hit the ground with a grunt of pain and a clank of armor.

Where the sorceress had been standing a moment earlier, a ruby-colored beam of intense light had suddenly appeared, several yards in diameter. Whatever the light touched, stone, flesh, or metal, dissolved instantaneously. The beam passed through the giant stone ring, through the roof below, and into the temple. Then, as quickly as the beam had appeared, it disappeared. A fiery explosion shot up through the holes in the temple, and the sky was lit by a pillar of fire and noise.

"General!" shouted Dranuran's battalion. Illassa stared in horror. Only the top half of Dranuan’s body had cleared the area of the red beam of light.

Another beam shot down elsewhere into the temple, once again effortlessly penetrating the magical shields. Once again the stone ring was pierced, and once again an explosion flared up from the depths of the temple.

The stone ring, thus breached, lost its magic and fell onto the roof of the temple, and all was screams, fire, and chaos.

**********

Kish and Angas continued to run through the network of stone corridors of the vast castle. Kish trailed behind Angas, who seemed to know his way around.

No matter where they went, the halls were empty of life. Kish also noticed a conspicuous absence of valuables. Weapons, paintings, nearly anything that could be carried by a man had been removed. The castle had clearly been looted.

On and on they ran without encountering a soul. Angas felt sick to his stomach. Who could have done this? Was it Tosckar? The Falcons? Where was the king?

Eventually they reached a set of large wooden double-doors and Angas stopped.

"Throne room?" said Kish.

Angas nodded. They were near the center of the castle. The silence was palpable. Something told him there was danger on the other side of the door.

He reached for the door handle and tried to quietly turn it, but the great doors were locked. He then took a few steps back, intending to ram the doors open. Just as he was about to run, Kish interposed himself between Angas and the door, holding his hands out, with an incredulous look on his face.

"Hold!" he whispered. He turned around and bent down to the keyhole, removing a few tools from his armwraps. A few seconds later, there was a click. He then stepped back and gestured to Angas to try the door again.

Angas went up to the handle and turned it once again, and this time it yielded. He quietly pushed the door open, and the two of them peered into the gloom inside the throne room. In the small amount of light that followed them in, they saw a strange sight.

The large throne room was filled with a wide array of items of all kinds. Weapons, cutlery, works of art, small piles of silver coins, seemingly everything in the castle that wasn't furniture had been brought into the room and left on the floor or leaning against a wall. If there was anything of value present, it was lost in the piles and piles of worthless trinkets.

They opened the door the rest of the way and walked in, trying their best to avoid the random objects strewn across the floor.

"What happened here?" whispered Kish, then gasped. At the far end of the room, seated in the throne, was a figure.

They saw more and more of the figure as they approached. It was an incredibly gaunt man, with long white hair and beard, dressed in purple robes which hung pathetically off his emaciated frame. At his feet lay his crown, broken into pieces.

As they got even closer, they saw, with horror, that he was alive and muttering to himself.

"Your majesty..." whispered Angas, his heart gripped by a claw of cold fear.

King Naron did not seem to notice them. Soon they were close enough to hear his ramblings.

"Enemies...enemies...enemies...spies everywhere...thieves everywhere...weakness everywhere...there must be order...there must be war...a war for order...I ordered them away...I ordered them all away...none have returned...none will return...I cannot trust any of them...dear Tosckar...only dear Tosckar can be trusted...he will protect me...he will return to me and I will be safe..."

Kish stared at the old man in horror. This was what Tosckar had done to the king, over weeks, months, years. He had utterly destroyed his soul.

"Your...m...Majesty..." Angas said again, louder this time.

King Naron's muttering stopped. His wizened face looked up at Angas. Somehow, his eyes focused on him.

"Sir Angas..." he whispered. "You...returned to me..."

**********

"Forgive us," said the seatemplar who had admitted them into the Temple of the Abyssal Eye, "but we are forbidden to show our faces to those from outside the order."

The seatemplar, whose name was Dwin, hurriedly led Valerja and Telthas through the halls of the temple, which was magically sealed against the ingress of water to protect the many invaluable scrolls and manuscripts secreted therein. The inside of the temple was far less sinister than the exterior, although it was still very dark and arcane. Nearly everything Valerja saw was black or deep violet. Glowing runes ran up and down the hallways and the walls. All sound was muffled, even that of their own footfalls.

"This way," said Dwin. "The Pateras Tagma has asked that you be taken directly to the Library of Arcana. He will meet you there as soon as possible."

"It is a rare honor for the uninitiated to be allowed into the Library, Lady Valerja," said Telthas as they sped through the corridors. "I myself have only been allowed in a few times."

"Would that the circumstances were different," said Valerja.

The three of them soon arrived at a large archway. Through it was a giant multi-tiered library filled floor-to-ceiling with shelf upon shelf of tomes, grimoires, scrolls, and every other kind of recorded knowledge. Even Valerja was in awe.

"The Library of Arcana is magnificent," she said appreciatively.

"I thank you," said Dwin, "but this is not the Library. This way, please."

They hurried through the stacks until they came to a secluded section. "We are near. One moment, please..."

He took an odd-looking lantern out of a nearby recess. Then, from a pouch, he produced a giant black pearl the size of a fist.

He placed the pear into a socket in the front of the lantern, then uttered a strange phrase...

"Eye uncloud and ray reveal,
Door unveil and secrets yield.”

The lantern began to glow with the purplish light of the order's magic. The black pearl swiveled in its socket and became a large eye, from which a cone of violet light shone.

Dwin shined the beam over the wall of books in front of them until he found a section that disappeared when it was struck by the light, revealing a door. He opened it, and beckoned Valerja and Telthas to follow.

"This," said Telthas reverentially, "is the Library of Arcana."

Through the door was another room of books and tables, much smaller than the main library. In this hidden chamber were kept only the most important, rarest, or most powerful spells, prophecies, and written works known to history. Valerja imagined she could feel the sheer power of the secrets locked inside the books and scrolls lining the walls.

In the center of the room stood a tall figure in armor similar to that of Dwin and Telthas, but whose golden mask was mounted with blue gems and runestones. He stood in front of a large table, on which were strewn scrolls and opened tomes.

Telthas and Dwin knelt. "Hail, Pateras!" they said in unison.

"Rise, masks," he said to them. "Lady Valerja, welcome to Kersos. I am the Pateras Tagma of the Order of the Abyssal Eye. Forgive the haste in which you were brought here, but we have much to discuss..."

**********

Tosckar stood in the grand hall in the center of the elven temple, his golden monocle glinting maliciously. In his hand was a strange device. It had the appearance of a spyglass, but it was covered with runes and crystals, and the lens was ruby-colored. It was from this device that he was able to effortlessly summon the beams of unimaginable destruction, seemingly at will, and it was trained at the moment on Illassa, who stood several yards in front of him.

Around them, the bodies of dead elves and mercenaries littered the floor.

"It is not here. They are not here. You are wasting your time," she said.

"Oh, I know it is not here. I can see that for myself," he said. "My monocle is not simply for show, you know. No, I can see it from quite far away and I know it is nowhere nearby. How vexing. So close and yet so far, eh?"

Outside, the sounds of battle continued. The chaos caused by Tosckar's infernal weapon had more than leveled the playing field, and many more elven magic-users had fallen to the Black Cat Riders than would have otherwise. The rime elves were doing their best to regroup, but terror ran through them like a plague.

"How very strange it was," he continued. "I came all this way to find the Star of Damas, having received good information that it was in Galdurheim. We flew over as quickly as we could, and lo! There it was, shining brightly like a star in the sky, except of course we were in the sky and the star was on the ground..."

Illassa stood in dignified silence as Tosckar rambled. He mustn't see your fear, she thought. He will know you are hiding something else...

"...Then, suddenly, poof! The shine vanished! The star had fallen, or perhaps ascended, in this case, just as we neared the temple. Now, how could that have happened? Where could the star have gone?"

As he spoke, the ruby lens of the strange device stayed trained on Illassa, but Illassa's eyes never left Tosckar.

"Do you like my toy?" he asked suddenly, indicating the spyglass. "It's called a 'crystallomantic nullifier.' I'm sure you can see why. They're very handy, you know. One nullifier can wipe out an entire city in a matter of minutes."

He smiled at Illassa. "I wouldn't be much of a merchant if I didn't offer a demonstration..."

Illassa continued to stare levelly at Tosckar, refusing to allow her inner turmoil to surface. Let him burn the temple to the ground, as long as my people escape. She thought. He will never find it...

Suddenly, a Kestralian soldier ran into the room. "Lord Tosckar, we have finished questioning the prisoners. We know where the fugitives have gone."

"Good," said Tosckar, without taking his eyes off of Illassa. "Tell the others to prepare for departure."

"Also, we found this," he said, and brought over a small sack.

Tosckar took the sack and looked into it. His face broke into a slow, menacing grin.

"Well, well," he said. "What an interesting find."

He turned to the soldier. "Gather the Kestralians. We shall leave the cleanup to the Black Cats. I have new instructions. Go."

The soldier left. Tosckar turned his grin onto Illassa.

"Well, well," he said again. "fortune provides..."

**********

"Angas...Angas Crieff," muttered Naron, "You came back to us. How pleased I am to see you. It has been far too long, my boy..."

Angas knelt in front of the king, his head bowed. He had sent Kish to find whatever food or water he could, as well as any people who might still be nearby.

"I am honored that Your Majesty remembers me," said Angas.

"The son of Raghnall? How could I forget?" croaked the king through dry lips. "Such an excellent family. Such a noble family. How fare the Crieffs these days?"

Angas did not have the heart to tell the king that he alone remained.

"We have seen...better days, my liege," he said sadly.

"Ah, yes...I remember now.Alas, poor Raghnall...forgive an old fool his failing memory, young Angas," he went on, sadly.

Angas said nothing, but his shoulders were shaking.

"Stand up, my boy. I won't have a Crieff kneeling before me," rasped the king.

Angas stood up, but his head remained bowed.

"I'm afraid I've been...a bit of a fool, Angas," said the king. "I have failed my kingdom."

Angas said nothing, but shook his head.

"It is true," whispered the king. "I opened my ears to lies and I closed my eyes to the truth. I allowed greed and fear to cloud my mind. And many have suffered and died because of it."

"No!" cried Angas, his voice choked with sorrow, "It is I who failed you, Your Majesty!"

"You have not failed, Sir Angas," said the king. "You were the only one to return. You were the only one who fulfilled his duty. And because of you...I will know one final moment of lucidity before I die."

Angas looked up in fear with tears in his eyes. "No, Your Majesty! I have sent for food and water! Please do not despair!"

King Naron held up a hand. "Do not weep, young Angas. For the first time in years, my mind is...clear. Whatever charm or wizardry was at work has at last been dispelled. I see clearly. But my time has come. Weep not! You have made a foolish old man happy one final time."

With that, he closed his eyes and sat back on his throne. So passed Naron IV, king of Kestral.

Angas fell to his knees once again and let out a great howl of anguish.

**********

The Star of Damas sat on the large table in the Library of Arcana, next to an unfurled scroll bearing a drawing of it.

“Osmon...Rai…” said Valerja quietly.

“The sky continent,” said the Pateras. “Hundreds of years ago, a great many countries had been conquered by an empire of militaristic men and women. One day, their rulers heard tell of a hidden continent in the sky, overflowing with riches and new peoples to conquer. From that moment on, every scholar, mage, and general in the empire spent every moment of every day working towards a single goal: the conquest of Osmon Rai.

“It took them many years and generations, but one day, every man, woman, and child left that empire and took to the skies, and they were never seen again. Those people were known as the Zerua.”

“Ah! The ones from the sorceress’ dreams!” exclaimed Telthas.

“But...a continent in the sky? How could such a thing exist?” asked Valerja.

“It is true. It had been hidden from ground-dwellers for millennia,” said the Pateras.”None could reach it or leave it. I do not yet know how or why it was locked away, but it has been recently rediscovered. This is where we come to the Eye of the Maiden, or the Heart of Damas.”

“The Zerua...want the jewel?” asked Valerja.

“I believe so,” said the Pateras. “It is both my belief and that of the sorceress that the jewel can somehow be used to ‘unlock’ Osman Rai, as it were.”

“So it is like a key?” asked Telthas. “But then should it not be destroyed?”

“It is not a key,” said the Pateras. “Rather, it possesses some sort of quality or energy that can be used to destroy the barrier between Osmon Rai and the ground.”

“But it is not from Osmon Rai,” said Valerja. “Why would they even know about it?”

“I do not know,” said the Pateras. “But if the barrier disappears, it will allow the Zerua to invade from the skies.”

“That means that Tosckar must be an agent of the Zerua,” said Valerja.

Suddenly, a thin red beam of light shot through the wooden door, through Valerja’s chest, and out her back, creating a perfectly round hole the size of a fist. She fell backwards and hit the floor with a thud.

