Spring bloom had well and truly taken root as Jack approached the walls of Bowerstone. The spring equinox and Avossuns Day were just around the corner, and the town was already preparing for the festival. The normally sober grey stone walls had been painted a riot of colours and floral designs by the townspeople on Lady Grey’s coin. The bridge leading to the main gates was festooned with flowering vines and Jack felt the scent and cheer of the upcoming celebration raising his own spirits for the first time in a long time. His birthday fell on Avossuns Day, and this year, he had a present from his sister waiting to be opened. Thinking of the small wrapped object in his pouch only served to raise his spirits higher, and so it was with a broad grin on his face that Jack approached the Guards at the gates of Bowerstone.

A familiar face greeted him. “Ah, Hiroo. See yer beck,” the Black Guard said, accent as thick as Jack remembered.

“Lieutenant Karl, right?” Jack said, half guessing.

“Tha’s ray,” Karl said. “Didnae spect grae Hiroo tae memer.”

Jack looked at the elder blankly. “Excuse me?”

Karl chuckled and leaned into the sword he used as a cane. “Nae mind. Ye know the drill. Weepons, nae magic, kep the pess,” he said, speaking slower.

Jack lay a gloved hand on the hilt of his sword, fully understanding Duran’s reluctance to surrender his hammer on their last visit to the city. Reluctantly, he undid the belt that his sword was fastened to and handed it over.

The Black Guard accepted the sword, taking it by the sheath. He turned back for the Guardhouse, waving the Hero towards the gates. “Tek ker, Wraith.”

Jack stood a little straighter, his grin returning. He hadn’t known Markus’ tale had spread all the way to Bowerstone. He could only hope that Skorm cursed song hadn’t come with it. Bad enough it had rapidly become a favourite south of the Darkwood; if he had to sit through it in the taverns of Bowerstone he would have to seriously consider never showing his face again.

He passed through the heavy open gates and under the wall, and whatever spell that blocked his connection to his Will took hold. He grimaced at the unpleasant sensation and tried to put it from his mind, with little success. The last few months, first during his winter search through the Darkwood and then his slow journey north with his sister, had given him many spare hours to play with his Will, and now he had nothing-even the connection to his sword that was always at the back of his mind had been taken away.

Jack made his way along the paved road that led from the main gates to the gates of Bowerstone North - not that the Guards there would grant him entry. Small time Traders and vendors hawked their wares at the stalls that lined the road, but few called out to him, the disgruntled look on his face perhaps warning them away. Turning from the paved road, he made for the tavern that he and Duran stayed at on their previous visit.

The tavern’s entrance was on one of the roughly cobbled side streets, part of the tall rows of buildings that made up the less affluent part of town. With outward growth limited by the walls, the buildings naturally grew upwards, few less than three stories tall. They crowded together, making the already narrow streets feel even more cramped. The closed in feeling wasn’t helped by the unusual amount of foot traffic heading for the tavern at the moment, either. The doors proclaiming it to be ‘The Blue Moon’ were in almost constant motion as people entered and left despite having no apparent need to be there.

Even without his sword, the armour he wore marked him as a Hero, and the other pedestrians moved around him as he entered the tavern. The ground floor was one open space save for the supporting beams; a bar and kitchen area was closed off at the back wall. Round tables were set about the place and most were full of men nursing ale and mead as if the drink were their newborn child. A small crowd was clustered around one of the corner booths, but the object of their interest was blocked from view.

Jack approached the barkeep, reaching for his money pouch. A messy sign above the bar read ‘PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY’ in blocky letters. The man was busy, as it seemed that every new arrival bought a cheap drink before finding a seat to do nothing in particular. After a short wait, the man turned to him.

“Ale?” the barkeep asked, already holding a mug under a keg. He was middle aged, with a balding head and the beginnings of a gut beneath his leather apron.

“No thanks,” Jack answered quickly. His mouth soured at the thought of the drink. “Are there any rooms free?”

“We have private rooms, but no dorms,” the barkeep said.

“I’ll take a private room,” Jack said, counting out silver coins. “Prices haven’t changed recently?”

“Still twenty silver a night,” the man said. He took the coins offered. “I’ll have my serving girl show you your room. MAISY!”

There was a clatter from the kitchen area, and a girl of about thirteen summers appeared from behind the dividing wall, wiping flour covered hands on her apron.

