The next hour or so, Thrace couldn’t really tell, was a bit of a blur. It was as if she was underwater, her vision swirling before her unclear and shimmering. Sounds were muted and it felt like her body was sluggish and moving in slow motion.

They visited a variety of places. She would catch glimpses from a lavish inn, with many servants waiting upon their every need, to a tailor that outfitted her in new clothes! None of which were dresses, thankfully. Both of them wandered down about the Innerwall District before leaving for the dirt streets, the Outerwalls maybe.

As time passed, Thrace felt the fog within her mind begin to lift. Not enough for her to think differently about her conversation, but she felt herself return piece by piece.

A voice whispered in her ear, indecipherable but clear as day.  The voice rose in volume as time passed until finally, she finally understood it. 

Wake up! 

Through a nearby window, the sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon when Thrace finally awoke.

She came to suddenly, her eyes widening as sentience and thought surged back into her mind. Thrace jumped to her feet, dropping the cup she’d been holding in both hands. Surrounding her were four kids and one babe, all younger than her by at least several summers.

The kids jumped, scooting back from where they had been sitting. Thrace shook her head. These kids, all shared the same blue eyes, straw-blonde hair, pale skin. Two boys even looked to be mirror-images of one another -twins. They all stared at her like an audience visiting a menagerie gawking at the latest beast from Izantar.

Where in the Nine Hells was she? And, what the hells had happened to her?  She ran a hand through her hair, mind racing furiously. C’mon, Thrace. Think. You’re smart.

This place was a lodge, judging by the rectangular shape of the building and it’s large, wide open space. It was cozy, with a blazing hearth at its center and a few folks sitting around it supping on an evening meal of what looked to be soup. Herbs hung from the rafters, the kitchen which lay on her left side was a mess of pots, pans, and only the Gods know what.

A staircase led to a second floor which consisted of four private rooms for those that had the silver it would seem. Otherwise, folk rested in a communal space that lay about the hearth’s south end beside a woodpile. Several bedrolls, unrolled and awaiting their owners, lay there already.

Hiding behind that wood pile were two folks. An imposing woman, who could only be the mother of this rabble that surrounded Thrace. She was clearly Dashan, with that She was like a grown-up version of the eldest daughter, or was it the other way around?

Currently, she was angrily whispering at, in Orgashk, a Half-Orc. Kosram Paltos, the “Eldritch Knight”. He cringed under her biting words and wild gestures. At one point she swore that the woman pointed at her.

That's right. She'd lost Papa's tome. Was the key still there? Her hands reached for her neckline. A relieved sigh left her lips when her fingers wrapped around the key. It was warm to the touch. Good, still there.

It finally hit her. Kosram had Charmed her! That was why she had been so obedient. She remembered now. His right hand had been hidden behind him, hiding the fact that he was forming the somatic forms necessary to cast the spell.

Anger began to boil within her. How dare he! How dare he do this to her! How dare he make her give up the last piece of Papa she had!

“Um.” The eldest girl tentatively stood up and approached her. The rest of the gaggle hid behind her. “My name is Marisa. Um, are you okay, Miss?”

Thrace had already cast all of her first tier spells for the day. So, she decided to use her favorite cantrip instead. She muttered the incantation, a single arcane word, under her breath. Fire swirled in her open palm before coalescing into a single flame.

Her eyes locked upon Kosram, and she chucked the bolt of flame at him. It shot forward, quick as an arrow. The bolt was off-course but curved as it honed in on her target.

The Half-Orc reacted so fast, he was almost a blur. He shoved the woman in front of him out of the way before drawing his shortsword. Just as the bolt was about to make an impact, he slashed it in half with his blade.

Thrace’s eyes widened as she saw the bolt split into two halves before dissipating. That wasn’t possible. It shouldn't’ be possible. If he was an Eldritch Knight, however...

“Hey!” The Half-Orc lowered his short sword and raised his left hand slowly. “Easy now! Don’t do anything rash!”

Thrace roared at him, conjuring two more bolts of flame in both hands before flinging them at him.

※

What the hell was this girl doing?

Kosram wanted to duck and dodge out of the way of her firebolts. Slash Countering was a difficult, dangerous move; one mistake could cost him his life. But, glancing behind himself, if one of those firebolts struck the woodpile or anything else the lodge would go up in flames.

He would not be responsible for the lodge burning down!

He slashed twice with his short sword, the incoming bolts splitting in two before the flames’ magic was sucked into the blade.