Before anyone else could react, the wooden door flew into the room, having been kicked off its hinges, and in walked Tosckar.

“Close,” he said, as Valerja fell to the ground. “I happen to be the king of Zerua, if you want to know.”

He raised the nullifier and pointed it at the Pateras Tagma’s head. Its ruby-colored lens glowed malevolently.

“Do not move,” he growled at the room.

Telthas, the Pateras, and Dwin stood watching helplessly as Tosckar picked up the Star of Damas. Then, backing away, he placed the jewel into a pouch on his belt.

“Thank you for your custom,” he said. There was no longer a hint of Tosckar the merchant in his voice. There was now only Tosckar the king.

“I see now,” said the Pateras. “You have provided the final piece of the puzzle. I promise you that you are making a grave mistake."

As he spoke, Telthas’ own hand reached into a pouch on her belt.

“Be silent,” said Tosckar. “You are in the presence of your future king.”

“AKTINA KAFTEROS!” shouted Telthas suddenly, as she flung a handful of small runed stones at Tosckar. The stones froze in midair around him and suddenly formed a cage of burning rays of light. One of the rays singed Tosckar’s arm, and with a shout of rage he dropped the nullifier onto the stone floor.

He pulled his arm back into the cage of light, and reached into another pouch, pulling out an active travelstone.

“STOP!” shouted Telthas. She lunged desperately across the room at him, but it was too late.

“Summit of Mount Panganod,” said Tosckar, and he and the Star of Damas were gone.

Telthas sat in silent vigil in the recovery room in the infirmary of the Order of the Abyssal Eye. In a bed next to her lay Valerja, her eyes still closed.

The infirmary attendants had been astonished when Telthas had ordered that she be brought there to convalesce, as people with plate-sized holes through their torso normally required burial rather than bedrest. They might have mistaken her command as madness brought on by grief, had the Pateras Tagma not confirmed that Valerja was to be brought to the infirmary to recover.

Over the three days since Tosckar's attack, the healers and attendants had been astonished to watch as, bit by bit, Valerja's body somehow rebuilt itself. The cavity in her chest gradually sealed itself over the first day, then the color began to return to her face as all the blood she had lost on the floor of the Library of Arcana slowly replenished itself. Yet the new heart housed in her magically reconstructed chest still did not beat.

Most of the other beds contained members of the order who were unlucky enough to have been in Tosckar's path when he arrived at the temple, yet had been lucky enough to have survived his fiendish weapon of light.

The weapon seemed to be a great source of consternation for the Pateras Tagma, and not simply because of its destructive power. Once Valerja was safely in an infirmary bed, he had returned to the Library of Arcana to study the nullifier, only leaving it to visit Telthas from time to time to check on Valerja's progress.

It was now the third evening since the attack. Telthas tried to quell the sense of doom that had been slowly welling up inside her. She knew she had to do something, but she knew not what. They had sent word of Tosckar's attack to Galdurheim, but had yet to receive a response. Surely the rime elves couldn’t have fallen to a pack of Black Cat Riders, could they? she thought to herself.

She wondered how long they had left until the prophecy from the scrolls came true...

She was interrupted in her anxious reverie by a kind voice. "Incredible. Her body has completely restored itself. This is magic even beyond that of most Mages."

She looked up to see the Pateras Tagma, who had been standing on the other side of the bed for she knew not how long. "Pateras..." she said. "How fares your study?"

"Well and not well," he responded. "Well, in that I have at last managed to confirm my fears, and not well for the same reason. The old saying is true: if you seek to prevent two prophecies, both shall come to pass."

"Then the threat from the Sorceress' dream and the threat mentioned in the scrolls are not the same," said Telthas.

"Correct. One warns of an impending tragedy in which many lives will be lost. The other warns of annihilation. For all."

Telthas frowned behind her mask. "Does this have to do with Tosckar's strange weapon?" she asked.

"In a way," responded the Pateras Tagma. "And in a way, that weapon is the least of our problems..."

He sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed and lowered his voice so as not to be heard by those around them. "I am now certain that Tosckar has forged an alliance with the Prizmai, a collective of crystalline beings of unknown origin, whose only known goal is to extinguish all life."

"All life?" asked Telthas, "Are they not themselves alive?"

"Their motives are, for the most part, inscrutable. Few have communicated with the Prizmai and lived. All we know is that they are said to have taken on what they call the "spark" of life as a temporary measure, in order to return all things to what they refer to as the "Great Lattice," before returning there themselves. In other words, they seek to end all life and destroy all matter."

"But...that is madness! Why would Tosckar enter into a pact with such devils?"

"It could be that he is, indeed, mad. But the fact that he is planning an invasion leads me to believe that he is ignorant of the designs of the Prizmai. It was likely they who told him of the Heart of Damas and helped him leave Osmon Rai, promising him that if he could but get his hands on the jewel, he could use it to swing open the gates of the sky continent and become emperor of the world. Then they gave him that nullifier weapon and who knows what else besides, and sent him forth. He thinks he is using them, when it is they who are using him."

Telthas thought for a moment. "So...Tosckar wishes to use the jewel to enable the Zeruan army to leave Osmon Rai and conquer the world," she said. "And these 'Prizmai' would be released as well?"

"Possibly," said the Pateras. "I believe that the Prizmai want the jewel for themselves. They are incredibly powerful and seek to end all life, yet they keep to themselves and rarely interact with other beings. Something is holding back their power, and I believe they need the Star to recover it. If that is the case...well, I shudder to think what will happen if Tosckar turns it over to them."

He stood up. "I have already sent word of my latest findings to the Sorceress," he said. "I have yet to receive a response. I fear that Tosckar's attack on Galdurheim may have taken a greater toll than I thought it would. As soon as you are ready, you must return there..."

He stopped suddenly, and Telthas realized that Valerja's eyes were open.

"I remember now..." she said quietly.

**********

Angas stood atop one of the tall towers of the royal palace in Gen Gurum, staring northward over the city towards the highlands beyond. A strong northerly wind whipped his red hair about, giving him the appearance of a stern-faced torch.

His alert expression belied his weariness. Since the king’s passing, he had been working day and night with little rest. Messengers came and went at all hours while he labored to restore the palace and its operations, sent word to the kingdom’s generals and nobles, and learned as much as he could about the state of Kestral and its subjects.

As unwilling as he was to admit it out loud, Kish had become slightly less irritating to Angas over the preceding few days. Kish had a talent for gathering information from the streets, which he passed on to Angas to help him keep abreast of goings-on in the city. Angas continued to keep a wary eye on him, but he seemed to be genuinely interested in helping him.

Soon after the king died, nobles had begun trickling back into the capital to discuss the question of succession. King Naron was unmarried and had left no heir, yet there were none stepping forward to lay claim to the throne. Tosckar's reign had left the kingdom in disarray. Many citizens had been robbed of their chattels, their money, their lands, and the lives of their loved ones by Tosckar in the name of the king. Angas knew it would be decades before each of their petitions for justice was heard. Whoever became king had their work cut out for them.

He wondered what would become of the Falcons, now that the king was gone. The official word from the palace was that the king had died of "illness," but there were rumblings among the common folk that he had been assassinated by the rebels. He wondered if the truth would ever get out, and if anyone would believe it if it did.

He thought about Galdurheim and the Black Cat Riders. They must have been mad for attacking the rime elves in their own citadel, or at least very well paid. Surely the elves will have routed them, he thought. Yet there had not yet been any word from the temple, and Angas could not help but worry that Tosckar must have been present at the attack, and had had some sort of trick up his sleeve.

A noise behind him snapped him out of his reverie. He turned to see Kish climbing out of the trapdoor leading to the stairs inside the tower.

"Thought that was you I saw brooding up here," he said as he walked up to stand beside him. "The nobles are gathering in the great hall. I think they’re going to choose someone to be leader while the scholars work out who’s the new king."

Angas nodded.

"I was wondering about that," said Kish. "Who do you think they'll go for? Could it be you, maybe?"

"Don’t be daft,” snapped Angas. “It’ll be Anfangstadt. He's the highest ranking noble, and he's a relative of...what's your problem?”

"Nothing...it's nothing. Do go on," said Kish as calmly as he could, his face betraying his disgust.

"Ah, right," said Angas. "he's the one you stole the jewel from."

"It's partly that, yes..." muttered Kish through gritted teeth.

"Well, I'm not too happy about it myself," said Angas. "He's not a military man, and I don't think he's worked a day in his life. There's also talk that he might be planning a mass arrest of suspected members of the Falcons."

"Hmm..." was all Kish said. He suddenly became lost in his own thoughts.

They stood side-by-side for a few moments.

“Well, at any rate, you’ll probably find out for yourself,” said Kish. “They’ve sent for you.”

Angas turned to glare at Kish. "Why didn't you say so earlier, you fool thief?" he said. He opened the trapdoor and disappeared into it.

Kish took over staring northward on Angas' behalf, until about thirty seconds had passed, then turned and followed him down the trapdoor.

High above the palace, a falcon screeched.

**********

The Kestralian flotilla, or most of it, was on its way home to Gen Gurum at speed.

The more eagle-eyed among the earthbound viewing its passage overhead would have noticed a few changes among its airships. For instance, the crews manning the airships were now elven, the original Kestralian crews having been imprisoned in the flotilla’s various brigs, and each ship now flew the flag of Galdurheim.

Illassa stood in the captain’s cabin on the foremost airship, watching the clouds rush past the porthole, and silently willing them to rush faster. On the desk next to her were four large iridescent blue-green feathers and the letter from the Pateras Tagma.

The remainder of the battle in Galdurheim had been less of a fight and more of a clean-up. The Black Cat Riders, incensed at having been abandoned by the greasy southerner and his weapon of light, turned tail and fled with their mercenary gold rather than face the wrath of the elves.

Illassa spent two days after the attack coordinating the temple’s reconstruction and care of casualties while trying to wait calmly for word from the Abyss. Then, on the third day, the letter arrived, together with word that the Order of the Abyss had been attacked.

The tidings in the letter were dire indeed, and now what hope there was to repel the coming invasion dwindled with each passing second. She had never before heard of the “Prizmai” of which he wrote, but what she read made her blood run cold.

Let us deal with one worldwide existential threat at a time, she thought to herself.

She thanked whatever gods had been watching that Tosckar had at least not discovered her prototype of the Thaumic Engine. She had been working on it in secret together with the Pateras Tagma for many months now, and it was now the best chance they had at repelling the Zerua. And now, thanks to new information in the Pateras’ letter, as well as a promised gift of Izulite crystal rods, her work was nearly complete.

All she had to do now, she thought wryly to herself, was convince Kestral to join its enemies to prepare for an invasion from the skies.

She thought of Angas. She had faith that he will have fulfilled the role in which she had cast him. Valerja, Telthas, and Kish, too, had roles to play in the coming hours.

All she could do was set the stage as quickly and skillfully as she could.

**********

Telthas and Valerja sped through the Abyss in a strange underwater carriage drawn by two red seaserpents, with Dwin as their driver.

The carriage was a large rune-covered sphere used for transporting cargo from the Abyss to the surface lands. Aside from Valerja and Telthas, it contained various crates of mysterious supplies that the Pateras Tagma had ordered be sent to Galdurheim.

The two women sat on the floor of the undersea vehicle as it sped through the ocean waters. Valerja had spoken very little since waking.

“Are you certain you are fully recovered, Valerja?” asked Telthas anxiously.

“My health is sufficient for this journey. I will complete my recovery along the way,” said Valerja. “We are headed to the Abyssal Portal, correct?”

“Yes. The Pateras Tagma informs me that a Kestralian airship awaits us on the other side. We are to load this cargo onto it and return to Galdurheim with all speed. He will join us there as soon as he has mustered the Seatemplars.”

Valerja nodded. “And Illassa?”

“She has gone to Gen Gurum, presumably so that she can convince the king of the impending threat...but that still leaves us with the threat of the Prizmai.”

“The Prizmai…” muttered Valerja. “I do not know the meaning of that word, yet it fills my heart with fear. A remnant of my past life, perhaps.”

“Is there much you still do not remember?” asked Telthas.

“There must be. But while I slept, many voices spoke to me, and I saw things that I had not seen in many years. And I remembered.”

She fixed her eyes onto Telthas, her sapphires alight with resolve.

“Mark me, Telthas. I will go to the sky lands, even if I must climb a tower of bones. I will hunt down Tosckar like a jackrabbit. I will retrieve the Star of Damas, and bring it to my lady in the desert. I will fulfil my duty and I will not fail.”

There was steel in Valerja’s voice such that Telthas had never heard before.

“I have no doubt that you shall,” she said to Valerja. “And we will do all in our power to aid you!”

Valerja smiled at Telthas, and nodded, as the vessel raced through the waters.

