I was halfway through my mug of ale when the front door of the Waystone Inn swung open, letting in a cool breeze.

Flint looked up with interest, and I glanced over my shoulder and saw Malachi and his partner emerge from the doorway.

Malachi carried his ebony cane and was dressed in a long black coat with a fur collar. His partner wore a dress of white and gold, and her hair was bound up in an intricate braid.

The bard stopped playing, and a hushed silence descended over the inn.

As they walked through the common room, a dozen pairs of eyes followed their every step.

Malachi strode towards our table, his cane tapping the ground as he walked.

The crowd parted to let the two pass, and as they drew closer, Flint leaned over and whispered, "They sure as hell know how to make an entrance."

"That's one way to describe it," I said.

"Mind if we join you?" Malachi asked, gesturing towards the empty chairs at our table.

I glanced at Flint, who shrugged and said, "Take a seat."

Malachi pulled up a chair, and his female companion sat down next to him.

He turned to the woman, "Nidalee, these are the young men I was telling you about, Flint Hawthorne and Bastion Ward."

I nodded in greeting, "Nice to finally meet you in person."

Nidalee’s eyes narrowed, and I realized that she had understood exactly what I was implying by my greeting.

"The best fighters on the genesis floor," she said, flashing us a wicked smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"I don't know about that," I said, glancing at Flint.

"Don't be modest," Nidalee purred, her eyes sparkling with mischief, "According to Malachi, your skills are impressive enough that he would have paid well just to see you fight."

Flint cleared his throat and scratched his chin, "We're always ready to put our talents to use."

Nidalee gave him a long look, and then her lips curved into a wicked smile.

I took a sip of my ale and watched the pair, trying my best to read their body language. They seemed confident and relaxed, which I guessed was a good sign.

"So what brings two card mages to our small village?" I asked.

Malachi gave me a curious look, but instead of answering my question, he said, "Did you know that every floor on the Tower has a Waystone Inn?"

I paused mid-swallow, "I did not."

Malachi smiled, "Care to take a guess why?"

"Catchy name?" Flint said.

Nidalee laughed, her voice high-pitched and musical.

"Very catchy indeed," said Malachi, "But no, the reason is quite simple. The inn is built on the site of this floor's waystone."

"What does that mean?" I asked, my mouth suddenly dry.

Waystones, those were things straight out of table-top role playing games, a quick and easy mode of transport to other places, other floors. I couldn't say I was surprised, most of the logic in this world seemed to be based on games. But I was sure, if there was really something that important inside the inn, I would have known about it.

Malachi raised an eyebrow, "You didn't know?"

"Should we have?" I asked, glancing at Flint, whose expression mirrored mine.

Malachi looked surprised, "Would you like to see it, of course we can't use it yet, but the sight is worth a few minutes."

"Why can't you use it?" I asked, my mind racing.

"You can only travel to waystones you have visited before," Malachi explained, "and unless there's something I don't know, then none of us here have ever left the genesis floor."

"Show us later," I said, as a suspicion entered my mind.

If he was speaking the truth, then it was possible that they could have arrived in the village long before appearing by carriage. Which meant that Myrtle's death and Tommelkin's disappearance could have been their doing.

"But what about the ward preventing people from traveling in or out of the genesis floor?" I asked, leaning forward.

Nidalee's smile grew wider, "You do ask a lot of questions."

Malachi tapped the floor with the end of his cane, "Let's order a meal," he said, smiling broadly, "and a flagon of Alden's best wine, and we will talk. I think you will be interested in what we’ve found."

***

The bard finished up his set with a theatrical bow and stepped down from the stage to collect his earnings from the innkeeper.

"Last round," the barmaid yelled as she placed a mug of ale and a bowl of stew in front of the bard.

A roar of protests came from the far corner of the inn, and Greta, with much muttering, shuffled over to their table to take their orders.

I leaned back, feeling the warmth of the fire against my legs. There was something about being cold, then sitting down by a fire and drinking a mug of warm ale, that was almost impossible to beat.

My belly was full, and I was feeling pleasantly buzzed, a feeling that would soon be turning into a hangover if I kept going.

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I looked around the table at my three dinner companions. Flint was chewing on a chicken bone and staring into space with that empty look he always wore when lost in thought. Malachi and Nidalee were both sipping wine and watching the crowd, which had grown in size while we were eating our dinner.

I set my mug down and rubbed my hands across my face and through my hair.

"You haven't told us what this is all about," I said. "What do you want from us?"

Nidalee looked up slowly, "Straight to it then," she said, shrugging, "It's manners to wait until the meal is over before getting to business."

"Yeah, sorry about that," I said, "but with all these deaths happening in our village, you can see why I'm not exactly worried about being polite right now."

Her eyes narrowed as she watched me, "Yes, these deaths have been most concerning."

She turned to Malachi and a look passed between them.

"Have you ever heard of Stormclaw?" she asked, taking another sip of her wine.

Flint snorted. "The mythical six winged drake that guards the stairs to the second floor, we've heard of it, everyone has."

He waved his chicken bone at Nidalee. "A legend, that's what you two are after?"

What do legends have to do with us? Or is this a distraction, something to keep us from looking too closely at what they’ve been doing in our village?

"Stormclaw isn't a myth," Nidalee said, a hint of iron in her voice. "It's real, I've seen it."

Flint snorted again, "So's the tooth imp."

Nidalee took a sip of ale, and I could tell by the way she chewed her lip that she was frustrated.