“Take our customer to the fourth floor corner room,” the balding man said. “And don’t dawdle, we’re still behind on prep thanks to this business.” He jerked his head at the crowd occupying the tavern, attention already turned to the next customer.

Maisy curtseyed in her grey dress and turned for a steep set of stairs at the other end of the bar. Jack followed, curiosity over the scene in the tavern beginning to weigh on him. They reached the next floor, another open room this time lined with bunks, and turned up another steep staircase.

“Why so many people in the tavern?” Jack asked as they climbed.

“They’re here to see the Hero, sir,” Maisy said, eyes kept on the stairs before her. “She took up a booth around lunch.”

“A Hero?” Jack asked, interest piqued. “Anyone Renowned?”

“It’s Briar Rose, sir,” the serving girl said.

“Ah,” Jack said. Briar Rose was a Name known across Albion, the woman having Quested across the land for almost fifteen years now. Rumour said she had been sponsored by the famous Scarlet Robe; and he had long admired her penchant for completing Quests through skill and trickery.

“Are you not a Hero yourself, sir?” Maisy asked, glancing quickly over her shoulder.

“I am,” Jack said. Pride rose within him, just as it had on his first day, and as it would for many to come.

“Your Name, sir?” Maisy said, almost squeaking.

Jack grinned. “My name is Jack, but my Name is Wraith.”

Maisy whirled around as she reached the top of the stairs, looking at him eye to eye. “Oooh! You defeated Twinblade the Bandit King! You’re one of the youngest graduates in fifty years and you still graduated ahead of your class! Maze himself sponsored you!” She let out a squeal.

Jack almost took a step back he was so alarmed by her intensity. “Uh…”

“You’re my favourite Hero!” Maisy said.

“Really?” Jack said, grin returning.

“Yep! My sister Daisy teases me for liking such a new Hero but she likes Warlock and he’s a bad Hero so what she thinks doesn’t count.”

“I fought one of Warlock’s friends a few months ago,” Jack confided in his fan.

“Who was it?” Maisy asked. “Was it Druid or Ironsides or Duellist or--”

“Duellist. He beat me in a sword fight, so I zapped him with lightning,” Jack said. After the attack on Badger, he had paid attention to any gossip he overheard about the man.

“Ooh. They fought in the Arena last winter! I never knew you’d fought Duellist, and I know all about you!”

Jack smiled weakly. “That’s...good to hear?”

Maisy beamed. “This is so exciting! Daisy will be green with envy,” she chattered on as she turned the resumed leading Jack to his room. “She hasn’t even seen Warlock.”

Jack’s floor was higher still, and his room was at the end of a narrow hallway. It had a small window overlooking the street, for what little view it afforded him. He gave the simple room a cursory glance; he wouldn’t be spending more than the night in it if all went to plan.

“If there is anything you need just ask me,” Missy said. She curtseyed once more before practically skipping away.

Jack took up the key she had left in the door, and removed the few pieces of armour he wore, depositing them in his pouch. It was still several hours until dusk, and the time would pass all too slowly cooped up in the small room. Perhaps he would take a late lunch in the tavern. Not to crowd around Briar Rose like the rest of the slack jawed townspeople, of course. Just to eat.

X

Jack sat in a corner of the tavern, a table to himself. The number of men nursing cups had dwindled, but there was still a small gaggle gathered around the booth that Briar occupied. He caught a glimpse of the woman from time to time, but only by chance. He focused studiously on the remainder of the pie before him.

Maisy fluttered over to his table, bearing a pitcher of Orchard Farm apple juice to refill his cup. He had tipped her a silver piece earlier and she had taken it as an excuse to wait on him near hand and foot. It was flattering, if a little uncomfortable.

He glanced over at the occupied corner booth again, and found Briar Rose looking back. He started, and she smirked at him over the round lenses of the glasses she wore perched on her nose. She beckoned to him. He almost glanced back over his shoulder, but remembered his back was to the wall. Swallowing down the last spoonful of pie, he stood and made his way over.

The fans crowding around her booth parted as he approached, looking between them like they were a spectacle at a fair.

“Don’t think I didn’t see you glancing over here, young Hero,” Briar Rose said by way of introduction. A red bandanna kept her hair from her eyes. “Yearning from afar?”

Jack almost choked, painfully aware of the people watching them talk with rapt attention.

Briar’s smirk deepened. “If you wanted to admire my trophies, all you had to do was ask.” She gestured to the collection of objects set out on the table before her.

