“I’ve roamed these roads for six centuries, friend. I know where I’m going,” Padair said.
“I think your memory is fading,” Augustus replied. He stood at the lip of a cliff, looking south, into a valley of rolling hills. They stretched out for miles, wrapped in grass and moss, littered with boulders and stone. Here and there a cedar’s roots planted themselves amongst the rocks. Their tops stood above a thick morning fog–green islands in a sea of churning whites and grays. “We’re too far north.”
“My memory is just fine,” Padair retorted. “In my head rests the stories of entire nations and countless tribes–the stories of kings and sorcerers–the stories of heroes and villains from corners of the world you’ve never even heard of. I remember every road, goat path, and deer trail between the Far Waters and the Eastern Seas.”
His memories are precious to him. Augustus knelt, scanning the valley. “We should get back on the road and make for that canyon we passed.”
Padair crossed his arms. “That canyon leads to an abandoned mine–gnoll territory. Trust me, friend, my way is safer.”
“Your way is slower,” Augustus said.
“You humans are always in a hurry. That’s why you die so young.” Padair nudged Augustus’ leg with his hoof. “Bah-ha-hah!”
“The humor of satyrs is lost on me.” Augustus stood and followed a path back to the road.
“Hey, wait!” Padair skipped down the cliff alongside him.
Fog blanketed the road, wrapping around the cliffside and the surrounding hills. In his gray cloak, and a cloud of morning dew rising to meet the sky, Augustus felt hidden. He felt safe. “No more shortcuts, Padair,” Augustus said. “We should’ve been in Shepshed by now.”
“O-o-oh! Be careful with that, friend! How many times do I have to say it? My name is only for emergencies! Why do you want to go there, anyway? Your cities are so crowded. And everyone is in such a hurry.” Padair’s hooves clapped against the cobbles of the road. “It’s horrible!”
Augustus shrugged. “I need supplies.”
“I'll find food,” Padair said.
Gus scoffed. “I need more than berries and roots."
“You humans are so strange to me. You’re made of meat, too. Why don’t you eat yourself or one of your…” Padair gulped.
“One of my what?”
“Well…" The goat man crossed his arms. "One of your friends!”
“I don’t like goat meat,” Augustus said. “Though goat’s milk tastes rather good.”
“Bleh-eh-eh!” Padair gagged. “I only drank the milk of my mother. What was your mother like?”
“She was nice,” Augustus lied. In truth, he never met either of his parents. He heard tales of his father–and saw him once–but his mother was a complete mystery.
Evening came early in the Red Hills, where the sun hid behind earth and stone. The road bent along a hill of gravel and rock shelves. A ravine opened to the left. At the bottom, a small river flowed south. The rumble of falling waters echoed through the rocks. Across the way, on the other side of the ravine, sat another mountainous mound of gravel and rock; a road snaked along its side. Turning the bend, a horseshoe-shaped valley revealed itself, and the town of Shepshed came into view. A curtain of gray stones stood behind the city–a cliff face soaring hundreds of feet above. Stonemarrow Keep sat on a peninsula protruding from the cliffside, overlooking houses built of brick, stone, and mortar. The houses lay in a semi-circular spread at the foot of the peninsula. A massive waterfall crashed down the cliff, falling beneath the fortress, feeding a river that cut the town in two, and plunging into the ravine.
Augustus stopped and drew in a deep breath.
“Well, friend, you know the drill!” Padair exclaimed. “I’ll wait for you on the other side!”
“Are you sure?” Augustus asked. “The town is called Shepshed. We might find plenty of goat feed and berries at the market.”
“Keep it!” Padair sliced the air with his hands. “I like my food fresh.”
Agustus shrugged. “Whatever suits you, my friend.”