His short sword was made of ironwood. A notoriously tricky substance to harvest and craft, ironwood gobbles up magic like a pig scarfing down scraps. It was the perfect anti-magic weapon.

Good against all manner of magical creatures. No magical wards or healing could stop this blade. It would cut through all of them as easily as it did flesh.

Granted, Kosram couldn’t cast a single spell while he had it drawn. His Ironwood Sword affected him just as much as it did others. The wards he had cultivated earlier that day were sucked into the sword, leaving him defenseless to magical attack.

However, it didn’t matter in this situation. He didn’t need to kill the girl - he just had to calm her down or subdue her.

“Easy now!” he said, slowly approaching her. The rest of the lodge occupants had fled to the edges of the lodge or to the safety of the outdoors. Larisa had gathered up the kids and sent them upstairs with fierce admonishments of, “Do not come out till I tell you too!”

Kosram took another step towards the girl.

Her eyes were wide, nostrils flaring, as she clasped her hands together. The girl bared her teeth at him in a snarl. Magic began to swirl about her, shimmering like starlight. Some of it crackled off of her body like lightning. She was a storm. Powerful. Angry. Unwilling to be calmed.

She turned the combined fist sideways before flaring her fingers open. All that swirling magic transformed into a pulsing wave of pure force. Small objects around her flew away like a scared flock of birds. The wooden floor beneath her feet split with a sharp crack!

His eyes widened slightly. That physical force wasn’t from a casting - that was from her own magic. This girl was powerful, powerful enough that her magic permeated the air like hot, muggy summer air. It felt oppressive, overpowering.\

The cantrip took hold. Her hands became dusted with frost as a blue ray of pure cold shot at him. A Ray of Frost cantrip. Well, good; now the lodge wasn’t in danger of burning down.

“Hey! I don’t want to hurt a fellow kinsmen!” He brought his sword up, angling the flat of the blade at the incoming ray. The moment the ray slammed into it, the ironwood hungrily drank in the magic. He didn’t even feel the slightest bit chilly.

“Please! I just want to talk! We can sort this out without flinging magic!”

“How dare you!” the girl roared. Tears began to leak from the corners of her eyes. She furiously wiped them away. “How dare you! Nine Hells take you! Gods be damned! Damn you!”

“Hey hey! Please calm down!” Kosram said. “I don’t even know why you’re angry at me.”

She let out a hollow laugh at that. “Of course you wouldn’t. You didn’t bother to even ask me! You didn’t give me a choice!”

“Well, you were Charmed..."

The girl let out a sob. "Why did you make me give it away?"

"What? The tome?”

“Yes!” she roared. Another firebolt was chucked at him and he hurriedly slashed it with his short sword. “Why the fuck did you get involved? I was doing fine! I didn’t need your help! Instead, I LOST IT!”

Kosram was barely six spans away from her. He pointed his short sword downward but didn’t sheathe it just in case.

“I am so sorry that I let the Crownsguard take it. But I did promise you that I would get it back. Urtash, remember?”

She just glared at him. The girl knelt down and quickly snatched up a nearby stick, probably a toy the Aden children had been playing with. She pointed her index finger at herself and Kosram knew he was in trouble.

He rushed forward but the girl leaped towards him, clearing the gap and swinging the stick in a downward slash. Another incantation was already bubbling at her lips. It was an abysmal attack but her first cantrip took hold of her. A magical aura of white flared, outlining her body with its radiance. The stick, like a bloodhound hot on the trail of its prey, changed its downward trajectory just enough to ensure the blow would land. Kosram growled as he tried to raise his left arm to block. He hated True Strike.

But this time Kosram was too slow.

The stick struck him squarely in the face. Stars began to dance across his vision. Gods be damned that hurt! He felt blood spurt from his nose and he couldn’t help but reel backward. As Kosram fell, he saw the stick flare with green flame. Shit.

The flame leaped from the stick, engulfing him completely in its embrace. If his short sword hadn’t been drawn, he would be burning right now. But, even as he finally completed his descent to the wooden floor, the green flames were sucked into his gluttonous blade.

Who was this girl? Her casting speed was insane! And how was she not gasping on the floor, on the verge of passing out, from consecutive castings? She could easily take any of the Squires he’d known while he still served.

He tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind, as a shadow loomed over him. The girl stood above him with a savage grin plastered across her face. She raised the stick again, preparing to bash his head once more.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Just as Kosram was preparing himself to fully attack the girl, Larisa stepped forward out of nowhere. She reared her arm back and gave the girl a solid slap across the face. The sharp crack of the blow made Kosram inadvertently wince. He’d been in the girl’s place before; Larisa had quite the arm.