It was going to be like that, then. Despite the free chairs at the table, Briar’s audience had remained standing, and Jack took a seat directly across from her, not caring to wait for an invitation he could sense was not coming. Deliberately, he held her gaze.

“I was just comparing them to my own--” Jack broke off, distracted from his rejoinder by one of her trophies. “Is that a shrunken Trader’s head?”

“Why yes, it is,” Briar said, looking incredibly pleased. “He didn’t understand that people aren’t a commodity to be traded. I had to educate him.”

Impressed noises came from their spectators, and their attention shifted to Jack.

“I’m just surprised you carry your severed heads around with you,” Jack said.

“Trophies are meant to be shown off, little Hero,” Briar said. “Have you taken one of your own yet? A hobbe, or perhaps a bandit?” She leaned back into her booth, bare arms stretched out to either side.

“A balverine, actually,” Jack said. “Not the largest I slew, but I took its head with a single blow, so…” he shrugged.

“Fresh out of the Guild, already hitting nasties with sharp things,” Briar said. “It warms my heart. I didn’t slay my first white balverine until I was a few years out. Its pelt makes a wonderful winter coat.” Her eyes glittered, anticipatory.

“It wasn’t a white balverine,” Jack said, smile slipping.

“Ah, you’ll get there,” Briar said. “These things take time.”

Jack scowled, internally, but he had a feeling Briar saw it. “My friend and I put down a rock troll, our first week as Heroes,” he said, reaching into his pouch. He pulled out a small vial, full of red shards. “I blasted one eye with lightning, and the splinters had to be pulled from my face.”

Their spectators oohed, and this time it was Briar they looked to for a response.

“I once tricked a pair of rock trolls into attacking each other,” Briar said. She flicked her hair away from her ears, revealing a pair of sapphire studded earrings. “Turned their eyes into jewellery. Didn’t get a scratch on me.”

“I got a scratch on me, my last Quest,” Jack said. He lifted his chin, drawing attention to the faintest white line just below his adams apple. “It’s the only mark Twinblade the Bandit King made on me before I killed him.” Smirking, he slapped a heavy metal token embossed with a bandanna wearing skull down on the table.

Their spectators started whispering to each other, the word ‘Wraith’ bandied about.

Briar let out a low, impressed whistle, before laughing. “Nice one, kid. I’ll give you this one; I haven’t done anything nearly as impressive recently.” She reached into a pocket on the leather jacket discarded beside her, and flicked something towards him.

Jack caught it reflexively, opening his hand to find a single gold coin. He looked at it in surprise.

“Alright boys, show’s over,” Briar said. “Time to leave us in peace and go do...whatever it is you should be doing that isn’t here.”

The small crowd filtered away, talking avidly amongst themselves. They didn’t seem to care that they had just been dismissed like unruly children.

“I had a feeling about you,” Briar said, completely at ease with her ‘loss’. She took her glasses from her nose and place them in a pouch, out of the way. “But it’s hard to tell with you newcomers. None of you have picked up any identifiers yet.”

“What, like your leather?” Jack asked before he could think.

“Yeah, like that,” Briar said, unphased. “If it weren’t for those gloves of yours I wouldn’t have twigged and invited you for a boast.”

“My gloves?”

“Yeah. You burn your hands or something, Will experiment gone wrong?”

“Or something,” Jack said, and Briar snorted. “What’d you mean by a boast?”

“You hadn’t come across one yet?” Briar asked, eyebrows rising. “Thought you seemed a little prickly to begin.”

“Yes, well…”

“No fear,” Briar said, flicking one hand in dismissal. “I don’t have to explain the point behind it to you though, do I?”

“I’m not that fresh,” Jack said, crossing his arms.

“Good,” Briar said, taking a sip of her drink. “Just don’t be getting cocky. Any Hero who has been doing this as long as I have will have three stories just as impressive as your Bandit King one.”

Jack nodded. It was good advice, but he wasn’t sure how he felt taking instruction from someone who wasn’t Maze or the Guildmaster. He rolled his shoulders, self conscious, as he noticed Briar staring at him intently. She was frowning. “Is there something on my face?”

“It’s nothing; don’t fret your pretty little head about it,” she said. She began to pack her trophies away.

Jack raised a disgruntled eyebrow that Briar ignored completely. He made to rise and return to his own table when a wild thought struck him. “Say you had to kill a Hero many

times stronger than yourself,” he said suddenly. “How would you go about doing it?”

