The sun was high, and a warm breeze blew in from the west. As they walked, Lord Ros reviewed his notes carefully. Yellow eyes and appeared as an elk… Tall, elven, likely the elven woman in town: Lunara. Werewolves at the ruins… Ruins likely related to the Witch. How do the werewolves and the Witch intersect? A deal? An agreement?

Gilt and Ithena were as carefree as the colored birds that flew from tree to tree. Bored of their journey, they spent their time shifting their gazes from left to right, hoping something, even a wyvern, crossed their paths.

Kangee, however, didn’t share their insouciant attitude. His heart was heavy in his chest at the thought of facing down Benwall the Brave. Just at a mention of his name, a flood of memories rushed his mind. Can you still see the bodies, Benwall? He stared at his own shadow and thought of the words that Lord Gremmelt had told him when he offered him salvation from his chains.

The path of redemption is a barefoot journey atop shattered glass. It’s going to hurt the whole way, but if you walk it, you will see its end.

Several hours passed and the sun had reached its highest point and was now slowly descending in the west. Lord Ros rubbed his eyes and yawned before stuffing his notes back in his pack. Everything should be memorized—now to rest the mind.

His gaze meandered from tree to tree as he made a mental note of them. Pine, elm, another pine, spruce, oak, oak, little girl, pine. Wait. He stopped dead in his tracks, turning his head back to the girl. She was dressed in a tattered and dirty off-white dress, had long, black, tangled hair and was sickly pale. Their eyes met and he recognized the overwhelming fear found within. Before he could speak, she brought up her finger to her lips.

"Shhh," was the only noise she produced.

"You all see her, right?" Lord Ros asked, and everyone stopped.

"Yeah," Gilt replied, one hand on his hip. "She's just standing there." The girl was next to a pair of run down buildings that hadn't been maintained for many years. One was a small shack, the other a collapsed-in cabin.

"Should we approach?" Lord Ros said quietly. "Could be dangerous."

"Maybe it's a trap," Gilt said. "If it were up to me, we would rob her and be on our way."

"Rob her!?" Lord Ros was aghast. "First off, she is a child. Secondly, look at what she is wearing. A tattered dress and nothing else. I hardly believe she would have anything worth stealing."

"Won't know until we try," Gilt said under his breath.

"No robbing children," Lord Ros said authoritatively. "I can't believe I have to be the one to tell you that. My word, to talk like such a rogue." Lord Ros shook his head.

"Hmm.. Ithena, come with me." He stepped towards the girl with Ithena close behind. The girl fearfully quivered as they approached, casting her wild eyes around the woods, desperately searching for something.

"What are we doing?" Ithena questioned as they crept toward her.

"Investigating," Ros replied. "I have a feeling something strange is afoot." The two now only stood a few paces away.

"She looks to be clanfolk," Ithena said. "Perhaps Kangee or Gilt would serve better."

"No, no. A woman is far safer in a child's eyes than some strange man." Lord Ros motioned for her to go ahead. "It's okay, little girl, we won't hurt you. Ithena here is just going to make sure you’re okay."

Ithena stepped towards the child. The girl shook her head and terror flashed across her face.

"Come here." Ithena snatched at the girl's arm, but her hand passed through. The girl reeled back, let out a blood curdling scream, and pointed behind them.

"I'm going to beat the savage out of you!" shouted a deep, husky voice full of anger. Lord Ros and Ithena spun around. Right behind them, a bright blazing orange spirit stared angrily down at them. It was of an old man with a large bushy beard, his eyes two fiery swirls of pure hate. In his hands he carried a wispy near formless longsword.

"Shit!" Gilt yelled. He and Kangee charged in, both with glaives aflame.

"We need Sunlit water!" Lord Ros shouted. He drew his sword and ran his hand across it, sending it up in a blood smeared blaze of fire.

Ithena turned back towards the child, manifesting a bright flame in her palm as she thrust it into the girl's chest. The blast of Arcanian flame fizzled the girl's spectral outline until she disappeared into a mist that swept away with the breeze.

The spirit’s ghostly sword was a tempest storm of unblockable slashes and cuts. Lord Ros tried to parry the blade but it phased through his own and slid across his chest, sending a rush of ice cold throughout his body. Stumbling back, he brought his hand up and felt for blood, but found none. His stomach churned, and both of his arms tingled numb.

Before Kangee and Gilt could slash their glaives, the spirit turned sharply and stared them down.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Dirty pest!” his voice boomed. “Foul vermin!” His eyes blazed. With every hate filled word, the spirit grew in stature. “Filthy crow!” As soon as Kangee heard those words, his memories took him back to the war. Wait… I know that voice… He stared into the face of the figure, desperately trying to remember.

“Lets get the fuck out of here!” Gilt screamed. He slashed the spirit once more before taking off back towards the road with his wolf, Arren close behind. “Kangee, leave it!”

Entranced by his past memories, he studied the face before him. The spirit was an Aredesan with a shaggy beard, rough lined forehead, and balding swept back hair. He was an old man, at least 50 by the looks of it. Just as his mind closed in on the memory of the man, the spirit lunged forward and wrapped his fingers around Kangee’s neck.