**********’

The throne room had been restored following the death of the king, barring two noticeable changes.

The first was that on the throne there now sat a famous golden urn known as “Royal Tribute,” a treasure that had been in the royal family for generations, and which now housed the late king’s ashes.

The second was that a large desk, somehow more ornate and splendid than the throne itself, had been placed at the foot of the dais. Behind this desk now sat the Duke Casnir of Anfangstadt, a tall, slender, and finely dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard black.

“First of all,” he said to Angas, who was standing at attention before the desk, “we want you to know that we are aware of what you did for the king, and that you comforted His Majesty in his final moments.”

“Thank you, Your Grace,” said Angas.

“However,” continued the duke, glancing at some papers, “it has been reported that you left your post and have been missing for some time. There have even been allegations that you were spotted among rebel groups, attacking royal soldiers. Now, let me say right away that we do not believe for a moment that a knight of the realm and a son of Raghnall would be capable of such scurrilous acts, so you need only to…”

“It is true,” interrupted Angas. “I’ll not deny it. I left my post and sought out the Falcons.”

The duke stopped and leaned back in his finely upholstered chair. “Ah,” he said after a moment. “That complicates matters somewhat.”

Angas stood in silence. He felt he had little else to say.

“Surely, Sir Angas, you must know that the penalty for leaving one’s post is death, even before adding the charge of treason.”

“I know this, Your Grace,” said Angas.

The duke kept staring at the knight’s face as if trying to find hidden meaning in his simple words.

“I’m afraid this…” he began.

Suddenly, the great throne room doors flew open and Kish burst in.

“Death!?” he spat, furious. “You’re a bloody fool, you are! He’s the only one out of all you bloody toffs who came back in the end, isn’t he. And the people love him! They’ll tear you to pieces if you so much as lay a finger on him!”

Angas wheeled around, his eyes alight with rage at Kish’s impertinence, but the duke merely stood up and leaned forward with his fingertips on his desk.

“Your point is taken, young man,” he said in his aristocratic baritone, “but the law is the law.”

He turned back to Angas. “We will see what we can do for you, Sir Angas, but it does not bode well for you. I am loath to allow the Crieff line to die in such an ignominious fashion…”

They were interrupted once again, this time by a palace guard.

“Your grace!” he exclaimed, out of breath, “The flotilla has returned! But it flies the flag of Galdurheim!”

**********

Far above the country of Kestral, far above the highest treetops of Darden Forest, far above the tallest peaks of the Dileas Mountains, far above the clouds themselves, a great golden pyramid floated through the sky on the back of a giant winged serpent.

Inside the uppermost chamber of the pyramid stood an old woman in colorful robes and wearing a large headdress of scintillating blue-green feathers. She was staring into a square-shaped hearth in the center of the floor, in which a pure white fire blazed and crackled.

Behind her, a young man came running up the steps of yellow stone. “Great Mother!” he cried. “He has returned! The Zeruan king has returned to Osmon Rai!”

The old woman looked up from the flame.

“It has come to pass,” she muttered to herself. “The time of the fifth feather is upon us.”



Four airships from the Kestralian flotilla were bound once again for Galdurheim.

Kish stood on the deck of the foremost ship, staring thoughtfully into the horizon. Any joy he might have experienced at being on an airship for the first time was marred by the thought that at any moment the sky before him might split open and rain death upon them.

In the corner of his eye, he saw the sun dipping towards the horizon. Ahead of him, an innocent cloudless sky topping the Dileas Mountains in the distance. The view was extraordinary, but he couldn’t help but stifle a yawn. It had been a busy few days with little sleep.

His mind wandered back to the council of the sorceress of Galdurheim and Duke Casnir. The sorceress had managed, somehow, to impress upon the duke not only that an invasion from Osmon Rai was imminent, but that he needed to beg the assistance of Gao Tesi and Elheim to have a hope of surviving it.

The duke’s haughty manner seemed to wilt in the face of Illassa’s elegance and regality, and not even the majestic plural he had adopted seemed to survive it. Or had there been something else, he thought to himself. Most of their actual deliberation had gone over Kish’s head, yet he had the vague impression that some sort of cryptic message had passed from the sorceress to the duke at one point, after which he seemed suddenly far more cooperative.

The next thing Kish knew, the duke had promised not only to petition Gao Tesi and Elheim for aid, but to release from service all Kestralians who had been forcefully conscripted during Naron’s reign of madness, as well as to declare a blanket amnesty for all Falcons and others suspected of “traitorous activity.”

Then as suddenly as she had arrived, she left again, taking Kish with her. Angas stayed behind at the sorceress’ behest to advise the duke.

She told Kish she had a task that called for a Falcon “skilled in specific areas.”

One last job, he thought. He stared at the distant mountains ahead, wondering what it would be...

**********

Elsewhere on the ship, Illassa lay on a cot in her cabin. Her eyes were shut, but in concentration rather than sleep.

She reached her mind outwards and upwards...

Suddenly, she was standing under a sky of such brilliant aquamarine it looked like a facet of a giant jewel. Directly above her was a strange white sun that flickered like a flame. Below her, a white cloudlike plane extending into the horizon on every side.

Standing before her was a crone in robes of red, green, blue, and yellow, wearing a large headdress of familiar blue-green feathers. Illassa had never seen the woman before, but knew immediately who she was.

“I am called Tonalnan, seeress and great mother of the Mixtli people,” said the old woman in a strong, clear voice that belied her years.

“Greetings, Great Mother,” said Illassa, bowing. “I am Illassa, sorceress of Galdurheim. At last, we meet face-to-face, as it were.”

“My greetings to you, O Sorceress. I had hoped, now that the skies begin to open, to be able to meet with you at last on the mind-plane. I am glad you had the same thought.”

“Indeed,” said Illassa. “We owe you a debt of gratitude, Great Mother. Without your efforts, we would already have been annihilated. Yet I am afraid I must ask another favor of you.”

“I know what you will ask, queen of the rime elves,” said Tonalnan. “You will be sending me two of your number. Fear not! I have foreseen the place of meeting, and even now members of my tribe fly to meet with them and guide them safely to their destination.”

“You see clearly, O Great Mother. My thanks to you,” said Illassa with relief.

“I have one final vision to impart before our time here is at an end,” said Tonalnan. She raised her arms and the white flame above them expanded until it filled the sky.

A moment later, the white flare had dissipated, revealing an upside-down landscape as viewed from many miles in the air.

“The Zerua have the key to opening the skies, but they can only do so here, where the barrier is at its weakest…” she said, pointing to a craggy area below them. “It will take them time to create an opening big enough to admit their armies. Your army must go there with all haste, and engage with them before the gate swings fully open.”

Illassa stared upwards at the bird’s-eye view. “The Highlands... I see. I will send word at once. Great Mother Tonalnan, you have aided us more than I dared hope.”

Tonalnan nodded solemnly. “I must withdraw for now,” said the old woman. “Have your emissaries bring the feathers I sent you. We will hold the Zerua off on our side of the divide as long as we can. May we one day fight side-by-side. Farewell!”

Illassa’s eyes widened in surprise. She had had no idea the Mixtli were battling the Zerua as well, but both the vision of the old woman and the cloudy plain on which they stood had already faded from her inner eye.

“Farewell, Great Mother,” said Illassa to herself.

The sorceress opened her eyes to see that her cabin was awash in a green light. She sat up on her cot and turned just in time to see the fifth blue-green feather appear in mid-air and float down to join the other four.

“Mornfrid!” she called to her aide, leaping to her feet...

A few minutes later, one of the four airships turned around and headed back to Gen Gurum.

**********

Thirty minutes later, a rime elf named Adorel stood in the Kestral Royal Castle throne room.

“Wolfridge…” said Angas.

“Yes, my lords,” said Adorel, “Five furlongs southeast of the foot of Talley Hills. ‘Tis there that the Zeruan gate will appear, small at first but gradually growing. We must labor to reach the gate as quickly as possible, before it grows large enough to allow a proper invasion, so says the sorceress.”

“Was there anything else?” said Angas.

“Only that Galdurheim pledges its aid, and will be on the march within the next few hours,” said Adorel.

“Then you are dismissed,” said Duke Casnir. Adorel bowed and left.

“Well, then. They will be far away from the capital,” said the duke. “That is some relief, at least.”

Angas pretended he hadn’t heard. “The army is not yet fully mustered. We have only a thousand men on foot and two hundred on horseback as it stands. We also have ten airships, which are being loaded with supplies and fuel as we speak.”

“It will have to suffice,” said the duke. “I have authorized you to take command of this campaign. How long will it take you to reach the invasion site?”

“The airships, an hour. The horsemen, six hours. The soldiers, a day and a half, two days if slowed by war machines.”

The duke frowned. “Very well. Send the horsemen and eight hundred of the soldiers on their way, then go directly there with the airships and scout the area. Before you depart, send word to all units on their way to muster that they are to proceed directly to Wolfridge.”

“Yes, your Grace...and Gao Tesi and Elheim?”

“With all respect to the sorceress,” said the duke, “we have been at war with Gao Tesi and Elheim for over five years now. Surely neither nation would accept so sudden a truce.”

“I understand your apprehension, your Grace,” said Angas, wondering at the sudden change of heart, “but we did give the sorceress our word. If they are to assist us, they will require this new information.”

The duke shook his head in disbelief. “These are the nations that robbed you of your family, Sir Angas. Surely you cannot be so eager to trust them?”

Angas looked the duke directly in the eye. His pale face did not betray his anger at the duke’s callous words, but for a moment, his eyes flashed brighter even than his flame-red hair.

“Your Grace,” he said evenly, “I trust in the counsel of the elven sorceress, and necessity forces our hand.”

The duke met Angas’ gaze evenly, but if he noticed his anger he did not show it.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. “I will write to the leaders of both nations myself. I leave the rest to you, Sir Angas.”

Ten minutes and numerous messengers later, Angas stood in the courtyard near the entrance to the shipwards, waiting for the airships to be loaded. The sun had nearly set, but the sky was clear.

Holy Farmer, he thought to himself, you’ve taken my family. You’ll not take my home as well.

He stared grimly at the evening sky and muttered a vow to himself that while he drew breath no Zeruan would ever touch down on the soil of his homeland.

And as he frowned into the sky, he suddenly heard a piercing note on the wind. A distant, but familiar cry.

No, he thought to himself as his heart suddenly stopped, it cannot be.

For a few moments, he did not dare even to breathe. Then, slowly, he brought his fingers to his lips, and whistled...

**********

One hour later, Illassa had gathered her top Spectral Generals in the grand hall of the elven temple at Galdurheim, along with Telthas, Valerja, and Kish, and was conveying Tonalnan’s message to them.

The room had already been restored to the state it was in before the invasion, but there remained a perfectly circular hole in the stone ceiling that had not yet been repaired. In the distance, the faint sounds of temple reconstruction could be heard.

“The Zerua are not yet able to draw out the full power of the jewel,” she continued, “but it is only a matter of time before the sky is fully open and they are able to freely invade. We must be in position before that happens. General Lloris, have the thaumic engines been assembled and installed in all the airships?”

“Yes, Sorceress,” replied one of the Generals, “One on every airship, including the Kestralian ships. Each ship has at least five conjurers skilled in their use on board.”

“Good. Any sign of the Pateras Tagma and the Abyssal Masks?”

“None yet, Sorceress,” said another of the generals.

“Unfortunate. Let us pray for their haste. General Theodemar, I leave the temple in your hands. See that the Pateras Tagma and his troops head for the landing site as soon as they arrive. The rest of you shall depart at once for Wolfridge. Dame Telthas, Valerja, and Master Elliel, remain with me a moment.”

Kish looked around as the other generals left the room. He expected that this concerned the “task” the sorceress had said she had for him, but she still didn’t know what it would involve.

Once the generals had left, Valerja turned to Illassa. “Am I not to fight alongside your generals?” she asked.

“I have a far more important task for you, Valerja. General Melara awaits you now on her airship. She will escort you to Mt. Panganod, where you will meet with members of the Mixtli tribe,” said Illassa.

Valerja’s eyes lit up. “Do you mean...!?” she exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Illassa. “They will take you to Tosckar, wherever he is. You will kill him and take back the Star.” The last was uttered not as an order, but as a simple prediction.

Valerja’s face broke into a grin, and in that grin was bloodlust.

“Dame Telthas,” continued Illassa, “I ask that you accompany Valerja through the gates of Panganod and protect her until the arrival of the Mixtli, then fly with Melara to Wolfridge.”

“Yes, Sorceress,” said Telthas.

“And you, Master Elliel...” said Illassa, turning to Kish.

Here we go, thought Kish. Stay in the temple and don’t get in anyone’s way, I should imagine.

“Your last duty as a Falcon will be to accompany Valerja into Osmon Rai and help her recover the Star of Damas,” Illassa went on.