Silence reigned within the lodge. The few lodge-dwellers that remained watched on with wide eyes. Kosram rolled over, dropping his short sword as he struggled to stand. The girl just stood there, the stick held in a loose grip. Her eyes were wide and the right side of her face was red from the slap.

Larisa, breathing hard, closed her eyes and took a single, deep breath. When her eyes opened, they were hard as iron. She snatched away the stick from the girl, who didn’t resist.

“That’s it! I’m officially banning magic from the lodge!” She tossed the stick towards the woodpile, missing it by a few spans. Larisa cursed but made no move to pick it back up. “Now then, young lady. We have rules here. No fighting, no brawling, no breaking my things, no damaging the lodge, and now, no magic! While you are under my roof, you follow my rules. You got that?”

The girl stared at Larisa before nodding quickly.

“Good! Now, what’s your name?”

“...Thrace. Thrace Dalwin, ma’am.”

“Good. A pleasure to meet you, Thrace. Now, I want you to go sit by the hearth, quiet and calm as you can be. Go! Now! Shoo! I’ll get you something to eat.”

The girl, remarkably, did as she was told. She did, however, stop and glare at Kosram as she passed by him.

“Don’t mind him, girl,” Larisa said, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll take care of him as well. Don’t you worry.”

The girl nodded before continuing.

Kosram got to his feet, using the back of his hand to wipe away the blood streaming down his face. He knelt down to grab his sword but Larisa placed her foot on the blade.

“You will get this back” - she dragged the sword towards her - “when you leave my lodge, Kosram. And give me your belt. Now.”

He unbuckled his belt and handed her it without a second thought.

“Good. Now, join Thrace at the hearth. Not near her mind you. No need to aggravate that poor girl anymore then you’ve already done.”

“I helped her,” Kosram growled. Damn, his nose wouldn’t stop bleeding. He pinched it with two fingers. “As I told you, the Crownsguard were this close to hauling her off to the dungeons! Ungrateful brat.”

Larisa slapped him, hard.

“Reckless, self-centered lout!” she hissed. “This is your mess and you are going to fix it! So, sit by the damn hearth or get out of my lodge without your belt and weapons!”

She didn’t wait for an answer as she stormed off towards the kitchen. “Gods be damned Uruks!” she cursed.

Kosram felt his blood boiling. Anger was an easy companion to find. The hard part was getting him to leave. He paced back and forth, taking deep breaths and falling back on his old techniques for control and calm.

"Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...”

After four cycles, Kosram felt he was stable enough to go sit down by the hearth. But, as he turned to make his way there, it would seem the girl hadn’t calmed down. Not even a little.

She sat huddled on its eastern side, knees pulled towards her chest and her arms hugging them in a tight embrace. Her face was buried in her knees. She was muttering to herself in - Kosram leaned closer, straining his ears - was that Abyssal?

The insidious tongue was unknown to him save for a single fact - it, like the Abyss and all demons, was intrinsically linked to fire. Her muttering was like a song and the flame was a beast snared by its melody.

As the muttering’s cadence rose, the flames grew restless. They would twist, writhe, and grow. It was trying to escape its cage, this hearth. At times, the tongues of crimson would rise, brushing against the ceiling and scorching the hearth’s stone foundation. But when her voice quieted, the flame died down low. Barely lighting the room. Casting shadows to hide how dangerous it was. Was she aware that this was happening? Maybe, at a subconscious level.

It reminded him of the first time he had touched magic.

His sister and he had been arguing about something stupid and petty. Zora, in a fit of anger, threw her cup of water at him. With a thought, he had frozen the water and cup in midair. The cup had been frozen in mid-rotation. The spilled water, now solid ice, formed a pedestal upon which it rested. Small streams formed icy branches that sprung from the wooden cup. The act had frightened his family far more than it had scared him. To him, he felt like an artist creating his first masterpiece. Only magic could conjure something of such beauty.

The few remaining lodge-patrons were like his family. They watched the dancing flame and this girl with morbid fascination. All he saw was an artist, raw and untapped. What would she become if she could discipline herself? What could she do if she had someone to guide her?

Please, like you could be a teacher.

He attempted to approach her. Maybe they could still talk and Kosram could get through to her. All the facts he’d heard from the last few hours were fresh in his mind - the murder of an Archwizard and his family, the secretive hunt for his missing tome by the Crownsguard, and this powerful wizard girl with a magical tome. It stank of conspiracy.

