Lightning illuminated the courtyard, showing for a moment the trees bending in the beating, wind-driven rain. The thunderstorm was one of those strong sea-borne ones that Laed saw once or twice a summer. Nearly everyone in the city would be inside, shutters closed tight against the unforgiving weather, waiting out the storm. They would go out in the morning sun to clean up the mess, but for now, they hunkered down. It was the perfect time for illicit activity and criminal conspiracy

Windy as it was, the rain did not reach Neal where he sat at the very back of the deep porch of the house he had bought with the Thief Lord’s money. It was a very large porch, and a very large house, and Neal often thought how strange it was that he, so recently a simple country brigand, could have riches like this at his disposal. He credited his ability to take advantage of every situation, and of course his good luck that he’d encountered so many situations to take advantage of.

He did not think the spy would be late, but if the wind shifted he would have to move indoors. Neal preferred to meet his spies out here. He didn’t know that it was really any safer, but somehow even with all his dealings with the criminals under him, he just couldn’t trust the spies enough to be comfortable letting them in his house. And it was his house, bought with the Thief Lord’s money or not.

A dark figure, barely visible in the pounding rain, rolled over the top of the courtyard’s stone wall and dropped neatly to the ground. Without missing a beat the spy loped lightly across the courtyard and came onto the porch and into the light of Neal’s lantern. Neal saw with satisfaction that although she had moved as though the storm wasn’t even happening, she looked extremely bedraggled. Some of her hair had come loose from its normally tight bun and the rain had plastered it against her face. Her clothes hung off of her shoulders like laundry on the line. She squinted against the lamplight and gave Neal a terse nod.

“Report,” he said. “Your message said it was urgent.”

“Yes, my lord,” she said. It was not the proper form of address: Neal was no lord, but she always used it. She was a cautious one, and when it comes to speaking to one’s master the cautious move is to address him with as high a title as he might possibly hold. She stepped closer to Neal, dripping water all over the porch as she went. It didn’t matter much, the pavement was meant to get wet, but Neal couldn’t understand how she could just stand there dripping wet without doing something about it. He almost wanted to wring out her tunic himself.

“What’s it about?” Neal prompted. “Why did you leave your post?”

“It’s about that special matter,” she explained. “The Thief Lord said that we should bring the message to him as swiftly as possible if we were to find it, or word of it, and all other matters were secondary.”

“Really?” Neal leaned forward. “You’ve heard of..?”

“Not just heard,” she said. “I’ve seen it. I know exactly where it is. I was on a separate mission in the east, when-”

“Your mission,” Neal interrupted. “It was?”

“I was attached to Lord Fel’s retinue as he returned home from Belir. I was to insinuate myself into his court as the Thief Lord’s spy, work for the usual goals, report anything important.”

“Ah, the usual,” Neal said. “I remember now. So it’s in the Hilland?”

“No, I never made it that far.” she said. She had actually begun to shiver a little from being so wet, but it didn’t reach her voice, and she made no move to warm or dry herself. “In the Brightwood, we were driven off the main road. The river was in flood, and it overtopped its banks and covered several miles of the road. The leader of Fel’s men, who explained he used to be a forest guide, took us on an alternate route. At first it was tough work, slogging through underbrush, but less than a half-mile from the main road we came upon the remnants of an old road. It was stone, and although broken by many years it was enough to prevent the forest from burying it. The going was much easier, but more importantly I saw that every now and then along the road there were posts on either side. They were in better shape than the road itself, and I could see carved letters on them. Eldan letters.”

Neal didn’t like spies, but he was actually starting to feel sorry for this one, and it was starting to sound like her information might be really valuable. He turned and pulled a cord which hung behind his chair. When the spy started to go on, he held up a hand to stop her. Almost immediately, a man came out of the house, carrying, Neal was pleased to see, a heavy lap blanket. It was always nice to have servants that could anticipate one’s requests. It saved time, and was quite impressive besides. Neal gestured toward the spy and the servant placed it over her shoulders before bowing his way back into the house.

“Go on,” Neal prompted.

“Ah, thank you,” she said. “So, the letters were Eldan, and of course I thought of the Thief Lord’s interest in such things, and I endeavored to gain further insight. I asked, casually of course, the former forest guide how he came to know of this road.

‘Most forest guides do,’ he told me. ‘One is bound to run into it if he spends enough time in the forest. It runs across a good part of the wood. This is one of the parts in the best shape. In some places it is almost gone. Just a few stones scattered.’

So I asked him, ‘Do you know anything about it?’

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

‘It’s an old Eldan road, judging by the posts,’ he told me. ‘Though there’s no other ruins around, so I don’t know where it’s going. But the story is that it leads to the Sceptre, somehow. Some even call it Sceptre road.”

Now I knew the Thief Lord would be interested, so I pressed on. I asked him, ‘So it doesn’t lead anywhere that you know of?’

And he answered, ‘I’ve never tried to follow it. It doesn’t seem worth the trouble. But I do know one man that tried, but I don’t know if he got it right.’

I asked what he meant by that and he explained, ‘He said it led to a rock, big as a tree.’

I asked if by rock he meant a ruin.

‘No, not at all,’ he even shook his head. ‘Just a rock, not a mark on it.’