Kish’s jaw dropped. “I...?” was all he could manage.

“Once again, we find ourselves in need of your skills, Master Elliel,” said Illassa, placing a hand on Kish’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that they will prove useful to us all, as they have in the past. Together with Valerja, you can end this war at a stroke.”

Kish simply nodded.

“Before you leave,” said Illassa, turning and beckoning to one of her attendants, “do not forget this.”

The attendant walked over to them, holding Kish’s backpack. “Ah! M-my thanks,” said Kish.

“Inside, you’ll find the feathers that were sent to me by the Mixtli seeress. They will be requested as proof that I sent you, so keep them safe.”

“Yes, Sorceress...oh!” he said, noticing they had included the sapphire statuette of the falcon. “You needn’t have returned this to me. Please keep it. It’s the least I can do for the hospitality you have shown me,” he said.

“I thank you for your kind gesture,” said Illassa, “but I would prefer that you keep it. Once this mission has concluded, the Falcons will be no more. Let this be a memento of your time with us, and of your heroism.”

Blushing furiously, Kish bowed and returned the statuette to his backpack.

“One last thing, Master Elliel,” said Illassa, “I had noticed that you had in your backpack when you arrived a bundle of papers. May I ask where you came across them?”

“Oh yes, those,” said Kish, noticing they were no longer in his pack. “I found them when I found the jewel, in the safe in the duke’s palace. Do you have them? You’re welcome to keep them, if you think they’re of any use. They’re of none to me, certainly. Can’t read for toffee, me.”

Illassa smiled wryly. “They have already proven quite useful, Master Elliel. Perhaps when this is over, we will sit together at feast in the grand hall, and I will tell you all about it.”

Kish smiled, despite feeling that he had missed something interesting.

“I promise to keep your lunesilver safe for you until you return from Osmon Rai,” she said, stepping back and addressing the three of them. “As the rime elves say, ‘May the gods grant you wings!’”

“Are you ready, Telthas? Kish?” said Valerja.

“Let us go,” said Telthas.

**********

The Kestralian airship vanguard had arrived in the Highlands of Wolfridge.

The fleet landed, and soldiers immediately began to unload and assemble machines of war in preparation for the invasion. Once the ground equipment was fully unloaded, the airships took to the skies again.

Upwards they rose, the keenest-eyed among them scanning the skies for any sign of a rift. The search was made more difficult by the design of the Kestralian airships, whose large balloons meant that it was impossible to see above the ship.

There had been no time to fit the airships with their own armor or weapons other than a few cannons. Kestralian airships were meant for transportation and nothing else. Any skyborne enemy with a piercing missile would be able to down one with ease.

The wary vigil continued for about an hour, until a signal rose from one of the ships; an anomaly had been spotted in the night sky. A tiny glow, about three furlongs above the ground, had been seen by one of the soldiers.

Immediately, the order was given for all ships to land and prepare for battle. All the airships dropped out of the sky, save for one that remained to keep watch.

On the deck of that ship stood a tall, pale man whose long red hair whipped behind him in the altitudinal winds. In place of the serious expression he normally wore, however, was a grin.

“Come on, you cloud-folk!” shouted Angas with glee, “My friend is hungry!”

From his perch on Angas’ outstretched left arm, Torcadall screeched a challenge into the night.

Angas’ airship hovered warily near the floating anomaly in the sky. Above them, a full moon shone fiercely over the proceedings, as if boasting of its excellent seat to the panoply of stars behind it.

Angas looked as far up as the balloon of the airship would allow him to see. All he could see was stars, glittering their envy at the moon like a host of diamonds spilled onto black velvet. He tried to imagine what would happen once the barrier sealing off Osmon Rai disappeared. Would it reveal a different sky? Was the sky upon which he now gazed an illusion?

He returned his vigil to the shimmering point of light, frustrated that he couldn’t see through it. He made his way to the bow and found the captain.

“Can we not move any closer to the gate?” shouted Angas over the strong winds of the heights. On his outstretched left arm, Torcadall stretched his wings and shuddered.

“We’re too close as it is, Commander,” shouted the captain. “The instant something with talons comes flying out of that hole, we must get out of range. One claw or arrow in this balloon and everyone on this ship is dead!


“We must fly by it, then,” shouted Angas, “near enough to glimpse the other side! Have archers at the ready in case something should come through the gate and give chase!”

There was only the slightest hesitation before the captain nodded and gave out the pertinent orders. A minute later, the airship turned and began to fly towards the hole in the sky. Archers scrambled out of the forecastle and lined up along the port side of the ship.

Angas shook Torcadall off his arm, and the saker falcon transferred himself to the rail of the airship. He then took out his own bow and joined the other archers.

The airship sailed closer and closer to the light until they were within a ship’s length from it. As the ship passed, Angas saw for the first time that the point of light was indeed a small hole in the sky, only a couple of yards in diameter, a strange ring of writhing light that looked like a fire that was slowly burning outwards as if the sky were made of parchment.

Angas had been unable to get a glimpse inside the strange portal before the airship swept past and headed back towards its vantage point. Yet somehow, over the sound of the rushing winds and the creaking of the vessel, he had managed to hear a sound during the moment they passed.

The sound was immediately recognizable to him, and yet confounded him.

It was the sound of battle.

**********

Far away from the Highlands, and increasingly further with each passing moment, an elven airship sliced through the air towards the center of the Baadal Cordillera with tremendous speed.

Standing on the bow of the slender ship were Valerja, Telthas, and a rime elven spectral general, Melara. Behind them, clutching onto a railing on the outside of the cabin for dear life, was Kish.

Kish’s initial wonder at flying had long since evaporated, and it felt as if he hadn’t been on solid ground for ages. He had already committed the cardinal error of taking a casual glance over the gunwale to see how far up they were. The full moon that brightly illuminated the upside of the clouds they flew over while leaving the ground dimly glowing seemed to heighten the sense of vastness and distance to Kish. Combined with the whipping winds and the speed at which they traveled, Kish thought he would be swept away at any moment, and spend the rest of his life falling.

He watched as around him crewmembers moved swiftly to and fro, oblivious to the altitudinal winds, upright and sure-footed as if they walked on solid ground and not a mad elven contraption hurtling through the welkin as if hurled by an angry god. He wanted to ask one of the elves how long it would be until they arrived, but was afraid of what would happen if he tried to speak.

He tried to focus his gaze on what was ahead of the ship to take his mind off of how little was beneath it, and that was when he got his first glimpse of Mount Panganod.

The massive peak dominated all other mountains around it, implausibly blotting out the horizon like a vertical country. Kish watched the peak approach with dismay as he realized that as high up as they were, they still had higher to go.

Soon, they were close enough to clearly see Panganod’s moonlit peak and the incongruous temple that sat on its summit. Through wind-stung eyes, Kish saw Valerja approach him.

“We near the summit, Kish. Are you ready?” she asked.

Kish cleared his throat and stood up as straight as he could, still keeping one hand on the rail, and nodded.

A minute later, the airship slowed down and stopped. Telthas ran up to Kish.

“My friend, we must part ways for now,” she said, seemingly oblivious to Kish’s discomfort. “Let us meet again when our missions are completed.”

“We must be on our guard,” said Valerja. “We do not know which faction holds the other side of the gate.”

“Lady Valerja, are you absolutely certain you do not wish for me to accompany you?” said Telthas. “I am certain I could be of use to you!”

“I have no doubt that you could, Telthas, but your abilities are needed on the battlefront. Worry not! We will be in good hands,” said Valerja.

Telthas sighed behind her mask. “Very well. May you find the jewel and your blade find Tosckar’s throat! We will meet again after the battle!”

“Fight well, Telthas!” said Valerja, and they briefly clasped hands.

“The rope ladder had been deployed. Gods grant you wings, Falcons!” called General Melara from the bow.
A few minutes later, Valerja and Kish had lowered themselves onto the yellow stone of the temple. The airship hovered nearby, waiting for Valerja’s signal that they could depart.

To Kish it was one of the strangest sensations of his life to be standing on solid earth, after having risen for so long. He relished the feel of the solid stone under his feet.

“I believe we are to climb these steps,” said Valerja, indicating the stairway that ran along the center of the pyramid-shaped temple. Kish looked up at the steps. Amazing, he thought, we actually weren’t high enough before.

They ran up the stone steps until they arrived at the platform at the top, upon which stood a glowing stone archway.

“Wait here a moment,” Valerja said to Kish, and walked through the archway. Kish panicked momentarily as he saw Valerja vanish from sight, only to reappear a few seconds later.

Valerja looked up at that airship and signaled to General Melara that they could depart. A few moments later, the ship turned in place, then took off back to Kestral.

Valerja looked at Kish. “Before we enter, I must thank you, Kish,” she said to him. “I am honored that one as brave as you has chosen to accompany me on this dangerous mission.”

Kish was taken aback at this sudden compliment. “I...er...well I wouldn’t say ‘brave’ exactly…” He remembered his behavior on the elven airship, and blushed.

Valerja fixed Kish with her sapphire-hued eyes. “Yet, here you are,” she said simply, and flashed a rare smile. Kish’s blush intensified.

Valerja turned and stepped through the stone arch, and Kish followed.

**********

The first rays of the rising sun had begun to creep over the horizon when Angas’ airship touched down amid the Kestralian encampments.

“No sign of yet Galdurheim or Kersos. Any word from Elheim or Gao Tesi?” he asked the messenger who met him as he disembarked.

“None, my lord,” he responded.

“Pass it on to the others,” said Angas, and the messenger ran off to inform the knight captains.

He walked around the perimeter of the ship, pondering their current situation. Whatever happened, they had to hold out until the elves and the seatemplars arrived...but how? They had virtually no air power. If the gate suddenly opened, there would be very little the Kestralians could do to stop the Zeruan army from entering.

If they met them in the sky on their airships, they would be, ironically, sitting ducks, completely vulnerable to the arrows and flying beasts of the Zerua. If they stayed on the ground, however, the Zerua would be free to bombard them with whatever they had, or even ignore them completely and invade the rest of the country at their leisure.

Yet it was already dawn, and the gate had barely grown. Were they awaiting reinforcements on the other side? Or was something preventing the gate from opening fully? And what was the meaning of the battle he heard on the other side of the portal?

He looked up at Torcadall, who perched preening on the gunwale of the airship. Could it be the people in the sorceress’ dream, battling the Zerua from the other side?

He walked back around to the boarding steps of the airship. “Are we ready to depart?” he asked a passing soldier.

“Yes, my lord,” she said. “The ship has been refuelled and fresh supplies have been loaded.”

He nodded and she ran off. “Captain!” he called to the airship captain, “Let us fly!”

A minute later, the ship had taken to the skies again. “Shall we stay in the same position as before, Commander?”

“No. Let us take position above the breach. We may monitor it more easily from there, and our arrows may find their eyes before their eyes find our ship,” said Angas.

The captain turned to give the order, when suddenly the sky behind him lit up. The tiny ring of white flame tore open to many times its original size, and had become large enough for an airship to pass through.

A moment later, a group of ten winged and armored lions mounted by heavily armored knights bearing lances spun backwards out of the gate, as if thrown back by someone or something on the other side. The lancers immediately righted themselves and launched themselves back through the gate. The Kestralians watched, stunned at the spectacle.

Suddenly, Angas had an inkling. “Draw back your bows!” he shouted to the archers, “But hold your fire until my command!”

The archers swiftly nocked their arrows and Angas followed suit. As they did so, a few more lancers mounted on winged lions were pushed back through the gate again, followed by a flurry of large, vicious-looking arrows.

More and more lancers were forced back out of the gate until there were about fifty all told. This time, rather than flying back through the gate, they all turned to face it and began hovering in place, lances pointed at the gate.

Then one more arrived; this time, it was not a winged lion but a winged bear, with crimson and white fur and two sets of red-and-white wings. The bear was heavily armored and roaring. On its back was a warrior in golden armor, wearing a winged barbute and bearing an imposing lance of gold and silver.

This warrior passed through the other lancers and began shouting orders at them, in response to which the lion riders formed a large, vertical array facing the gate and began to hover in formation. The bear rider then shouted some more orders, and the lion riders began charging into the portal one row at a time, before returning to their formation.

Angas watched, amazed. They were definitely Zerua, as per the sorceress’ descriptions. Yet they were defending the gate.

The archers continued to stare in astonishment at the display of aerial warfare. Perched on the rail around the cabin behind Angas, Torcadall screeched anxiously.

Suddenly, the bear lancer turned from the formation and began to fly straight towards them. “Hold your fire!” shouted Angas.

The archers scrambled aside as the great beast flew over them and landed on the deck, causing the airship to droop from the sudden added weight.

Angas and the soldiers ran over to the lancer, who had dismounted the beast.