But, when the gap between them was a mere five spans, the girl’s body tensed. She looked back at him and glared.

“Thrace right? Let’s re-introduce ourselves - my name is Kosram.”

“Stay away from me, Half-Orc,” she growled. “Filthy, disgusting, green-skin urchin!”

Kosram raised an eyebrow. “So you aren’t an Uruk then. Good to know.” None of his kind would ever dare call another, “Half-Orc”. His eyes settled down on her right hand. The index and middle fingers were still tied together. Both fingers oozing blood from underneath their fingernails. The skin was a dark purple, similar to a bruise. “Well, You should undo your last illusion. You’re gonna lose those fingers otherwise.”

Her eyes flickered towards her fingers and then back to him. “I’ll be fine.”

“Really?” Kosram crossed his arms. “A ‘Disguise Self’ spell is supposed to only last for an hour. Sure, forcibly holding a somatic form extends that duration, but you may end up crippling those fingers. Just saying.”

He settled down at the hearth, on the side opposite from her. His pack lay where he had left it. After rummaging through it for a moment, he withdrew a healing potion and shook it at her.

“Catch.” Kosram tossed it towards her. The flames barely brushed against it before it landed safely in her clutches. “Use that to treat it.”

Thrace looked at it. Indecision warred within her eyes. Her eyes narrowed to slits before she tossed it back to him.

“Drink some yourself first.”

“Gods above and below! It’s sealed shut with wax-”

“Do it. Or you can keep your ‘potion’, Half-Orc.”

Fine then. Kosram pulled free the cork and sipped a little.

The bleeding from his nose, which had slowed to a trickle, finally stopped. The throbbing pain in his nose dulled slowly before fading away completely. With a single swipe of his hand, Kosram showed her his face.

“See? Healing potion.” He corked it before tossing it back. “Are you always this suspicious?”

“Only to rat-bastards that charm innocent girls. Oh! And claim to be an Eldritch Knight! I wasn’t aware the Order has such low standards!” She gave him a once over. “If you’re even a Knight, that is.”

Thrace bit the knot and broke it with a single, vicious yank. Her form shimmered but the change this time wasn’t as extreme as the first.

Horns, curled like a ram’s, sprouted from her temples. The tusks that jutted from the corners of her mouth shimmered before vanishing. Her ears elongated and gained tips. A tail sprouted from her backside. It wrapped around her torso like a possessive lover. Thrace blinked several times and Kosram saw that her irises were now slits like a cat’s or a serpent’s.

A tiefling, Kosram thought. He didn’t speak though. Just watched as she dipped her damaged fingers into the healing potion. Thrace let out a sigh and she withdrew the fingers after a minute. They were a healthy, green color.

She corked the potion and stowed it away into one of her own belt pouches.

“Hey, please return that potion.”

“Consider it one of many payments for the debt you owe me,” she said, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Really?” Kosram scoffed. “In all honesty, you are in my debt. I saved your skin back there.”

“Didn’t ask for your help; didn’t want it.” Thrace looked around herself. “Wait. Where’s my rucksack?”

“Over here.”

Kosram lifted it in the air, shaking it to get her attention. She quickly got up and stormed over to his side of the hearth. As she neared him, however, his pace slowed until she stopped completely. Kosram let out a sigh before leaning forward and dropping the pack to the ground. Her left hand shot forward, hooking the top strap, pulled it into her clutches, and then she scuttled back to her side of the hearth.

“It’s all there,” Kosram said as Thrace began to yank objects out of the rucksack. She began to lay them before herself, whispering what may have been a mental list. “I didn’t even look through it, trust me.”

The very last thing she took out was a tome. Its cover was a shimmering emerald green, inscribed with golden runes. Based on how the runes shimmered and swirled about the cover, it could only be a wizard’s tome. She sighed in relief, clutching it to her chest.

Opening it up, she flipped to a specific page and began to mutter an incantation. She raised her right hand, pressing her index and middle fingers together. Her form shimmered once more, the spell removing all traces of her demonic blood and replacing it with Uruk features. The new disguise spell did incorporate her new leather trousers, boots, green tunic, and cloak that he had paid for.

Thrace then repacked her things, stood up, and headed for the door.

“Where do you think you are going?” Kosram asked.

“I have nothing to say to you,” she said. “I don’t trust Half-Orcs and I certainly don’t trust violators.” She spat out the name out like it was the worst of slurs.

The door swung open, allowing a soft, evening breeze to flow into the lodge. Thrace left, slamming the door with enough force to make the doorframe shudder from the impact.