She took a deep breath to continue speaking when Malachi interrupted her.

"Either you believe us or you don't," he said. "But that doesn't change the truth. We fought the beast, and I have the scars to prove it."

"We all have scars," I said, "I actually have one on my left leg that looks just like a sand shark bite."

Malachi shook his head, his lips curving into a half-smile. "And what's your point?"

"The scar was caused by falling through a moldy roof," I replied, "My point is that scars prove nothing."

"That's true," Flint said, taking another bite of chicken.

"You have to believe me," Nidalee said.

I took a sip of ale and shrugged.

"Prove it," I said.

Nidalee frowned and looked around the inn.

"Just listen to my story," she said, her voice sounding sincere, "it might seem foolish to you, but save your judgment till the end."

Flint tossed the chicken bone onto his plate and sat back, getting comfortable.

"We’re listening," I said.

Nidalee smiled and as she took another sip of her wine, I noticed that her hand had a slight tremble.

"A man appeared in our village when I was still a child," she said, speaking slowly, "His name was Gothos, he was as powerful a card mage as you could get. He lived with my family for many years, he became like family to us, and then one day Gothos disappeared."

"Gothos was my master," Malachi said, his voice tinged with bitterness. "I believe that he died all those years ago."

Nidalee paused, her gaze dropping to the table.

I leaned forward, "What happened?"

Malachi raised his glass, "I stayed in the village for many years carrying on my master’s research and one day I found his journal."

I sat back and watched his face, trying to gauge if he was telling the truth.

Malachi fell silent for a moment, as if he were waiting for us to ask the obvious question.

"What was in the book?" Flint asked, his eyes fixed on him.

He smiled, "The journal detailed Gothos' journey from the genesis floor all the way to the third," he said. "I took the journal to the village elders. They were divided on what to do about the information, most felt the journey was too dangerous, but a few of the younger villagers banded together with me to face the challenge."

Nidalee sat forward, "I led the party," she said, her voice solemn. "We followed the journal's instructions and found Stormclaw in a hidden zone that could only be entered at the very top of Galefang Peak."

She sighed and exhaled slowly, "None of us were prepared for the battle."

She took another sip of her wine, her eyes staring into the past, "We fought hard, but in the end, we were forced to flee."

"Only two of us escaped with our lives," Malachi said, his voice barely above a whisper, "the rest..."

He fell silent, his eyes staring into his mug.

I took a sip of my ale and studied his expression.

I had no reason to trust them, but their story was compelling, it hit all the major notes, secret treasure, grand adventure, and tragedy. It sounded like a generic fantasy book come to life.

"What happened next?" Flint asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.

Nidalee shook her head as if she'd woken from a bad dream, "The blight happened," she breathed. "By the time we returned home, our village was in ruin."

Images of the early days of the blight flashed across my mind. I remembered the screams of the dying, the sight of the dead hanging from trees, and the blood-soaked mud beneath my feet.

I blinked, clearing away the memories, "I'm sorry," I said under my breath.

"It was a long time ago," Nidalee replied.

"We were lucky to survive," Malachi said. "Many didn't."

I took another sip of ale and stared into the fire.

"But that doesn't change the fact that the entrance to the second floor is warded shut," I said. "Even if we could kill the floor boss, we can't open the door to the next floor."

"That's not entirely true," Nidalee said, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

"I don't follow," I said, raising an eyebrow.

Nidalee shrugged, "No magic lasts forever."

"The waystone in this inn is active once again," Malachi stated. "Just by being in here, you have activated it."

I glanced around the room, searching for any sign of a magic stone, but the room was just the same as when we'd entered, nothing had changed.

"How can you be sure?" Flint asked, looking around.

"Because I've seen it," Malachi replied. "None of us have activated the second floor's waystone, preventing a test, but the fact that magic is flowing through it indicates that the wards are gone."

Flint cleared his throat, "We will obviously look for ourselves," he said. "But say this is all true, why choose us?"

Nidalee tilted her head, "You are young, strong and capable. You're also not afraid to take chances, which is exactly what we need."

How does she know that about us? Even if Malachi watched our duel, that would only tell him how proficient we were with kitchen knives and broom handles.

"Our encounter with Stormclaw taught us many things," Nidalee continued. "We believe that this time with your help we can slay the beast and ascend to the next floor."

"Why would we help you?" Flint asked.

"Power, adventure, wealth," Nidalee said, leaning forward. "All of which we can share with you, the choice is yours."

I looked at Flint and nodded slightly.

If what they said was true, then that changed everything. With my spell card, I could reach the second floor and gain access to the card forge. If I did that, I could make more spell cards. Hell, I might be able to craft a card that could heal my mother's blindness. That was a better option than trying to train a seeing eye dog and hoping that the dog wouldn't just run away.

"What's our next step," I asked.

Malachi and Nidalee exchanged looks. "Our first challenge will be crossing Stinger's Roost," said Nidalee.

"The mountain of scorpions?" said Flint.

"Yes," added Malachi. "We passed it on the way here from Fairhaven, the stories are true, it's covered in them, hundreds of scorpions the size of horses."

That bit of information caught my attention.

A mountain of scorpions, imagine the cards and essence I could farm up there.

My thoughts were shattered by a sudden scream from outside.

Ol' Cobb, the Tanner, staggered into the inn, his face pale. His eyes were wild and desperate. He pushed through the crowd and stopped just short of our table and took a shaky breath.

"Mages come quick," he hissed, "My wife... she's been murdered."

***