“By Ellahur!” she shouted, removing her helmet, “This cannot be all you brought!”

**********

On the other side of the stone archway atop Mount Panganod was a sight that Kish believed would stay with his for the rest of his life.

What looked to Kish at first to be an endless white ocean turned out to be a roiling sea of cloud beneath a giant sky of pre-dawn navy blue. There were no clouds above them, however. Instead, the sky was sparsely dotted with giant chunks of different types of rock that floated gently in the air like hovering islands.

But the best part of his attention was occupied with the gigantic rainbow-colored feathered serpent that bobbed gently in front of them.

The monster was like nothing Kish had ever seen or heard of. Its iridescent plumage glittered in the sunlight, shifting between blue and green and red and gold with each passing moment. It had a gigantic mouth full of tree-height fangs, between which darted a giant forked tongue. The most impressive feature of this creature, however, was its back, on which rested a great temple of yellow stone, similar to the one atop Panganod.

Flying around the serpent were men and women on much smaller feathered serpents of various hues. One of them spotted Kish and Valerja on the platform carrying the stone arch and shouted at the others, who broke their orbits and headed for them.

“Kish! The feathers!” said Valerja. Kish snapped out of his daze and quickly took the feathers given to him by the sorceress out of his backpack, and held them up over his head. One of the serpent fliers saw this and shouted something at the others.

Most of the serpent riders then returned to flying around the temple, except for one the one who shouted, who continued towards Kish and Valerja, landing on the large dock-like platform in front of them.

“Hail, travelers!” he called out to them as he dismounted his green serpent. The man was the tallest man Kish had ever seen, at least a head taller than Angas. Apart from short leather trousers and various golden ornaments around his wrists and ankles, he also wore an impressive headdress fashioned in the shape of a serpent’s head surrounded by a brilliant corona of green feathers.

“My name is Tenoch,” he said. “The great mother has been expecting you. Please come with me.”

Kish looked at Valerja, but she was already following the man to his serpent, whose two heads were resting placidly on the platform.

“I am Valerja,” she said as she climbed onto the serpent’s back, “and this is Kish.”

But Kish remained standing where he was, staring at the two headed flying serpent. One of the heads’ forked tongues darted out between its lips and Kish leapt back.

Tenoch laughed. “Fear not, land-dweller! It is a quetzalcoatl. It will not harm you unless I command it to do so. Come!”

Kish, slightly annoyed at being the source of this strange man’s amusement, walked quickly past the quetzalcoatl’s two heads, which disconcertingly followed his movements, and climbed onto its back behind Valerja.

Suddenly, he realized he was about to fly again. He leaned down and threw his arms around the quetzalcoatl.

“Up, Temara!” shouted Tenoch, and the quetzalcoatl’s heads shot up. It slid forward, flapping its wings, and slithered up into the sky.

Tenoch looked back at Kish and laughed again. “Do not worry, Kish!” he said. “A coatl will never let its rider fall! Temara will take good care of you!”

“Can you vouch for the other head as well?” said Kish, and Tenoch laughed again.

Kish looked up tentatively. Instead of the wild zigzagging he had expected of a flying serpent, Temara was gliding gently through the air. He looked downward at the sea of cloud below. This must be the barrier, he thought. I wonder what would happen to anything that fell in...

“You are the Mixtli?” asked Valerja.

“Yes. Many centuries have we dwelt here, separated from the hardlands below. We have not seen land-dwellers in the flesh for time out of mind!” said Tenoch.

“The barrier impedes you?” said Valerja.

“The barrier?” said Tenoch. “We are the builders of the barrier, and it is our sworn duty to maintain it. We do not go down below And now, it has been breached.”

Kish was astonished. “You...created the barrier? How? Why?”

“All your questions will be answered by Great Mother Tonalnan. You will meet with her shortly,” said Tenoch.

They glided smoothly into the courtyard of the temple on the back of the giant quetzalcoatl. Kish and Valerja slid off the beast’s back.

“I must go now and give the order for us to depart. Please go to the top chamber of the temple. Mother Tonalnan awaits you there,” said Tenoch.

“My thanks, Tenoch,” said Valerja, and Temara took off once again.

Kish looked up at the tall stone pyramidal temple. There were staircases and entrances here and there, and other Mixtli moved about or stood guard. A large staircase ran up the temple to its top.

He could have at least dropped us off at the chamber, grumbled Kish mentally as the two of them ran up the steps. As they ran, he suddenly felt a slight shudder under his feet as the massive serpent on which they rode began to move.

Soon, they had reached the chamber at the top of the temple, a plain stone room with a hearth at the center. As they stood catching their breath, a diminutive old woman wearing a magnificent quetzalcoatl feather headdress approached them.

“Welcome, my children,” said Tonalnan. “Rest now. You have come a long way.”

**********

“Who are you?” Angas asked the Zeruan. He gestured for the other archers to stay behind him and lower their bows.

“Speirrender Ezalye, commander of the fourth brigade,” the raven-haired woman replied, “And we are outnumbered. We will not be able to defend the gate for much longer, and if the barrier falls completely…”

“We have reinforcements on their way,” replied Angas, “but I know not when they will arrive. I estimate the soonest to be between one and two hours.”

“Madness!” she shouted, stepping forward angrily. “We cannot hold out that long!”

Angas could see the exhaustion on Ezalye’s face and hear the despair in her voice. “You are Zeruan, are you not? Why are you helping us? Is this a rebellion?”

Ezalye stuck her lance into the deck and leaned on it. “It is,” she said. “We are fighting to stop the lowering of the barrier...but our numbers are few.”

Angas nodded. “I understand. We can talk later. For now, we will do what we can. If your lancers can defend our airships we will help you fight until reinforcements arrive.”

“Very well,” said Ezalye, “I will not distress you with details of what is happening on the other side of that gate, but our chances are slim.”

She remounted her winged bear. “Steel yourself for death!” she cried, as her bear leapt off the deck and back into the air towards the fray.

“Send down the flares!” shouted Angas, turning to his soldiers. “Launch all ships! Signallers, tell the other ships they’re not to harm the guardians at the portal. Everyone else, line the port side! Captain, let us take the high ground!”

The archers scrambled to the port side as the captain shouted orders to the navigator. A few moments later, three red flares shot out downwards from the aft of the ship as it manoevered closer to the gate and took up position behind and above the vertical phalanx of Zeruan lancers.

“Keep watch on the portal, and do not fire on anything that comes out of it unless I give the signal!” Angas commanded.

Suddenly, there was a flare of white light, and the flaming outline of the breach in the sky barrier lurched outwards in every direction, now spanning about four times its previous size.

Blast it, thought Angas as the captain of the airship ordered it taken further back and above the opening. Below them, Ezalye flew back and forth giving orders. Several of the lion riders broke formation and flew back to be closer to the airship.

The light of dawn enabled Angas to see through the strange door to Osmon Rai for the first time, its cloudless sky darkened by swarms of flying beasts, whose lanced riders tilted at each other from every angle. He had no idea how to tell friend from foe.

He turned back and saw Torcadall perched on the railing behind him, chittering quietly. He began to stroke the back of his neck to soothe it.

“Torcadall,” he said quietly, “you must go again. It’s not safe for you here, my lad. But this time it’s not forever. This time I promise I’ll come back for you.” As if he understood his master’s words, Torcadall suddenly leaped into the air and took off, away from the battle.

“Commander! Enemies!” came a shout from the archers. Angas turned to see his first glimpse of the true Zeruan enemy.

Scores of winged beasts began to fly through the barrier’s breach, gryphons, boars, and pegasi, as well as more lions and bears, each one heavily armored and with a similarly armored warrior on its back. Most of the enemy bore pole weapons, such as spears, lances, or halberds. Most were, fortunately, engaged in their own battles with rebels, and were too busy to make a play for the airship. Occasionally, a warrior would be thrown from its mount and fall to certain death on the distant ground.

Angas desperately scanned the battle for any signs of the archers whose arrows he had seen previously, but could not see them. “Fire upon any who break the line, and shoot any enemy archers on sight!” shouted Angas, desperately searching for an opening for his own arrows.

He looked downward and saw the remaining Kestralian airships rising upwards towards the battle. “Signalers! Pass your messages!” he shouted.

The Kestralian airships spread out as far apart from each other as they could while remaining the same approximate distance from the opening, forming their own array.

With each passing minute, the rebel Zerua were pushed further and further back towards the Kestralians. Arrows began to fly from the airships towards the enemy, and there was even the occasional sound of cannonfire.

More and more enemy Zerua began to fly through the gate. This is not enough, thought Angas as he opened fire. Still at least half an hour until we can hope to see aid from Galdurheim. If we could but hold out that long…

Suddenly, Angas heard a distant sound of war trumpets, followed by the cry of one of the Kestralian scouts:

“It is Elheim and Gao Tesi! Their airships have arrived! Our ships are doubled!”

Angas ran to the aft and looked into the distance. Ten ships were headed in their direction, six in the colors of Gao Tesi and four in Elheim. Signallers at the fore of each one were frantically waving colored flags.

“They signal that they are here to aid us, my lord,” said one of the Kestralian signallers.

“Convey our current status as best you can,” said Angas, and returned to the port side of the ship.

At the port side, he waited until one of the lion riders guarding the airship flew near, then called out to him.

“Zeruan!” he cried. “I have an urgent message for Lady Ezalye!”

**********

The temple continued its flight through the sky as the morning sun filled the small stone room.

Kish, Valerja, and Tonalnan were seated on the floor of the chamber. Kish sat with his back resting against the wall, while Valerja and Tonalnan sat in the center, talking. While they spoke, Tonalnan worked with her hands. She had taken the feathers Kish had brought and added them to a number of her own, as well as some large colorful serpent scales and other materials, and was busily crafting something.

“It is true, my children,” she said gravely. “Tosckar did indeed pass through the Panganod gate, and we failed to stop him, just as we failed all those years ago when he went down to the world below.”

“What happened then?” asked Valerja.

“In those days, the gate was dormant. We kept only half an eye on it. Only the elders of the Mixtli knew the secret to its awakening. But somehow, he found a way to go through. Only now do we understand how; he had the power of the Prizmai behind him. It was ”

“What can you tell me about these Prizmai, Great Mother?”

Tonalnan’s old hands stopped working for a moment. “We know very little about them. Despite their great power, they seem to fear us. But they are the reason our ancestors raised the barrier. It weakens them greatly.”

“So as the barrier wanes, the power of the Prizmai waxes. And the Zerua were caught up here as well.”

Tonalnan nodded, and resumed her crafting. “Somehow, this jewel, this ‘Star of Damas’ has the power to counter our ancient magics. Now we race to recover it to prevent two disastrous prophecies from being fulfilled...one of Zeruan conquest, and one of complete annihilation.”

Kish listened, trying his best to understand the old woman’s explanations. “Excuse me,” he said, “not to be disrespectful, but, erm…”

Tonalnan finished for him: “You would like to know why we send you and do not merely destroy Tosckar ourselves, correct?”

“It did cross my mind, to be honest,” said Kish.

Tonalnan turned to him. “Because justice must be served,” she said, “and the final stroke must be delivered by she who has been the most wronged.”

Kish looked at Valerja, who smiled.

“There are other reasons as well, which you will soon see for yourself,” she went on.

She picked up her finished handiwork, a large circular fan made out of quetzalcoatl feathers and scales, and handed it to Kish. “There you are!” she said, “a gift from Osmon Rai. I believe it will come in handy, my child.”

“My...thanks,” said Kish. The fan was half as long as he was tall. He wondered about the wisdom of handing out souvenirs at such a time.

“Great Mother!” came a voice from below, “We are nearing the enemy!”

The three of them stood up. Valerja walked to the entrance and looked outside.

Many other temples on quetzalcoatls dotted the sky. Mixtli stood outside of each of them, chanting.

“They fight to counteract the power of the jewel,” said Tonalnan from behind her, “but they cannot last much longer. Go now! A coatlwalker awaits you below! Go with the blessing of the sun!”

**********

An hour had passed, and there was still no sign of reinforcements.

The Zerua were a fearsome enemy. Every Zeruan soldier handled its flying beast as if it was an extension of his or her own body, hurtling through the sky heedless of up or down. Each of them was well-armed and armored, yet swift, flying at their target spear-first again and again, like giant hornets.

Thanks to the improvements made to his bow by the rime elf Filarion, Angas’ arrows flew much further than those of his fellow archers. Yet despite most of his shots finding their targets, it took numerous arrows to fell a Zeruan. There were lancers flying about with three, four, or even five of his arrows stuck in them, but who showed no sign of slowing.

Angas hoped his message to Ezalye had gotten through. The Zeruan rebel who departed to deliver the message never returned. He shook his head and focused his aim on a new target.