Kosram made a move to stand up but stopped. This girl didn’t want his help. Didn’t matter that he had good intentions. She clearly didn’t trust him and, based on how she had single-handedly defeated him, would likely attack him again on sight. He sighed, a common sound tonight, and settled back down beside the hearth. Gods, why did he always stick his nose where it didn’t belong?

Larisa stalked over, carrying to bowls in her hands. His weapons belt was buckled around her waist; an extra precaution against him stealing them back. She froze upon seeing just Kosram beside the hearth. “Where’s Thrace?”

“She left.” He moved to accept the bowl from Larisa but she pulled it away from his grasping hands.

“You just let your mess wander out the door? Iron and Fire, did you not listen when I told you that this was your mess to fix?”

“Larisa, you said earlier that some problems just can’t be fixed. It’s better than I don’t get involved.”

She narrowed her eyes. With a huff, she thrust the bowl of soup into his hands. The gesture spilled most of the soup over Kosram’s jerkin.

“Don't’ go twisting my words, Kosram Paltos. I said, ‘Not all problems can be fixed with a bit of silver’. Now, go after her.”

“No. I shouldn’t do any more damage,” Kosram said. He lifted the bowl to his lips and sipped what remained. Damn, that was good. It began to heat up his stomach just as much as it had heated his chest where it spilled. “What good has it ever done in the past?”

“What do you mean?” Larisa asked.

Kosram didn’t respond.

He heard a sigh emanate from Larisa and she sat herself down beside him. She glanced down at the bowl she still held, shrugged, and took a sip as well.

“From what you told me, whatever you’ve gotten yourself mixed into is big. An Archwizard’s murder? His tome missing? The Crownsguard scouring the entire queendom for it? And, you think the tome she had was that tome?”

Kosram shrugged. “It’s possible. It was definitely a wizard tome, though. No way the book we gave up was normal. It was thick, containing at least six hundred pages worth of spells, I reckon. Plus, it had arcane runes on the cover.”

“Maybe she stole it from a Guild Wizard?”

“Possibly.” Kosram scratched his chin in thought. “None of this really makes any sense. I have no idea why the Crownsguard would be searching for the tome outside of Palson. We are at least two month's travel from the city. I thought it might’ve been her own tome, but she has her own.”

“If that tome was an Archwizard’s tome, I can’t believe you just handed that tome over to the Crownsguard.”

Kosram stared at her, making sure their eyes were locked. “The kid’s life was worth more than some musty tome.”

“She certainly didn’t think so,” Larisa said.

They settled into an uneasy silence, sipping their soup.

He shouldn’t get involved any more than he already had. The kid could handle herself. But, Kosram couldn’t shake the memory of when he first laid eyes on her. Sure, there had been a little fear in the girl. Thrace kept her composure and a cool head as she looked for a way out.

But, Kosram had conducted enough interrogations to know how innocents reacted. A pleading look shot towards an onlooker or even a verbal appeal at times. They always looked to a passerby for help.

Thrace had done none of that. While she was certainly somehow involved, Thrace wasn’t a murderer. He’d seen that knife of hers, but she hadn’t drawn it. In fact, she’d said it herself - she didn’t trust anyone else. She couldn’t rely on anyone else. She was alone in the world. She had simply accepted that fact.

There was no Graug for her. No one who had extended a helping hand.

Kosram stood up, placing the bowl down on the ground.

“You going to finally listen and go after her?” Larisa slurped down the rest of her soup.

“No, I’m just going to go on a walk.” She snorted at that.

He stretched out an open palm. “May I have my weapons back?”

Larisa, without a word, unbuckled his belt and handed it back. The familiar weight soothed his soul like a childhood song. But first, Kosram went over to the hearthside spot that Thrace had been sitting.

He got down to one knee and closed his eyes. One deep breath and an influx of smells filled his nostrils. It took a little metal concentration to sift through them but - he caught the familiar cinnamon scent. There, now Kosram could track her anywhere.

He threw on his weapons belt and quickly headed towards the door. Just as he reached for the door ring, another hand grabbed it and threw the door open. Kosram looked to his left at found Denval looming over him. He had thrown a cloak on and held a mace in his left hand. The weapon looked like a toy in his massive grip.

“Best to always wander the streets in pairs, don’t ya think?” Denval put his left hand out to stop the door from closing. He nodded outside. “C’mon, after ya."

Kosram smiled before shaking his head and walking through the doorway. He felt Denval give him an awkward pat on the back with his mace hand. “Good lad.”