The trio walked through the night, and Harpyn managed to keep pace the whole way. Brugo didn’t even scold him once. Still, his legs were growing weary and the weight of the sword was starting to wear on him. He was a mage, after all, and lugging around heavy equipment wasn’t really part of the job description.

But when they came upon another little town in the early morning hours, Brugo and Anaya both decided it wasn’t safe. Instead, they had decided on an alternate route to Yaal, one which would take them far off the main path and back into the depths of the forest.

In theory, based on his studying of the maps in Geor’s tower, Harpyn supposed that this new route may actually be the quickest way to reach Yaal. However, he had grown rather fond of the flat road and the lack of scary beasts howling in the night. Spending the next two nights in the woods did not sound like fun to him at all.

Moreover, Harpyn was a bit miffed by the fact that Anaya had not answered a single one of his questions about the magic she’d used during the night. Every time he’d asked, she’d only shrugged and said she didn’t know.

How was that possible? He simply couldn’t believe that she had no idea how it happened. Outside of Torg Uyen, he’d fallen for her excuses, that she knew little and had little power. But now? He couldn’t ignore the things he’d seen her do. She had to know something!

Harpyn kept an eye on her as they left the main path and headed for the tree line once more. As they approached, the bushes at the edge of the forest seemed to sway and then moved aside to clear a narrow path for them. He couldn’t believe it. She was humming under her breath, pretending it was all a big coincidence.

Soon, they came to a little clearing full of grass and flowers. A single beam of sunshine shone down through the canopy, giving the place a warm glow.

“Let’s sleep here,” she said. “We can move on after we’ve had some rest. But we’ll be safe in these woods.”

Harpyn set down the sword and stretched out on the soft, pillowy grass. “How do you know?”

She shrugged again, smiling to herself. “I don’t know. But I can feel the magic of my people flowing through this place. It’s in the trees and the soil. It’s all around us.”

Harpyn looked around doubtfully. He didn’t feel any magic here. And what did that say about him? Surely, he, a mage, should be able to feel the magic himself if it was so abundant. But other than a few fizzes and pops from the sword laying beside him, it looked like any other forest.

“If you say so,” he murmured to himself, growing irritated.

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He lay back and stared up at the sky through the hole in the canopy. Every once in a while, a flying squirrel or a bird would appear and then disappear back into the dense branches above. His mind was full of questions and the longer he thought on them, the darker his mood grew. Just before he slept, he had one final thought: everyone was keeping secrets from him.

Something woke Harpyn with a start a little while later. It was still morning. The sun was filtering through the trees and lighting the forest floor in wide swaths.

He sat up and looked around for the source of the disruption. Brugo was asleep against a log, his axe gripped tightly in his hands as it lay across his lap. Anaya was sleeping peacefully amid a bed of flowers that Harpyn was certain had not been there earlier.

A painful jolt coursed up Harpyn’s arm, and he looked down, seeing the sword smoldering in his old cloak. As he’d feared, the thing had finally managed to burn through the soft material, and now it lay gleaming in a singular ray of light.

At first, Harpyn pulled his arm away from the thing, shuffling sideways to put some distance between himself and the cursed blade. But then, as he stared at it in consternation, he felt a tug in his fingertips. Something made him want to grab the sword once more. He’d already risked it once with the soldiers, and nothing bad had happened. But maybe it got worse and worse with time? Anaya didn’t seem to be getting sick from handling the divining rods. She swore that was different, though.

He was still contemplating all of this when he found himself moving forward against his own will. It was subtle at first. His fingers tracing tiny circles in the grass until they accidentally brushed against the sword’s pommel. An innocent mistake, really. But the second time it happened, he let his fingers linger over the blade, following the etched designs that ran its full length.

Looking around the clearing once more, Harpyn took a deep breath and lifted the sword gingerly, testing its weight in his hands. Strangely, it seemed pleased by this. The sword’s outbursts ceased and he could practically feel it purring in his hands.

“Tell me your secrets,” he whispered to it.

The sword did not respond, but there was a noise at the edge of the clearing. Harpyn looked up, but he froze when a great, shaggy white head appeared between some trees. It was the largest wolf Harpyn had ever seen, and it was staring straight at him with golden eyes.

Scrambling to his feet, he held the sword in front of him, prepared to fight off the beast if it tried to make a lunch of him. But the wolf remained still, watching patiently, and eventually Harpyn lowered the sword’s point toward the ground.

The wolf stepped into the clearing, its shining white coat picking up the sunlight. And that was when Harpyn saw it for what it was. It was one of the creatures called by the artifacts. It had the same ethereal appearance as the harpies. Now that it was closer, he could see the silver and gold flecks shimmering off of its white fur.

A rush of excitement filled him. This had to mean something! Had the thief seen the white wolf before the sword killed him? Harpyn decided probably not. But he, Harpyn, saw the wolf, and it made him feel… powerful. For the first time in his life, he had something that no one else had. Something better than ordinary magic.

The wolf shook its head, the long white hair flowing back and forth in great waves before it settled. Then, it turned toward Yaal. And at the edge of the clearing, it paused, looking back over its shoulder, waiting for Harpyn to follow.