Of the original twenty airships, only seven of the original ten Kestralian ships remained, together with four of the ships from Gao Tesi and three from Elheim. Angas shut his eyes for a moment and tried to drive the memory of the victims’ screams as their ships went down out of his head. Again, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, but concentration became difficult when standing on a vessel that could be sent plummeting to the ground at any moment.

Arrow after arrow after arrow rocketed from his bow, most of them striking their target, but few of them unseating an enemy rider. Truly, we were not prepared, he thought to himself. There will need to be some improvements made to the royal army if we ever get through this.

He was beginning to recognize members of the rebellious fourth brigade as those wearing blue sashes. More and more blue sashes were appearing on Angas’ side of the portal, which was a good sign. It meant that there’s a chance Ezalye had received his message.

A nearby explosion shook their ship. “Another Kestralian airship down!” shouted a crewmember, and Angas swore loudly.

Suddenly, amid all the noise, cannonfire, and chaos, he heard a distant sound, then again a moment later. The sound grew nearer and clear enough to be recognized as the sound of war trumpets. Galdurheim had arrived at last.

Angas ran to starboard to see a fleet of nearly twenty elven airships closing in on their location. He thought he’d never see such a beautiful sight again.

“Fire the first flare!” he shouted. “Signallers! Take your position and begin signalling!”

A few seconds later, a crimson flare went up over the battlefield. That’s your warning, thought Angas. May you heed it.

Angas returned to the port side as the slender elven airships took up position amongst the others. He looked downwards to see the lead elven airship and Illassa on its deck.

“Hail, Sorceress!” he shouted. “Did you receive our message?”

“Hail, Sir Angas!” she called back. “We did. Are your troops prepared?”

“Prepared!” shouted Angas, praying internally to the Holy Farmer that it was true.

The sorceress turned to her crew. “All ships!” she cried, “Activate heavencasters!”

All around the battlefield, giant blue vertical circles of magic began popping into existence in front of the elven airships. Looking around at all of them, Angas spotted Telthas on another elven ship, with numerous other similarly masked knights.

Angas turned to his own crew. “Prepare the second flare!” he shouted. He turned back to the sorceress.

The sorceress lifted her hand into the air…

“Fire flare!” shouted Angas. A second flare shot into the air over the battlefield. Immediately, dozens of blue-sashed Zerua disengaged from their aerial battles and plummeted downwards, leaving their erstwhile foes where they hovered.

The sorceress’ voice rang out over the battlefield:

“CAST!”

Rime elf conjurers on each elven airship began to cast spells into each ship’s heavencaster, which came out of the magic circles magnified a thousandfold. Twenty beams of intense magical energies, each one more powerful than anything Angas had ever before witnessed, blasted through the aerial battleground and into the portal to Osmon Rai.

A moment later, the onslaught of light subsided. Suddenly, where there had been an area of sky filled with combattants, there was nothing.

Illassa shouted another command, and the magic circles swung around to face the airships, then spells of protection passed through the heavencasters and out of the circles, engulfing each airship’s balloon in the blue light of magical defense.

More enemy Zerua attempted to fly into the Highlands, but the magic circles swiveled about, tracking them. The conjurers cast their spells again, and the sky was filled with a criss-cross of deadly magic.

Illassa turned up to face Angas. “Are you ready, commander?” she called.

This is it, thought Angas headily, this is our chance!

“ALL SHIPS!!” he shouted, “ADVANCE!”

**********

By now, the sun had fully risen, and its rays had turned the sky of Osmon Rai a brilliant blue.

This time, it was a smaller bronze-colored quetzalcoatl that bore Kish and Valerja through the skies, weaving in and out of Mixtliacalli, which is how the coatlwalker referred to the temples on the backs of the great winged serpents.

As they wound on, there were more and more Mixtliacalli, each one bearing numerous Mixtli men and women chanting in fervent prayer.

Then suddenly, all Mixtliacalli were gone, as if there was a point past which they would not go. That was when Kish saw their destination for the first time.

A giant slab of rock, around the same size as one of the giant quetzalcoatls, floated in the air. Surrounding the slab were five giant crystals of different colors, from which some kind of magical dome was being projected. The slab was covered in for numerous tree-sized clusters of crystals which jutted out of its surface at odd angles, except for a large circular clearing in its center.

In the middle of this clearing was a figure blurred by the magical dome, arms raised as if in prayer and glowing with an uncanny energy. Kish knew it must be Tosckar.

“Prepare yourselves,” said the coatlwalker. “I can only lower the shield for a moment or two. After that you will be trapped in there with him.”

Valerja nodded, but this was news to Kish. What was he meant to do in there? How would they get back out?

What was he doing there?

He suddenly thought about his life and all the choices he made that somehow led to him ending up in fine elven clothing on the back of a flying snake behind an immortal warrior woman in a country higher than the sky itself, about to stop a villain with…what? His superior pickpocketing skills, perhaps?

He was so struck by the absurdity of it all that his shoulders began to shake with suppressed laughter. He could not decide if it was poor decisions or good ones that brought him to this place.

A strange melody brought him out of his philosophizing. The coatlwalker had produced a wooden pipe, and had begun to play a low, pleasant melody.

Almost immediately, the sky began to darken. Out of nowhere, wisps of black cloud began to coalesce over the stone slab, forming a vortex that grew larger and larger with each note of the pipe. Strange blue lightning flashed on its surface.

The coatlwalker kept playing his pipe as the quetzalcoatl flew closer to the dome over the rock slab. The closer they got, the more the coatl distressed the coatl became. Soon it began to shudder slightly and hiss loudly, but they maintained their course.

Suddenly, when nearly all light had been blotted out by the vortex of cloud overhead, the magic dome flickered and disappeared. The coatlwalker, still playing his tune, turned the coatl and began to speed it toward the surface of the slab.

A moment later, they were flying a mere foot or two over the rock, but the coatlwalker did not stop the coatl or his piping. Before Kish could ask Valerja what they should do, she slid sideways off the serpent, tucking herself into a tight ball before landing rolling on the hard stone.

He looked frontward again and saw the edge of the stone island approaching.

Ah well, he thought, time for another of my good decisions.

He slid off the coatl, trying to grab hold of one of the large crystals as he passed it. Although it slowed his forward momentum, it nearly tore his arm off, and he ended up rolling painfully on the stone before sliding to a halt in a heap of his own limbs.

He lay winded and dizzy on the stone for a few moments before he could move again. He looked up to see the coatl fly past the stone island and shoot away back into the distant wall of Mixtliacalli. A few seconds later, the magical clouds swirled away into oblivion, and sunlight returned to the area.

The magical dome over the slab blinked back into existence. No going back now, thought Kish to himself. Time to get to work.

He picked himself up off the flat stone and dusted himself off, then began to look around. He had been deposited next to a cluster of giant red crystals. From where he was standing he couldn’t see Valerja or Tosckar.

He started picking his way through the multicolored clusters that dotted the floating island, his feet barely making a sound on the flat stone ground. He hoped he would find Valerja before he found Tosckar.

He listened carefully for any sounds, but didn’t hear any. Surely Tosckar had noticed the giant serpent swooping down on his island, he thought. Perhaps he is hiding…

Then he noticed that some of the crystals were brighter than the other, as if light from an unseen source was passing through them. He went in the direction of the light, carefully moving from cluster to cluster.

The crystals became brighter and brighter, until Kish peered around an emerald-green cluster and at last found the source of the light.

Standing in the large clearing free of crystal clusters was Tosckar, glowing with an unearthly amber light and, Kish noticed gleefully, only a few steps away with his back turned.

Sweet fates, this is it! thought Kish. What a glorious chance!

He crept soundlessly towards Tosckar, who still hadn’t moved since they first spotted him from the quetzalcoatl. He was still dressed in the same finery he wore on that fateful day he spotted him through the duke’s window. An elegant suit of green with gold embroidery, fine leather boots with golden buckles, rings bulging with jewels.

Yet though Kish scanned him for likely hiding places for the Star of Damas, he could not find any. Tosckar’s hands were open and empty, and he wasn’t wearing any pouches of any size to speak of, certainly none large enough to hold the large, spiked Star.

Beads of sweat began to form on Kish’s forehead. He was nearly within reach of Tosckar, yet he had no idea where to start. A horrible thought formed in his mind; what if he had already destroyed it or used it up somehow?

Kish stood, quiet as a shadow, behind Tosckar, bathed in the yellow light. Well, he thought, mustn’t leave empty-handed...

With the speed of a cobra, Tosckar reached back with his right hand and grabbed Kish by his shirt. He then flung him into the clearing with such force that Kish felt like a cushion being thrown by a trebuchet. Once again, Kish rolled across the flat stone until he ground to a halt, coughing and groaning.

“I know you!” Tosckar called out to Kish. “You’re that thief from the palace! Did you follow me all the way here just to rob me again?”

Kish knew he had to move, he had to get up and run, but his body would not answer him. Bloody bleeding hells, he thought, nobody’s that strong.

“You caused me quite a lot of trouble, you know,” he went on, “but you have saved me the trouble of having to hunt you down, for which I thank you.”

Kish struggled to move, but could not. This is it, he thought. I’ve finally been caught.

Suddenly, he saw a pair of boots next to him.

“CORBINIAN TOSCKAR!” shouted Valerja. “GIVE ME THE JEWEL!” Both her curved short swords were drawn, and one of them was pointed at Tosckar’s neck.

“I’m afraid the jewel is no longer within your reach, my dear,” he said, “Really, you must let it go, it really is getting quite tedious having to kill you all the time...”

“Hold your tongue, scoundrel!” said Valerja. “If you will not hand it over, then I will take it from you by force!”

“It seems you do not believe me, but it is true. You have wasted your time…”

“Enough of your prattling, Tosckar!” shouted Valerja, running at him. “Prepare yourself!”

But Tosckar had already drawn his white rapier and charged at her, running her through with inhuman speed.

“Wench!” he snarled at her. “You will address me as ‘Your Majesty!’”

He pulled his rapier out of her solar plexus and sneered as he watched her tumble to the ground. “That should silence your insolent tongue, for a while at least.”

He stepped over her as she lay bleeding and walked up to Kish, who had by now pulled himself up to a seated position with his back against a crystal, and brought the point of his rapier up to his throat.

“Your last words, you pathetic excuse for a cutpurse,” he said, his lip curled with contempt.

Kish kept his gaze locked with Tosckar’s but said nothing. He slowly raised his right hand, in which he held Tosckar’s monocle, and placed it on his right eye.

Tosckar’s eyes ignited with rage. “You verminous little…!” he snarled, reaching his rapier back to deal the final thrust.

However, something grabbed his arm as he reached it back. He turned back in time to see Valerja punch him in the face, her short sword still held in her hand.

Tosckar let out a scream of rage. “You...how did you…?”

She pulled him away from Kish and pushed him towards the center of the clearing. “I remembered who I am, Tosckar. That has made me strong. That will always bring me strength. Never again shall I forget who I am.”

She began to advance on Tosckar, her short swords dancing before her in a complex, whirling storm, which Tosckar was able to somehow parry with his white rapier. Yet she had begun to push him back. Their blurring blows began to sound like the workings of a complex metal mechanism.

Kish had recovered by now and was on his feet, but he didn’t dare interfere. He had never seen swords move as quickly as theirs now moved. Tosckar was glowing with some sort of magical strength, and yet Valerja had him on the back foot.

Then suddenly, Tosckar feinted, and once again, his rapier hand thrust faster than the human eye could see. The point of the blade pierced her ribcage and came out her back.

“Valerja!” shouted Kish. The short sword in her left hand dropped to the ground.

Tosckar’s mouth opened to utter a comment, but suddenly he froze. Valerja’s left hand was clutching the round blade of the rapier, preventing him from pulling it out. In her right hand was her other sword, its point under Tosckar’s chin.

“Where...is...the...jewel…” she rasped at Tosckar, who stood wide-eyed and quivering with rage.

Kish watched in shock. How is she healing so quickly, he thought. It would normally take her hours to recover from injuries like those.

“Give...it...to...me!” she growled again. The wound around the sword point protruding from her back was not even bleeding.

Tosckar began to sweat profusely, and he began to gnash his teeth. Kish noticed something strange; the amber aura around Tosckar was subsiding with each passing second.

“Release my rapier!” wheezed Tosckar.

“You are stealing the jewel’s power,” Valerja rasped. “You have drawn it out somehow and now you are stealing it. You are using it to break the barrier and to empower yourself. But it is the power of the life inside the jewel that preserves me, heals me. As long as I am injured, the jewel’s power will flow to me and not you. Now reveal the whereabouts of the Star before I will strike you down.”

Kish’s mind swam with the revelation. But Tosckar merely smiled.

“The whereabouts of the Star? It’s in the sky with all the others, you fool!” he spat.