“Cursed crow!” A wispy, almost transparent, mist emitted from the spirit’s hand and enveloped Kangee’s whole body. He dismally kicked and clawed to free himself from its unholy grasp, but it was no use, and the spirit continued to raise Kangee high into the air.

Lord Ros fumbled quickly through his pack until he found a jar of salt. Undoing the lid and casting it aside, he threw a handful at the spirit. In an instant the spirit was gone. Kangee fell to the ground and Lord Ros helped him to his feet before flinging the remaining salt in the air around them. He and Kangee fled as salt rained down, Ithena falling in right behind.

“Come back, Blackfeather!” shouted the spirit.

They ran as fast as they could, until suddenly, and without knowing when, they realized their pursuer was gone. Stopping to catch their breath, they looked back at where they first saw the girl. It was down the road, but they could still see the shack. All was quiet.

“Why did you run?” Lord Ros questioned Gilt. “I hadn’t given the signal yet. We still could have learned more.”

“Are you crazy?” Gilt snapped. “Listen, ‘Lord’ Ros, I ain’t trying to be another casualty of your curiosities.”

“What?” Lord Ros said sharply. “What are you talking about?”

“C’mon, Lord Ros,” Gilt said. “Just how many bodies have you added to the Festival Pyre?”

“That’s…” Lord Ros stopped and lowered his brow in frustration. “It wasn’t my fault.” Lord Ros thought about explaining himself, but decided against it.

“Just follow my orders. I’m the Lord, you're the Witch Hunters.” Lord Ros always had trouble dealing with others since he was promoted. Unlike the other Lords, Ronan Ros was still young and had yet to be seen as a proven warrior.

“Whatever you say, ‘Lord’ Ros,” Gilt replied with a joking smile.

Lord Ros ignored the sarcastic emphasis, and turned to Kangee, asking, “Are you hurt?”

“I will live, though a few moments longer and I wouldn’t have been so lucky.” He brought his hand to his chest and tried to catch his breath, but no matter how much he tried to calm himself, his heart would not slow, and his lungs struggled to fill with air.

“Take it easy,” Lord Ros replied. “We don’t know what effect that spirit had on us. He only slashed through me for a brief moment and I feel exhausted. I imagine you must have it worse. Tell me, how exactly does it feel?” Lord Ros flicked the flame from his blade and sheathed it before pulling out his notebook and scribbling down his own symptoms. He glanced up from his notes, adding, “Spare no detail.”

“My body feels heavy,” Kangee said. He rubbed the sweat from his brow and exhaled slowly. “And my head pounds loud.” He took a deep breath. “No matter how deeply I breathe, it's never enough. The air feels thin as if I am atop the Wounded Peaks.”

“Let us hope there is a healer in town,” Lord Ros said as he wrote. Two spirits, one a girl, the other a man. Dirty pest… Fiery and orange... Fixated on Kangee... He looked up from his notebook and studied Kangee closely. Tan skin, long black hair.

“What do we do now?” Ithena asked.

“Good question,” Lord Ros answered. He closed his notebook and put it back in his bag. “We are only here to look into the Witch, but there is a chance this spirit might be connected. How about we go back and see if it is still there?” Lord Ros eagerly looked around at the three of them. He could tell they had no desire to go back.

“No?” He held his stare before saying, “Fine, I’ll go myself and we will be on our way.”

“Good luck ‘Lord’ Ros, we’ll be over here.” Gilt waved goodbye.

Lord Ros’s half smile turned to a frown and he let out a sigh. “Very well, I’ll be right back.” He turned to leave, but stopped short when Ithena spoke up. .

“I’ll go with you,” she reluctantly said. The two of them returned to the shack and looked around from the safety of the road. There was no sign of either the little girl or the angry spirit.

“Where did you go?” Lord Ros said quietly to himself as he studied the area. “Do you see anything?”

“No,” Ithena replied.

“Hmmm,” Lord Ros held his hand up to his face and sat in silence to think. The other spirit only showed after we spoke to the girl… Dirty pest… Cursed crow… “That girl must be Crow Clan. Blackfeather, if I were to guess.”

“It’s a fair assessment. Many of the Blackfeather tribe were moved to these lands following the war,” Ithena told him.

“Kangee is from the Blackfeather tribe, isn’t he?” asked Lord Ros.

Ithena nodded. “By all accounts. He served for Scrydell as a negotiator and translator, or so I have heard. Though I believe he is seen as an outsider to their kind. Especially after what happened during the war.”

The Wildland War. A series of terrible battles with atrocities committed on both sides. Blood filled valleys, corpse filled wagons returning from the front line, the cries of children off in the distance. All manner of wretchedness could be wrung from the bloody rags those soldiers brought home. The more I learn of it, the more horrible it truly sounds.

Lord Ros broke himself from his thoughts on the matter, saying, “Perhaps it's best if we push forward to Waldenhauf. First we look into the Witch, then we come back. If we're lucky, it may all be connected and the problem will sort itself out.” Lord Ros took a final glance at the shack.

“Come on, let's go.” He and Ithena returned to Gilt and Kangee before following the road towards Waldenhauf.