Stone slabs the size of wagons formed walls that ran from cliffside to ravine. The Western Road led him to gates standing open in the dwindling dusk. Augustus kept his hood pulled over his eyes as he entered a bustling bizarre–a market square of tents and canopies. Ahead, a fountain sprouted from the center of a small river, spilling its waters back into the southbound current. Merchants and peasants bartered and bickered. Children–both man and dwarf–weaved through bigger bodies, busying themselves at play. A black-haired dwarf stood on a box in front of a covered wagon, waving around a glass bottle full of green liquid. A flock of monks shuffled through the crowd, the hoods of their gray robes pulled up, their heads bowed, hiding their faces. Gus pulled the hood of his cloak a little tighter. He ducked under a large canopy and browsed through barrels of broom handles and walking sticks. They're a long way from their monastery. The brothers of the Holy Order passed, marching single-file towards the city gate. I hope they didn’t spot me. He scratched the fuzz on his face, doubting the growth was enough to disguise him.
At the edge of the market square sat a wagon as decedent as a king’s carriage, adorned with a beautiful red canopy that sprawled open, held aloft by large brass posts at each corner. The wooden sides of the wagon swung down on hinges, exposing the wagon's bed, and creating a flat stage beneath the red canopy. Painted gold adorned its wood: “The Moonlit Mysterium.” A woman with red locks of hair flowing past her waist spun on bare feet–dancing. She wore a flowery dress that seemed to blossom around her. The fabric looked heavy, but it didn’t slow her. If anything, it accentuated her grace.
Adults and children alike sat in awe. A balding dwarf sat before the stage on a tall stool, his gray scalp glistened. He played a tune on a flute–a melody for the dancer to glide across–a fluid foundation on which stomping feet and clapping hands could imprint their rhythm.
A gentle breeze swept through the market square. Tents and canopies rustled. His cloak flared. Augustus scanned the rooftops of the town. I wouldn’t mind stretching my legs, but, first, I need rest. Augustus followed the river toward the heart of the city. The Sleepy Shepherd Inn sat on a hill splitting the road into two streets on either side of the establishment. Augustus wasted no time securing his room. He took off his cloak and weapons, stuffing them beneath his bed, then laid down. The wool of the bed–its covers and pillows–felt good, but a cool draft fingered its way through a shuttered window, reaching for him. He stood and walked across the room, approaching the window. Before it, a table sat with a half-burned candle and a wooden bowl holding an oval-shaped stone–a private shrine for prayer. Gus plucked the stone from the bowl and rubbed his thumb across the grainy surface. Memories flooded his mind: smoothing stones, making candles, delivering them to nearby towns and villages with his former brothers. He sat the stone back down and banished the memories. Another life. Now I am free.
Gus opened the shutters. Looking out over roofs, both shingled and thatched, he itched to leap across them. He longed to soar through the sky again. Aren’t I? A breeze wafted through the window, tempting him. Augustus drew deep, allowing the winds to fill his lungs. It’s not like anyone will see me. What’s the harm?
His heart pounding, Augustus heaved for air. His feet ached. Perhaps I should have rested. Augustus shoved off the spine of a roof and soared into the abyssal sky. The night swallowed him. Floating in the cool air, with no resistance, the pain in his body retreated. The wind whipped through his hair and beard as he hurled towards the earth. Yellow street lanterns looked like a bed of dull stars rising to meet him. He landed on the roof of a gatehouse. How many laps does that make? Augustus studied the bizarre below.
A lazy flute floated its melody across the way. Distant drums thumped and echoed off the stones. Are they still performing? At this hour? A second melody joined–a voice–a woman’s voice.