Valerja screamed with rage. She sliced at Tosckar’s right arm, and he roared in pain, releasing the rapier. Valerja pulled it out of her body and tossed it away as far as she could. The hole in her chest healed instantly.

“There is life in that jewel,” she said. “That life is a source of incredible power. I am connected to it, wherever I am. Until I fulfil my duty to that life I will rise again and again, no matter how many times you strike me down.

She lifted her sword and pointed it at Tosckar again, “Yield,” she said.

A sudden twinkle in the sky drew Kish’s attention. He looked up and saw that one of the crystals that was projecting the magical field had moved itself so that it was directly overhead.

“I think not,” said Tosckar.

Then, raising his arms to the sky, he shouted:

“PRIZMAI! TO ME!”

A beam of light from the red crystal overhead shot down and flooded the area with a flash of light. When Kish’s eyes readjusted, he saw a terrible sight.

Tosckar now stood before them in armor of blue and violet crystal. He bore a crystal hammer whose head was half Kish’s height. One side of the head was a large spike, and on the the other numerous vicious-looking smaller crystals. Either side looked like one blow could pulverize a human being. A large shield of green crystal floated in the air before him.

Even Tosckar seemed surprised at the armor, looking at his crystal-clad body with unrestrained glee. “HA! Fit for a king!” he gloated.

Kish stared in horror at the transformed king of the Zerua. Aside from his exposed face, Tosckar seemed to have become some kind of giant carved from crystal. His hammer looked as if it could crush a mountain in a single blow, and Tosckar now wielded it as if it weighed nothing. Power seemed to emanate from his body like heat from a volcano.

But Valerja stood her ground, staring at Tosckar with unconcealed contempt. “How little you must value your own soul, Tosckar,” she said, “that you would discard it for a few glittering trinkets.”

“SILENCE!” he bellowed. He swung the hammer down towards Valerja, who leaped backwards out of the way. It struck the ground where she stood with terrifying force, creating a crater and causing chunks of rock to fly off in every direction. Cracks in the stone radiated from the blow. For a moment, Kish wondered if the entire island would split in two.

He began to advance on Valerja, swinging the dread hammer before him. “Discard my soul!?” he shouted. “Speak to me not of souls, you tiresome drab! We are the Zerua! It is our destiny to rule this world! And once I have destroyed this detestable barrier, there will be nothing left to stop us!”

“And what of your friends, the Prizmai? What will stop them?” shouted Valerja back.

“Stop them? Why would I stop them? It was they who told me of the jewel! It was they who sent me down to the ground and gave me the tools to seek it! For twenty years I hunted that jewel in order to destroy this accursed barrier!!”

Tosckar turned and swung the hammer into a nearby pillar of crystal, which shattered noisily.

“This blasted barrier!! This accursed barrier!! Which weakens the Prizmai and blocks the Zerua from our destiny! We have been trapped here among the clouds and the snake-riders for centuries! We, who by rights should by now have been the rulers of the world! What care I for the aims of the Prizmai, so long as they hand the world to me!?”

Kish watched in dismay. There was no way Valerja’s blades could pierce the strange Prizmai crystal, and she could not run forever. He thought of the wall of quetzalcoatls lined up, watching the island but doing little else. Surely they could have lent a hand?

“I see now,” said Valerja, still just out of reach of the hammer, “The barrier keeps the Prizmai in check. Do you not fear what will happen should they regain their power?”

WIthout warning, Tosckar stormed forward and grabbed the exhausted Valerja by the throat. He lifted her up with one hand until she was a foot off the ground.

“I...care...not…” he snarled at her face. He began to choke her, as she struggled to pry his fingers apart.

The rest of the world seemed to rush far away from Kish, until all he could see was Tosckar and Valerja, and all he could hear was his blood thundering in his ears. A distant part of his mind noticed that he had begun to move forward, and someone, possibly he himself, was screaming incoherently.

Time seemed to slow to a trickle. His hands drew his daggers and threw them. He then reached back and grabbed the first thing he touched in his backpack…

There was a flash of light, coupled with an impossibly loud crack...

A moment later, Kish was on the ground again, dazed. When he could move again a second later, he looked up to see what had happened.

Valerja had been released, and was struggling to stand up while catching her breath. Tosckar, however, had somehow been thrown across the clearing and had landed in a crystal cluster. Most of his armor had deep cracks in it, except for his helmet, which had shattered completely.

Kish got to his feet and wound his way to Valerja as quickly as his disorientation would allow.

“What...happened?” he panted, helping her to her feet.

“You hit him...with that…” she said, pointing to what he held in his right hand.

He looked down and saw that he was holding the handle of the Quetzalcoatl fan Tonalnan had made for him. The fan part was almost completely destroyed, only a few bits of charred coatl feather and scale remained.

“Quickly,” she said, sheathing her remaining sword, “we must search the island. The jewel must be here somewhere…”

She trailed off, staring with rage at something over Kish’s shoulder. Kish turned around just in time to see the light shining down from the crystal in the sky on to Tosckar, who had pulled himself out of the cluster. Immediately, his suit of armor was whole again.

He picked up his hammer and began to walk slowly towards Kish and Valerja.

Kish turned to face him. “I don’t know...what else to do…” he muttered to Valerja as Tosckar took step after step.

“You must run,” she said to him, “I will make him chase after me. You must run and hide and hold out as long as you can…”

“No,” was all Kish said. He didn’t know why.

Tosckar raised his hammer…

Suddenly, a vertical ring of blue light appeared in midair in front of Tosckar. Hundreds of arcane runes and symbols appeared inside the ring as if written by a hundred invisible hands, turning it into a magic circle.

A second later, there was a flare of light blue magical energy that burst out of the circle like fire from the mouth of a furious dragon. The beam was nearly as tall as Tosckar, and it sent him flying backwards once again. His hammer flew out of his grip and went spinning off to the side, embedding itself in the ground with a crash. The magic circle then disappeared into the ether.

“Illassa!” cried Valerja joyfully, looking upwards.

Kish looked up. The magical dome and the strange crystal were still overhead, but he could make out shapes floating just beyond the energy field.

Suddenly, the dome flickered and disappeared, revealing one Kestralian airship and one Galdurheimer. Hovering alongside them were what looked to Kish like knights on large winged beasts.

Then he saw that the flying red crystal that had been floating above the island was now dropping out of the sky. A few seconds later, it landed on the other side of the clearing with a crash. It had been entangled in a strange net of multicolored chains anchored by runed stones, which seemed to have rendered the crystal dormant.

Two of the flying beasts swooped down from the sky and landed near Kish and Valerja. One was a giant winged bear piloted by a raven-haired woman in splendid knight’s armor, behind whom sat Angas. The other was a winged lion piloted by Telthas, behind whom sat Illassa carrying a device that looked like a large metal wheel with a crystal in its center.

The four dismounted and ran to Kish and Valerja. “Are you hurt?” asked Telthas.

“I am sound, my friend,” said Valerja. Kish simply nodded, relief pouring into him like wine into a glass.

The raven-haired woman walked past them and stood facing Tosckar, who had by now gotten to his feet.

“Ezalye. Why are you here?” he said menacingly.

“Your Majesty,” she said. “The battle is over. The Zerua have lost. It is time to return home.”

“What!?” he spat.

“The Speirrender Council have already tendered their surrender. The rebels have won. We are one people again.”

“...Rebels? What rebels?”

“Those who rebelled against your plan to destroy the barrier. Those who refused to blindly follow you into ruin. They...we are the faction who heeded the words of our Wise Ones, that destroying the barrier would spell doom, that an alliance with the Prizmai is madness.”

“MADNESS!?” Tosckar roared, “HOW DARE YOU UTTER SUCH TREACHERY BEFORE YOUR LIEGE! YOU AND ALL OF YOUR ILK SHALL PAY WITH YOUR LIVES!!”

His fist lashed out at a nearby crystal, pulverizing it.

“For TWENTY YEARS I crawled about on the earth below like a worm, seeking the item that would restore the dignity stolen from us by the wretched snake-riders and their blasted barrier! TWENTY YEARS crawling about among insects who were unfit even to be ruled by us! Plotting, planning, working! Everything I did was for the Zerua! To return us to the path of glory!”

“We will return to the path of glory. But it cannot be like this...it cannot be through forging pacts with demons. It will be as the heroes of the Ascension! Through strength and honor! Through our own greatness!”

She took a step towards him.

“Long have we awaited Your Majesty’s homecoming, that we could show you how we have worked and trained in your absence. How we struggled to be worthy of your approval upon your triumphant return. Let us show you! Let your people show you...”

She held out her hand.

“Please. Come home with me, Father.”

For a while, there was no sound on the island save for the soft chuffing of the airships above. Ezalye stood with her hand extended, staring at Tosckar, while he stared at her outstretched hand.

Suddenly, the coruscating aura of amber that had been surrounding Tosckar faded out and vanished.

Kish stared in amazement. Questions tried to push their way out of his mouth, but he did not dare to utter a syllable.

A few more seconds passed, yet Tosckar still did not move. A strange feeling like the beginnings of dread began to form in the pit of Kish’s stomach.

Tosckar’s eyes rolled back in their sockets and a horrible groaning sound came from his mouth. His crystal helmet closed over his face and his body began to shake.

Ezalye took a step back. “...Father?” she said.

The suit of armor containing Tosckar suddenly began to float in midair, its limbs twisting and shifting and folding into itself, until it was an octahedral crystal the size of an egg.

The octahedron then began to grow, changing colors as it grew, an iridescent rainbow of hues, until it was twice the height of a man. Then four wing-like crystals grew out of its sides, which separated and began to float near the octahedral core.

Finally, a sphere formed out of the top of the core like a drop of mercury, and floated above the scintillating abomination. It had a black slit in front, which it aimed down at Ezalye like the pupil of an alien eye.

Angas and Valerja ran to Ezalye’s side, while Telthas and Illassa laid the object Illassa had brought on the ground.

Kish merely stood and stared. The aura that the crystalline being radiated was so alien that his skin started to crawl. “What is that?” he whispered out loud.

“That is a Prizmai crystallich, I believe,” said Telthas next to him as she worked to set up the device.

“What...what have you done with him?” whispered Ezalye in horror.

The crystallich responded with a high pitched noise emanating from its core that somehow became speech in the ears of those assembled.

“OUR CONDUIT HAS FAILED IN ITS PURPOSE. IT HAS BEEN PURGED OF ITS SPARK AND SHATTERED INTO ITS COMPONENT MOTES, THUS RESTORING IT TO THE GREAT LATTICE,” was the thing’s otherworldly reply.

“You...YOU DEVIL!” screamed Ezalye. She drew the lance that was strapped to her back, while Angas drew his longsword and Valerja drew her remaining short sword.

“Stay your hands!” shouted Illassa. “You must not touch it!”

“YOU TOO SHALL NOW BE REJOINED TO THE LATTICE. ALL SHALL IN TIME BE REJOINED TO THE LATTICE,” said the voice of the Prizmai.

It began to glide forward towards the warriors. Its wing-like protrusions began to oscillate menacingly.

Suddenly, Ezalye gave a war cry and lunged forward, thrusting her lance at the creature’s core. The point glanced harmlessly off as it if were harder than diamond. She swung the lance around just in time to deflect one of the roving wings.

At the same time, Valerja had run to the left, swinging at the crystallich’s appendages with all her might, which resulted in nothing but deep notches on her short sword. Angas meanwhile had run to the right and had drawn his bow. He fired an arrow directly at the thing’s sphere, which bounced off its surface, spinning away uselessly.

Telthas then ran past Kish towards the fray. Throwing a handful of runestones at the crystallich’s sphere, she shouted:

“VATHY SKOTADI!”

...before drawing the blue trident from her back and launching herself at the core. The runestones froze in mid-air around the sphere for a moment, before suddenly bursting into a pillar of magical darkness. The crystallich stopped advancing for a moment, as if dazed.

“The heavencaster is prepared!” shouted Illassa again, before turning to the device. She began to whisper an incantation into it. A moment later, two blue circles of magic like the one that had saved them earlier appeared, one small one above the crystal on the device, and a large vertical one in front of the crystallich.

“Everyone! Withdraw!” shouted Telthas. The four of them ran back and rejoined the others.

Illassa began to chant in an ancient tongue of magic. Her entire body began to glow with blue energy so fierce that Kish had trouble looking directly at her.

Then she finished her spell.

A beam of pure magical destruction shot from her hands into the circle atop the heavencaster. It came out the other circle a thousand times its original power.

The beam was taller and wider than the crystallich, which disappeared completely in its light.

A second later, the beam dissipated, leaving a groove in the stone that ran all the way to the end of the island. Everything in its path had simply disintegrated.

...All except for the crystallich, which floated where it was, undamaged.