I had my suspicions about that, but I asked to confirm them. ‘But that is unusual, in the forest? A rock that size?’

He told me he didn’t know of any other. So now I was sure that his friend had gone the right way, and that it was not an ordinary rock, but somehow an ancient Eldan ruin.

We made it back to the main road before nightfall, and made our encampment alongside it. I slipped out under the pretense of returning to bed and made my way back through the woods to the ruined road. I cursed myself as a fool for not asking the direction of the great rock, but luck was on my side. I followed the road through the night, the full moon making the task possible. Though as the old guide had said there were places the road was nearly destroyed, I always found enough stones to follow it. The sky was lightening with dawn when I came to a stretch of road that was in even better shape than the part our company had traveled together. These stones, still fitting so tight that not a blade of grass grew between them, led me on and then ended smack against a huge gray boulder. Trees grew all around it, hiding much of it from view, but I could tell from its shadowy outline it was indeed a huge rock, like the guide had described. I could see why his friend had insisted the road led here. The only other possibility was that the rock had somehow come after the road, but I couldn’t think how that might have happened, unless someone had brought it here, and it was far too big for that. So I assumed it must be this that the Eldan had built a road to, and that meant there must be something significant about it. I was tired by then, and slept a few hours on the bedroll I had brought, and then, in the bright morning sunlight, I searched the rock for any clue to its purpose. Finding none on ground level, I resolved to climb the thing. Luckily, I climb like a gecko, and apparently the guide’s friend had not tried this, because a short, very sheer climb up, not far above the level where one might have a hope of spotting them from the ground, there were more Eldan characters, and then there began to be small holds that someone had carved into the rock, and the climb went more quickly.

The top of the boulder was flat, about twenty paces across, and in its center was a square-cut hole, like the center of a chimney. I laid down on the edge of it and looked down. It went down, straight down, probably twenty feet. Embedded in the walls of that shaft at intervals were smooth silvery squares which bounced the sunlight all the way down. I could see rock at the bottom. Where there wasn’t silver, holds, like the ones on the climb up, had been carved. Judging it to be safe enough, I descended. The descent led to a passageway, slanted downward, narrow but comfortable enough to walk. It was cut square in the rock like the shaft above, and similarly had squares of silver set in the walls. A few turns later it opened into a chamber, and the light from the silver was not necessary here, because it had its own light. The chamber was a simple one, squared off rock with no decoration along the walls. Opposite the passageway I had come in there was another opening of about the same size. And in the center there was a platform, which looked also to have been carved out of the boulder, about half-a-man high, covered in Eldan writing. And on top of that, or above that, there was the source of the light filling the room, a carved wooden scepter-hanging.”

“Hanging?” Neal asked. “On a rope, or…?”

“No, just in the air,” she said, with a small shake of her head. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as though feeling the cold finally for the first time. “It wasn’t leaning against anything, or strung from anything, nothing was touching it, not even the platform below it. It was just hanging. Upright. In the air.”

“Ah.” Neal nodded. He felt a small cold thrill of fear, as he always did when he heard of a new Eldan artifact. It was a healthy fear, he felt, considering how his first introduction to Eldan magic had gone. And if there were any truth to the old stories, and he knew by now that there was, then of all things, the Sceptre was the most to be feared of all.

“I admit I was taken aback,” the spy said. “It was a shock, and for a little while I just stood there staring. If I had known, I would not have waited.”

“Known what?” Neal asked.

“That I was being followed.” she said. “I heard a thump, and footsteps, and then more, from back down the passageway. I ran straight for the opening across from me. I tried to grab the Sceptre, but my hand slid around it as though it were surrounded by glass, though I could see none. The footsteps were getting closer, so I ran.”

“What made you believe them to be hostile?” Neal said. “It could have been Lord Fel or his people, looking for you.”

“It wasn’t,” she said. “The other opening led to another passageway, but it didn’t slope or turn. It just ran smack into a wall of stone. I turned around, but the passageway was now blocked behind me. A cloaked and hooded figure filled it, and he was drawing a bow. It could have been a trick of the light, but all I could see of his face was a flash of eyes-like a cat. There was no hope of escape, and I knew his arrow would soon strike, so I stumbled backwards, though I knew it would just pin me against the wall. But it didn’t! I stepped right back through that wall and found myself outside, standing on the old road. I ran, and I’ve been fleeing ever since--to you.”

“Quite a story,” Neal said. “Oh, don’t worry-'' he held up a hand. “I believe you. I’ve seen strange things before; whenever the Eldan are involved things get squirrely.”

“Do you have any questions?” she asked. “If not, I will report to my Officer. I will need a new mission, since I’ve botched the last one.”

Neal didn’t, so he shook his head. He might not like spies, but this one at least seemed smart and competent. They’d met a few times before, and he didn’t ever have a problem with her. He got up to go inside as she stepped back off the porch and into the rain, and he was immediately knocked back into his seat by a blast of sound and light. Ears ringing, blinking at his washed-out vision, Neal pushed away from his chair. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed people coming out of the house, but as soon as he could see his eyes fixed on a figure lying on the ground. It was the spy. She had been struck dead by a bolt of lightning.