Augustus jumped down to the cobbled streets and swiftly made his way–unseen–to the edge of the market square. A dozen late gazers sat dumbfounded around a campfire. Its embers smoldered red. Its fire burned low, licking the coals. The red-haired dancer held a stick attached to a mask: a witch’s hat upon a green face. It had a long wooden nose, and a hole carved out in the shape of a crescent moon, where the dancer’s mouth released a soft stream of melodies. She wore a black dress streaming with black ribbons. The onlookers swayed in their seats as if captured in a trance by the performer’s dance. The witch glided toward the stage and plucked a pouch off its edge. She danced toward the street and tossed it into the campfire causing flames to burst forth and smothered the scene in a cloud of smoke. Onlookers cried out in fear. One man rolled on the ground, flailing his arms about as if possessed. The red-haired witch cackled. The onlookers laughed and mocked one another. They tossed circlings at the performer’s feet and clapped their hands. Quite the spectacle. Augustus searched for a better seat.
He flared his Cloak of Invisibility and caught a ride on a gust of wind, nesting himself near the chimney of a roof. The night air was cool, but the chimney’s heat warmed his bones. The witch danced and sang, moving with her dwarven companion’s flute. Augustus found himself transfixed by her. As hours passed, the onlookers slunk away to their homes. In the end, one man remained. He left after throwing the dancer one last circling. Then, the performers gathered the money littering the street and closed their wagon.
Augustus enjoyed the stillness of the night, watching the distant campfire dissolve into blackened char.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and yawned. I must have fallen asleep.
A shadow crawled out of the big red wagon across the square. It was too tall for a dwarf. The shadow crossed the street toward his building. A busy lady, Augustus mused, crouching. Where are you sneaking off to?
Footsteps echoed from the alleyway beside his building, so Augustus crawled toward the edge and peeked over. Two men walked down the alley. Passing under lamplight, Gus spotted red sashes tied around their waists. The dancer stepped into the lamplight, red hair blazing under a black shawl. The leading Red Sash was a skinny man. Thin fingers reached into his breeches, retrieved a pouch, and held it up. “That’ll be fifty silver circlings.”
“You’re a week late. I should get a discount.” The woman held out a larger, more decorative pouch, bulging at the seams.
The Red chuckled. “That’s not how we do business. Do you have our money or not?”
The dancer walked toward them. “Paid in full,” she said. The exchange was quick and seamless. The dancer turned on her heel and marched down the alley, while the Reds turned and slunk away into their city.
Stolen story; please report.
What’s in that pouch?
Thuds echoed through the shadows, resounding through the alleyway, followed by a second, much louder, pair of thuds.
I know that sound!
Augustus jumped and dashed across the roof, peering over the edge. Their bodies lay in the street–two dead Reds. Augustus shoved off the shingles and leaped straight into the air. Three small shadows darted down a street opposite the alleyway, following the riverside. They moved toward the market square–toward the dancer and her wagon. He tugged his cloak. The gray fabric caught in the winds and pulled him toward the square. With a flare of his cloak, Augustus hurtled head-first toward the cobbles. He spun, landing in a crouch, just in time to see three dwarves break into a sprint. The dancer moved gracefully, paying no mind to the assassins. She disappeared into the red wagon. The dwarves swarmed the Moonlit Mysterium. Augustus watched them pull open doors and free boards–revealing secret compartments where they stashed their crossbows. The assassins then climbed into their little house-on-wheels.
Assassins in the night. Deals made in the dark. Augustus sighed. No matter how big or small, every city is rotten at its core. He leaped back into the night sky. It’s nothing to me.
Augustus returned to the Sleepy Shepherd, swooping in through the window of his room, careful not to disturb the shrine. He took off his cloak, and then his weapons. He stashed them beneath his bed. Staring at the ceiling, Augustus felt his eyelids grow heavy. Assassins in the night… How long have they been in the city? Why are they here?
He returned to the market at noon the next day. The Moonlit Mysterium sat silently, like an abandoned shop. A perfect alibi for operating under the cover of darkness, but I know what’s brewing inside. They’re lingering after the mess they made last night. They’re on a job. Now, the question is, who do they want to kill?