Briar blinked at him, pausing with the shrunken Trader’s head in one hand. “Don’t you already know the answer to that one?”

“More powerful than Twinblade,” Jack said. “Much more powerful.”

“Shoot them in the back when they aren’t looking,” she said, shrugging. She tossed the head negligently into her duffel, before peering at him with a frown on her face. “Why? Thinking of trying your hand at headhunting?”

“No, nothing like that,” Jack said. “Just an idle thought.”

“Voice idle thoughts like that around the wrong Hero and you’ll know about it,” Briar warned. She stowed the last of her trophies and downed the last of her drink. Inspecting him one last time, she stood and shrugged her jacket on. “Avo, you’re fresh,” she said, and shook her head.

Jack watched, expression mulish, as Briar Rose departed, apparently deeming her words a sufficient farewell. He was beginning to wonder if he would ever meet a senior Hero that didn’t rub him the wrong way in some manner, his mentors aside.

Klessan’s brother had been right though. She did wear those leather pants of her marvellously well.

X

Jack whittled away the hours on the tavern floor, left alone at the table in the corner he had claimed for himself. With Briar long gone, the gawkers had followed, and the only patrons besides himself were the dock workers who had finished at the quay and headed straight for the pub. Maisy brought him the occasional drink as he pored over Maze’s book; he was nearly finished. The archmage’s thoughts on spell creation were fascinating.

The tavern doors were flung open and a familiar woman stepped through, arms raised in victory. “Firs--oof!” She was flung forward onto the floor as a heavy weight collided with her back.

The ‘heavy weight’ panted happily, drooling onto the back of the woman’s head as it lay on her. Another familiar figure stepped through the door, scratching the shaggy dog’s ears as he passed. It looked to be an indeterminate mix of breeds, covered in coarse hair and perpetually eager.

“First,” Duran announced as he stepped over the dog. “Good boy.”

“Still beat you,” the woman’s muffled voice protested from where she was pinned.

The dog wagged its tail.

“And yet, here I am sitting down with Jack while you’re laying on the floor,” Duran said as he approached the table. The wooden floor vibrated under his footsteps.

“He has a point, Klessan,” Jack said. He rose to meet his friend and they exchanged a brief one armed hug, slapping each other on the back.

“Jack?” Klessan said. She raised her head, squinting towards him. A wide smile broke out across her face, stretching the scar on her cheek. She twisted easily out from under the dog and sprang to her feet, bounding over to join them. The dog gave a mournful sort of huff as it got up to follow, and Jack was wrapped in a crushing hug. “You never Seal-talked me, how have you been, do you have any new scars? When is Whisper due to arrive?”

Jack took a step back at the barrage, and Duran laughed. “Uhh. Good. Yes. I don’t know,” he said.

“Told you he’d get more,” Duran said.

“At least tell me what you’ve been up to since we last met,” Klessan ignored Duran, plonking herself down in a chair. “Any exciting news?”

“Yes,” Jack said. He took a sip of his drink to hide his smile.

“Well?” Klessan asked, impatient. The dog nosed at her knee, then settled itself down between her and Duran.

“I’ll tell you when Whisper gets here.”

Klessan crossed her arms with a humpf of exasperation, but Duran began to smirk and a sudden sense of foreboding settled in Jack’s gut.

Duran began to whistle a tune, a horribly recognisable tune that had haunted Jack’s footsteps at every Trader camp he had stopped at on his way from Oakvale to Bowerstone.

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head in denial. “Just no.”

“...he slaughtered the bandits, he defended the poor! Stood up to the King, he gave him what for!” Duran sang, horribly off key.

“Shut up Duran,” Jack said urgently. He shot a nervous look around the tavern. This was just the place that would take up the song and sing it to death and then bring it back for a rousing encore.

A look of glee was dawning across Klessan’s face. “Oh Avo that’s awful,” she said. “I love it. You have to teach me all the words Duran.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jack said, but the dreadlocked man just smirked at him.

“What did you do to get a song written about you?” Klessan asked.

“I killed Twinblade, the ex Hero Bandit King,” Jack said proudly.

Klessan let out a low whistle, eyebrows raised. “Nice one, Jack.”

“It’s ‘Wraith’ now, actually,” Jack said, smirking at his friends. “But don’t worry, I’ll still let you call me Jack.”

Duran inclined his head mockingly, and Klessan pursed her lips, pretending to think.

“It’s not bad as Names go, not bad at all..but it’s not quite as amazing as something like Whiplash either,” she said, leaning back in her chair to wait for their reactions.