“WE CANNOT BE HARMED. WE CANNOT BE KILLED. WE WILL FULFILL OUR PURPOSE AND REJOIN THE LATTICE,” the creature shrieked. “IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME. WE WILL BRING ABOUT THE FINAL UNITY, AND EXTINGUISH THE HATED SPARK OF CHAOS! ALL SHALL BE JOINED TO THE LATTICE ONCE AGAIN!”

Suddenly, a thought struck Kish. “N-no...no! It’s not true! They CAN be harmed!” he said. “We saw it! The quetzalcoatl fan! One touch and the thing shattered to pieces!”

The sphere atop the creature began to glow. Illassa began to cast.

“‘Tis true that they hate the snake-riders, and will not go near them,” said Ezalye, “and the snakes become upset in their presence as well.”

“I can see the serpents hating the presence of the Prizmai, but why would the Prizmai fear the serpents?” asked Angas.

A violet ray shot at them from the sphere. Illassa cast her spell into the heavencaster, and a blue shield emerged from the magical circle, deflecting the beam.

“I know little about the snake-riders and their snakes,” said Ezalye, “barring that they’re meant to be a gift from their god, representing life.”

“That’s it!” shouted Telthas, “That’s what they fear! It is as the Pateras Tagma spoke. The ‘spark of chaos’ is what they call the energy of life! It’s their mission to purge the world of it! They consider it a contamination.”

“That is why they could not use the jewel,” said Illassa. “That is why they had to trick Tosckar into using its power. They could not do it themselves. Ah!”

Illassa and Valerja turned to each other suddenly, the same realization dawning on both of them.

“We must give it life, then! So that we can take it away,” Valerja said.

Illassa nodded. Valerja moved to the heavencaster and held her hands up to the circle of magic, and Illassa began to cast a spell.

Valerja shut her eyes. “Kish...I am sorry for what I must now ask you to do.”

Kish hesitated for a moment, then realized what she meant. He drew his dagger.

“I’m sorry about this!” he said through gritted teeth, then to the shock of Angas, Telthas, and Ezalye, he stabbed her in the shoulder.

“Have you gone mad!?” shouted Angas.

“Stay back! It is all right!” cried Valerja, “He is doing what he must!”

Slowly, the gentle amber light that once surrounded Tosckar now began to flow from an unseen source into the wound created by Kish’s dagger.

Illassa’s hands began to glow as she cast her spell of channeling. The flow of amber light began to trickle from the wound into the magic circle.

The other magic circle facing the crystallich began to glow with a golden light. Then a slender ray shot out of it. It was a ray of pure gold that bathed all those present in a gentle and strangely familiar light.

The ray struck the center of the Prizmai crystallich, which began to shake violently. Its core began to vibrate, and it began to emit a hideous screeching sound. It began to move forward once again, its wing-limbs waving wildly.

“It...is...not...enough. Kish!!” shouted Valerja.

Kish swore loudly. He drew his other dagger.

Screaming, he plunged it into Valerja’s abdomen.

The amber flow of life began to rush like a river into Valerja’s body. Illassa, still chanting, directed the flow towards the heavencaster.

The slender golden ray that came out the other circle became a giant, glittering beam. The light of the beam of light struck the crystallich and was refracted by it, shining out of its every facet as its shriek reached a painful crescendo.

Kish turned to the others with tears in his eyes. “Strike it now!” he shouted.

Angas, Ezalye, and Telthas charged the writhing creature. They struck its core at the same time, with sword, lance, and trident.

There was a flash. The hideous screeching stopped. Then a sound like the shattering of a thousand mirrors.

Kish yanked his daggers out of Valerja and threw them onto the ground. “Valerja!” he shouted, rubbing his eyes with the backs of his hands.

Illassa stopped chanting and the golden beam vanished. The amber light around Valerja swirled into her wounds, healing them instantly, then faded. She turned to Kish and smiled.

Angas, Ezalye, and Telthas stood staring at the place where the crystallich was a moment earlier. All that remained was a slowly descending cloud of powder, twinkling like stars, before turning black, then fading out of existence.

Kish picked up his daggers and sheathed them. Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation.

“Can anyone else feel that?” he asked.

They could hear a distant rumble, that grew louder and louder. The gigantic stone slab on which they all stood began to shake, and slowly, to sink.

“What is happening?” shouted Angas.

“This island must have been created by the Prizmai as a lens to focus the life energy contained in the Star of Damas,” said Illassa. “Now that its creator has been destroyed, the island is falling apart.”

“No!” shouted Valerja, “I have not yet found the jewel! I cannot leave yet!”

“We must go!” said Illassa. “You must not fall into the barrier! There is no telling what will happen to you!”

“I cannot! I cannot!” cried Valerja, but Kish took her hand.

“Please,” he said. “We’ll find it. Please come back with us!”

Valerja stood for a moment, looking upwards, as if trying to find the jewel somewhere in the sky. A tear of frustration ran down her cheek.

“Let us go,” she said.

A minute later, the winged beasts had ferried them all onto Illassa’s airship, which had lowered itself as near to the island as it could safely go.

They all leaned over the gunwale, scanning the slowly crumbling island for any sign of the Star of Damas, but they could find none.

“Jewel, jewel, come on, where did they hide you?” muttered Kish. He shuddered to think what would happen if it fell into the barrier.

“If only Tosckar was here,” said Illassa. “He was able to find the jewel from miles away using the tools given to him by the Prizmai.”

Kish wheeled around. “Tools!?” he said. He almost didn’t dare to entertain the ember of hope that threatened to set fire to his brain.

He turned back around, pulled Tosckar’s monocle out of his pocket, and put it to his eye.

Suddenly, he was able to see the entire island with astounding clarity, as if he was looking closely at every square inch of it. He could see the cracks forming in its surface and below, and he saw the distant crumbling edge of the island now as if it was within reach.

Then, like a clear and shining star in an empty sky, he saw it, clear as day.

‘In the sky with all the others,’ he thought. That sly fox.

“There it is!” he said, his voice vibrating with urgency. “It’s embedded inside that red crystal, the one the Zerua brought down with their chains!” He pointed to the great red crystal, about a quarter of a mile from where they flew.

Angas took out his Falconsight bow, drew an arrow, and fired, while Illassa called for a change in the ship’s course.

There was a distant shattering as Angas’ arrow flew right into the heart of the great crystal, shattering it into pieces.

Kish gasped at the shot. “That thing was five hundred yards away if it was an inch, and it survived a fall from the sky. How did you do that?”

“It’s...a very good bow,” said Angas. For the second time that day, Angas swore that he would find Filarion again and thank him properly.

Suddenly, the whole island shuddered. Great sounds like cannon fire shot through the air as cracks appeared on its surface, and the giant stone slab broke into a dozen huge fragments.

Whatever remaining force that had continued to hold the island in the air disappeared, and it began to fall away from the airship. Fragments of stone flew everywhere, and the ship was forced to rise away from the debris.

They all watched in dismay as the fragments of the island dropped away from them into the distant white barrier, eventually disappearing from sight.

For a while, all were silent, at first out of shock, then out of sorrow.

The first to speak again was Ezalye. “I am sorry,” she said. “I might have been able to rescue it, if I but had more time.”

Kish turned to Valerja, who was staring into the horizon. Her eyes spoke of her weariness at her centuries of wandering, and her sadness at having been unable to fulfill her duty. His heart was gripped by pity at the expression on her face.

Then, suddenly, Illassa began to laugh. It was like a firework in an empty sky.

They all turned to her. “Sorceress?” said Kish incredulously.

Illassa laughed again. It was a laugh of joy and of relief. It was the laughter at the end of suffering, and at the dawn of hope. It was the laughter of life.

“Can you not hear him?” she asked, as the last vestiges of the island vanished into nothingness below them. “How proud he is to have found a gift worthy of his beloved master!”


They stared, bemused, until Kish heard it too.

The cry of a falcon.

A moment later, Torcadall flew up over the edge of the ship. He deposited the Star of Damas, which he carried in his claws, at Angas’ feet, then landed on his falconer’s glove, and began to preen.

**********

The allied fleet against the Zerua was mustered near the breach of the barrier between the ground and sky lands.

Speirrender Ezalye and Great Mother Tonalnan stood facing each other. Standing in between them was Sorceress Illassa. Surrounding them were several Zeruan dignitaries and Mixtli generals.

“Let it be known to all present,” said Illassa, holding up a scroll, “that the representatives of the Mixtli and Zerua peoples have agreed to a total cessation of hostilities for three years, to go into effect immediately.”

The Mixtli and Zerua bowed to one another, while Tonalnan and Ezalye continued to stand, their gazes locked.

“Three years for you and your people to rebuild, child,” said Tonalnan gravely.

“Three years for you and yours to try and catch up, old woman,” retorted Ezalye haughtily, but a wry smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. She then turned and walked away, followed closely by the Zeruan delegation.

“She will be a formidable leader, that one,” said Tonalnan to Illassa. “Different than the others. She seems to understand what her ancestors knew, that glory comes from valor and not the other way around.”

Illassa smiled warmly at her. “I am honored to have been present at this momentous occasion, Great Mother. May this peace extend as far as the Raian horizon.”

“Great Mother,” said a Mixtli warrior flying up to them on a quetzalcoatl, “the last of the Mixtliacalli are in position and are ready to perform the ritual to seal the barrier.”

“Very good,” she said. The warrior flew away as she turned back to Illassa.

“Thank you for all you have done, O Sorceress,” she said, returning Illassa’s smile. “Let us meet again someday atop Mount Panganod. I would have you as a guest in my Mixtliacalli.”

“It is you who we should thank, Great Mother,” said Illassa, “for without your work we would all have perished. Someday, let us dine together at Galdurheim.”

They bowed deeply to each other, and Tonalnan and her retinue returned to their quetzalcoatls.

At the other end of the airship, Angas stood with Torcadall on his left arm, stroking the back of the bird’s neck.

“Sir Angas,” said Ezalye approaching him, “I have yet to thank you for your assistance. I know not what would have become of the rebellion had you and your army not aided us.”

“It was to our mutual benefit to fight together,” said Angas. “If your rebels hadn’t reached the breach before the Zeruan army, we would have been lost.”

“Then let us thank the caprices of whatever gods were watching last night,” said Ezalye, a note of sorrow entering her voice. “And let us thank them again that the Zerua are no longer a divided people. To be forced to take arms against one’s own countrymen is to know despair.”

“Yes,” said Angas quietly, “I know this despair well, for I too was compelled to turn my back on my own people for the sake of what was just. But I discovered that no matter how great the wrong, one can always find a group of people looking to right it.”

Ezalye smiled. “I must depart,” she said, “but I hope we may battle side-by-side again someday.”

“It would be an honor, Lady Ezalye,” he said. “Farewell.”

She turned and whistled, and her winged bear descended from where it had been orbiting the vessel. She climbed on its back and flew away. The other members of her entourage followed suit, and Angas was alone, or so he thought.

“She fancies you, methinks,” said a voice behind him. He turned to see Kish, with his signature grin, together with Valerja and Telthas.

Valerja smiled at Kish’s teasing of Angas, and Angas’ heart grew lighter at the sight.

“And what would you know about it, thief?” he said. His habitual frown was absent, and while what replaced it wasn’t exactly a smile, there was a certain twinkle in his eye that Kish had never seen before.

“The fleet is assembled, Sir Angas,” said Telthas. “Shall we be off, then?”

A few minutes later, the orders had been given, and the allied fleet set sail. The last ship passed through the hole in the barrier just as the sun began to set that evening.

“Where do you want to be taken, then?” Angas said to Kish. “Our lot’s bound for Gen Gurum, but the elves and the seatemplars are headed for Galdurheim.”

“Er, actually, I’ll be accompanying Valerja,” said Kish. “The sorceress has given her an airship!”

“Oh? Is that right?” said Telthas.

“Yes,” said Valerja. “It is time for me to take the jewel...and those inside the jewel...home.”

Angas nodded. He understood the significance of the pronouncement.

“Farewell, Valerja,” he said. “Never have I met a warrior as valorous as you. I am honored to have fought alongside you. May you find peace at last.”

Valerja bowed. There was no regret, fear, or sorrow in her face. Only the gladness of a soldier whose war was won, and who was on her way home at last.

Soon, the fleet separated, and each nation’s ships departed for their homes - Elheim, Gao Tesi, Kestral, and Galdurheim.

The only exception was a solitary rime elven airship bound for a distant desert land. It stayed relatively low to the ground and did not hurry, much to the relief of Kish, who stood grinning on the forecastle deck.

In his hands, he held the sapphire kestrel he had stolen from the palace of the duke. The statuette sparkled pleasingly in the light of the setting sun. Kish gazed at it fondly for a moment before placing it back into his backpack.

Next to him stood Valerja, cradling the Star of Damas in her hands, which shone with its own inner light.

“Just a little further, Princess Arkosa,” she whispered to it, “and we will be home again at last.”