Augustus browsed the many stalls and shops. He wore his hood down and a brown cloak pulled behind his shoulders. He left his swords at the inn, wrapped up and hidden within the Cloak of Invisibility. Augustus bartered under the guise of Rupert the Ranger, passing through Shepshed on an expedition to the sea. The merchants looked upon a wise young man, hardened by the earth, softened by youth. A handful of dust dashed onto his cheeks and clothes perfected the character. Tongues and circlings flowed freely in every market and Rupert listened intently when the Moonlit Mysterium was mentioned. The performers arrived nearly three weeks ago. They’ve passed through before. They’ve been around enough so the locals became accustomed to their strangeness. Even so, most thought it peculiar that the troupe had not moved on. Three weeks was their longest stay, yet. The circlings flowed freely at the Moonlit Mysterium, as well.
He meandered the market for two hours before returning to the Sleepy Shepherd. The Moonlit Mysterium never awoke. Augustus sipped on a mug of Hunter’s Honey, sitting at a table by himself, tucked away in the corner of the inn’s busy tavern. Patrons danced to the tune of four bards performing on lutes and drums.
They’re definitely here on a big job, his instincts told him. Perhaps they’re here to kill the Lord of the town?
That night, he entered the bizarre, where the Moonlit Mysterium shone with the light of a dozen torch poles. The torches, and a crowd of onlookers, formed a semi-circular fence around the front of the wagon. Two dwarves stood center-stage in the street. The little lady's hair blazed red, the man's coarse and black, braided with bronze clasps and silver beads. The woman sported her hair in a single braid, following her spine. The man’s hair was twisted in many braids. His beard looked like a big black bush. They wore a matching set of leather suits–stitched wide at the seams. Double-sided torches spun in their hands. Their flames tailed behind, cutting vague circles in the night.
The balding dwarf from the night before sat on the edge of the stage, dangling his feet. A drum sat in his lap. He thumped an accelerating rhythm.
Assassins–right out in the open, making money from unsuspecting fools.
Augustus couldn’t find the dancer. The drumming dwarf thumped the hide of his instrument hard with both hands. The music stopped. The pair of dwarven pyros stopped their spinning poles. They spat a liquid into the flames of their torches. Fire burst forth, streaking through the night sky. Onlookers pointed, clapped, and shouted in glee. Augustus lingered. The red-haired woman never made an appearance. Perhaps she’s not performing tonight? But where is she? And what is she up to?
Augustus soared through the night air. Buildings, streets, and people passed below. Shepshed is small. If she’s on the street, I’ll find her. He danced from roof to roof, gliding on the wind, working his way from the market square to the Lord’s Keep.
His feet kissed the shingles and thatched bundles, pushing him onward. The wind caught in his cloak, sending Augustus flying over a wide gap over the main road. A hooded figure running through an alleyway caught his attention. Augustus landed, then turned left and returned to the alley. He followed it. Sure enough, the hooded figure was the mysterious dancer. She wore a large black cloak. Invisible, Augustus levitated down into the alleyway. He followed her. The dancer dashed through the dark before halting at the end of the alley, which opened up onto the thoroughfare. The hooded lady searched the empty street. Another rendezvous?
The woman turned, looking right at him. “Who’s there?” Augustus turned around, but no one stood behind him. “I know you’re there. Where are you hiding?”
He remained silent.
The red-haired woman sighed. “If you’re going to rob me, let me stop you right now and say: that is a big mistake. I’m a powerful sorceress–an illusionist. I can see through anything!”
Augustus stepped closer.
The woman backed out of the alley.
Augustus stopped.
“Yeah. You’re real. I’m not just imagining it this time,” she said, eyes searching the shadows.
Did she sense me? She doesn't look elvish. Gus studied the woman. “Why did you kill me?” he moaned. “We had a deal. Why?”
“Give it up." The woman chuckled. “I can sense the dead and the living.”
“So, your illusions are real?” Augustus asked.
“I save the real stuff for my private audiences.” The woman pulled a large black ball out of her sleeve. “Unfortunately, everyone who’s seen it has mysteriously died.” She displayed the ball on the palm of her outstretched hand. Her free hand hovered over it. “Would you like to see?” The woman tossed the ball at the ground.