Duran was the first to catch on. “You earned a Name?” he asked, dismayed. “You didn’t say a thing.”

“How’d you earn it?” Jack asked, leaning forward with interest. He looked over to the bar, catching Maisy’s eye. He pointed at his friends, miming a drinking action, and she nodded.

“Ma and I were on a run to one of those big name horse breeders who maintain the trade fair near Naiad Lake when these real cloak and dagger types tried to make off with their prize stallion,” Klessan said. “I rustled them in the middle of it and chased them off.”

“That earned you a Name?” Duran asked, surprised. Jack shared the sentiment.

Klessan shook her head. “The breeder hired me to find out who sent them. I tracked them to a rival of the breeder...and then I stole their prize stallion.”

“Wait,” Jack said, frowning. “Are you the girl who rode the bloodline stallion through the middle of the Naiad trade fair with thirty hired hands chasing her?”

Klessan snorted. “Maybe ten, at most. But yeah, let’s go with thirty.”

Maisy arrived with their drinks and a bowl of nuts, leaving them with a curtsy. Duran took a swig immediately, while Klessan sniffed hers first.

“This is terrible,” Duran said, throwing his hands up in the air. “I can’t believe I’m the last one to earn a Name.”

“We don’t know if Whisper has one yet,” Jack said.

“‘Whisper’ is her Hero Name,” Duran said dismissively. “I will not allow this to stand,” he added, stamping his foot and raising his eyes skyward.

Klessan flicked a nut at him, hitting him square between the eyes. “Stop sulking, big man. You’ll get your Name.”

“I was thinking, actually,” Jack said, “that seeing as how we’re all going to be together, we might as well take a Quest together.”

Duran peered at him. “What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” Jack protested.

“He’s definitely up to something,” Klessan said, turning to peer at him as well.

“You’re right. I plan to challenge Jack of Blades to a death match and I want you guys to back me up,” Jack said, tone dry.

“Fine then, don’t tell us,” Klessan said, rolling her eyes.

“Do you know when Whisper is due to arrive?” Duran asked. “Or where she plans to stay?”

Jack shrugged. “I thought she would be here before us, and I’m not sure. Which inn are you two staying at?”

“Hero’s Rest,” Duran said.

“Overpriced shanty,” Jack said.

“Yes, the best inn in Bowerstone South is a shanty,” Duran said. “You’re just mad because you couldn’t argue them down on prices last time we were here.”

“I overheard some Traders saying Briar Rose was here,” Klessan said. “Did you see her, Jack?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked impatiently.

“Your brother was right about her leather pants,” Jack said.

Klessan pulled a face. “Ass,” she said. “I dare you to say that to her face.”

Duran snorted. “She’d kick his arse.”

“Probably,” Jack said.

The tavern doors swung open, and a dark skinned woman clad in blues and light chain stepped through. Whisper had arrived, and she wasted no time in staggering over to their table to sink into a seat, setting her travel pack down with a thud. She was breathing heavily.

The three of them eyed their friend, and the veil she wore drawn across her face from the nose down.

“New look, Wisp?” Jack asked.

Whisper unhooked the veil from where it was tied to her hat, revealing her face. Her eyes were red rimmed and streaming, her nose was swollen and dripping, and her mouth was set in a thin, displeased line. “I loathe the spring festival with the fury of a raging kraken,” she said. Her words were diminished by the nasal tone her blocked nose imposed upon them.

“Wow,” Klessan said. “You look horrible.”

Whisper turned her eyes on her friend, attempting to scowl, but Klessan grinned unrepentantly.

“If we left Bowerstone, I could take a look at it?” Duran offered, wiggling his fingers.

“Yes,” Whisper said. But she made no effort to rise from her seat.

Maisy arrived with another drink, having seen Whisper join them, but stopped in her tracks upon seeing her face. She gave a startled ‘oh’ and rushed back to the kitchen.

“Scaring the serving girls, are we?” Klessan said.

Whisper gave a huff, and Maisy returned with a steaming mug of...something.

“What is it?” Whisper asked suspiciously.

Jack leaned in to sniff it and recoiled at the overpowering smell. His eyes watered.

“Drink it in one go; it’ll help,” Maisy said.

Whisper considered it for a moment, before taking the mug and knocking it back in three long gulps.

The four of them watched for a long moment, waiting for Whisper’s reaction.