The ball exploded, forming a black cloud of fine dust that filled the alleyway, blinding Augustus.
Gus shoved off the cobbles, flaring his cloak and flying into the air. He landed on a nearby rooftop and dashed to its edge, looking out onto the main road. The red-haired lady flashed across the street. She sprinted down another alley. Augustus pushed off the lip of the roof, catching the wind in his cloak. He soared over the road and landed on top of a building. Bounding his way over the rooftops, he followed. This time, he cut her off. The alley was narrow and devoid of onlookers. Augustus pressed himself against a wall–invisible. When the dancer drew close, she skidded across the cobblestones, coming to a halt. “Who are you? What do you want from me?”
“I want to know why you killed those men. I want to know what they sold you," Gus said. "And I want to know what you plan to do with it."
“Well, too bad!” She reached into her sleeve and pulled out a long, thin dagger. She charged directly at him. Augustus stepped out of the way of a wide-arching slash. “I can sense you!” the dancer shouted. She spun, bringing her leg around, aimed at his head. Augustus crouched. Her leg passed overhead. The dancer landed and backed away. “If you’re here to kill me, then fight back!” she shouted.
“Why would I want to kill you?” Augustus asked.
“You are infuriating!” The red-haired woman shouted. “If you won’t fight me, then will you please stop following me around? Am I asking the wrong question or something?”
“Stop asking and start telling.” Augustus backed away from her, giving her room to speak.
“My business is my own,” she said. “Leave!”
“I could go to the guards and tell them a band of assassins is masquerading around the market square as a troupe of performers," Gus offered. "Or you could just tell me what your plans are.”
“How do you move unseen?” she asked.
Augustus chuckled. “Another question. You have two more tries to get it right, or I’m going to the authorities.”
The woman sighed as she lowered her dagger. “Isn’t that my luck?”
“One more try,” Augustus spat.
She looked at him with tears in her eyes. “Please, to speak it out loud would be treason."
“That doesn’t help your case,” Gus retorted.
“My father…” the woman sniffled. “I’m here to kill my father.”
“So, it’s a personal feud?” Agustus asked. It’s really no business of mine. He thumbed his chin. “Who is your father?” The woman wiped tears from her cheeks. She shook her head in defiance. “Come on, now. If you don’t tell me, I’ll haunt you for the rest of your life–following you with questions,” Augustus threatened.
She grunted through a wet sob. “Lord Wexley,” she said. “My father is Lord Wexley.”
Augustus' heart dove into his stomach. “Treason.”
“I am a bastard and a half-breed. My father sired me with an elven mistress. I was an accident–an abomination. And, because I am an abomination, he tossed me away like rubbish. Thankfully, someone had better sense than him, because they stole me away and gave me to an orphanage. He's a vile man. And that is reason enough alone, but it is not my grudge. I want to kill him because he tried to kill me first.” Augustus opened his cloak, revealing the sword at his hip and dismissing his shroud of invisibility. “There you are.” The woman wiped away a tear and forced a smile.
“You hope that by killing him, you will kill the part of you that hurts,” Augustus said.
“I want to even the score,” the dancer answered.
“When you kill someone, a part of you dies, too,” Augustus said. “But the pain remains. It never goes away.”
“You think I haven’t killed before?” Her grip tightened around her dagger.
“Don’t do it.” Augustus placed his hand on his sword.
“He’s going to pay for what he did!” The red-haired woman leaped at Augustus, lashing out with her blade. The dagger streaked in front of his throat. The dancer spun, following up with a back fist. Augustus ducked out of the way but was met by a heel digging into his face. He rolled with the blow and spun, drawing his sword, and lashing out. The dancer somersaulted, rolling out of the way of his attack. Her dagger sailed through the air. Augustus lost sight of the knife, but his cloak pulled him out of harm’s way at the last second. The dagger thudded against a wooden post behind him. “Are you one of his agents?” The dancer whipped her arm and a black ball hit the cobbles, exploding into a dust cloud. Augustus spun–becoming invisible. The dust formed a vortex around him. “I can’t let you live with my secret!” the dancer threatened.
Footsteps pattered behind. Augustus shoved off the cobbles, aiming at a nearby balcony, shooting through the cloud of dust. He landed on a thin railing–crouching. A gray tendril of dust lingered in the air, trailing back to the cloud-clogged street. The smoke dissipated, carried upon a breeze, leaving the dancer exposed in the street, clutching her knife.
“Your secret is safe with me,” Augustus said. “I won’t try to stop you but let me warn you: you’ve overstayed your welcome. The Moonlit Mysterium will be a prime suspect in the murder. Folks will blame the foreigners who dabble in black magic and dress up as witches. Your plan is flawed. Even if you make it out of the city, you’ll never leave the Red Hills. The king’s men will find you on the road. Your friends will be locked away in a dungeon cell for the rest of their lives, and they will burn you at the stake for heresy, witchcraft, and treason.”
The woman peered up at his invisible perch. “You are infuriating, you know that? The Moonlit Mysterium is just part of the plan. I don’t care about them!”
“Get out of here while you can,” Augustus said. “You can’t kill the past. Some things carry through. Don’t let your father control who you become. Choose your path.” Augustus shoved off the balcony and soared into the night sky.
Two days later, Augustus left Shepshed, and the Moonlit Mysterium slept silently under the noon sun. I hope you make the right choice. Then again, who am I to decide what is right for you? He struck out on the Western Road once more.
His packs were full of supplies–food and otherwise. His feet felt fresh, and his mind felt clear. The night air always does me good. Miles of cobbles and stones passed beneath his feet. The sun stood high before Augustus began worrying about his satyr friend. Where have you wandered off to? At the top of a rocky hill, the road fell into a large valley. A sea of green hills, waves spotted with rocks and trees, descending, rolling into the west. Augustus scanned the surrounding landscape. I’m sorry for my lack of patience, friend, but I don’t want to camp here tonight. He spoke aloud: “Where are you Padair?”
“I’m right here, friend!” the goat man called. Augustus turned to witness the satyr skipping down a gargantuan boulder. “What’s the emergency?” Padair shouted, as his little hooves carried him.
“I’m ready to move on,” Augustus said.
“That’s not an emergency!” Padair cried. “I thought your life was in danger! You had me worried to death!”
“I’m fine,” Augustus assured.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t take my name lightly!” The pair traversed a winding path. At one point, they encountered a section of road destroyed in a landslide. Padair led them around the collapse, up a cliffside, through countless hills and valleys, and, eventually, became totally lost. They spent four days crawling over the land, on what should have been a two-day journey to the next village. After finding a road, they followed it into Grayshire, nested in a basin of grassy hills, ringed by a wall of natural rock. They had completely missed Hilltop, got turned around, and traveled further east than they ever meant to. Leaving Grayshire, they found the Western Road and corrected their course.
In the township of Weatherstone, twelve days after leaving Shepshed, Augustus sat on the balcony of the Weathertop Inn, sipping on a pint of Hunter’s Honey. He looked out over the town and watched the townsfolk busy themselves with the day’s work.
“Look at that!” a child cried.
Augustus looked to the north, peering across the cobblestones. A large wagon with an illustrious red canopy rocked its way down the road. Two dwarves walked in front of the wagon holding flagpoles. Large black flags, with red-stitched moons, fluttered in the wind. A balding dwarf played his high-pitched flute, while a red-headed woman sat beside him, holding the reins of two giant oxen. She smiled and waved at the children, who filled the air with laughter.
It looks like she made the right choice. Augustus pondered. She’ll always carry the past, but she’s strong enough to create her own future. Am I?