“Huh,” she said, eyebrows rising as her eyes stopped streaming. “I actually feel--” she blanched suddenly, rising to bolt for the washroom.

Three sets of eyes turned to Maisy.

“This is normal,” Maisy reassured them, taking the empty but still steaming mug from the table. “She’ll be hungry when she gets back.”

“What are you serving?” Duran asked, diverted by the mention of food.

“We have a roast hog just about to come off the spit,” Maisy said brightly. “If you come with me I can get you the best cuts.”

“Done,” Duran said, pulling a silver coin from nowhere and handing it to Maisy. “Come on Klessan, let’s go defend my hog. I haven’t had a roast since I left the mountains.”

Maisy had the coin tucked away in her breastband before it could even glint in the torchlight; she had probably already made more tonight than the inn paid her in a month. She led them away towards the bar, almost skipping. “So are you two friends of….”

Whatever question she asked was swallowed by the noise of the tavern, and Jack had the table to himself again, his good cheer from earlier in the day fully restored now that he was reunited with his childhood companions.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Whisper was the first to return, a slight pallor to her face but overall much improved. “Thank Avo for helpful inn girls,” she said. “That was awful.”

“You never got it that bad back at the Guild,” Jack said.

“Back at the Guild they didn’t insist on draping every lane with flowers,” Whisper said. “Ugh. I need food.”

“There’s a roast hog; Duran and Klessan have gone to get some.”

“Good. I could eat it raw--hello, who is this?” Whisper said, looking under the table.

The dog whuffed, and Jack heard its tail beating against the floor. “He didn’t introduce himself,” he said. His sparkling wit was ignored in favour of petting the animal. “I’m not sure which of them he belongs to, actually.”

“I say Klessan. Duran would have tried to train a wolfpup.”

“What an excellent idea,” Duran said, announcing his return. “I will call it Mouse.”

Whisper gave the proclamation the attention it deserved, her eyes fixed on the plates Duran, Klessan and Maisy carried. The mountain man held two plates piled high with roast meat, vegetables, and mash potato. He set both plates down before his chair, his burden apparently all for him.

Klessan carried another two. “His name is Brute, and he’s a big puppy. He found me at the Naiad lake trade fair.” She handed one of her plates to Whisper.

Maisy brought up the rear, carrying a heaped plate that had to be nearly half as heavy as she was. Jack moved his tankard, and she placed it before him with a thunk. He reached for his coin purse, but Duran waved him off.

“Already paid for,” the big man said. “Just add me to your tab.”

Jack nodded his thanks to Maisy, and they all fell to with an appetite earned from time on the roads. Their drinks were refreshed, and for the next short while, they focused on their meals. Cutlery clinked against plates as the dull murmur of the inn surrounded them. He might not have been nearly Duran’s size, but exercising his Will to the degree he had over the past months required fuel, and this was his first opportunity to eat to his stomach’s content since he had left Oakvale.

At length, the Heroes had eaten their fill, mopping up the gravy soaked remnants with chunks of coarse bread. Duran had loosened his belt, and was leaning back in his chair, looking as if he might doze off, while Whisper fed Brute small tidbits. The big puppy’s tail was in danger of beating a hole in the floor.

“Jack,” Klessan said, voice lazy in the way of all well fed teenagers. “You going to share that news of yours now?”

Jack allowed a smile to tug at his lips, anticipating a reaction. “I found my sister.”

Duran sat up like a hobbe had lit a fire under his arse. “What?!?” A surprised grin was spreading across his face.

“Jack that’s fantastic!” Klessan didn’t squeal, but it was a near thing. “Is she here with you? How is she?”

“Good for you, farmboy,” Whisper said quietly. Of all his friends, she was the one who had been woken by his nightmares in those early years at the Guild, the one came closest to knowing just what it meant to find his sister safe and well.

“She’s good. We had to go our separate ways after the Darkwood, but she is in good health,” Jack said. The memory of her sightless eyes flickered across his mind’s eye for a moment. “Or as well as can be expected,” he amended.

“You split up? Why?” Whisper asked, frowning.

“Where was she?” Klessan added.

“We’ll be meeting up again soon,” Jack said to Whisper, realising that perhaps a busy inn wasn’t the best place to discuss the particulars of his reconnection with Theresa. “And...she was with Twinblade.”

Duran’s eyebrows rose. “You say she was in good health,” he said cautiously, a subtle question in his voice.

Jack nodded. A year ago, the unspoken question would have sent him into a dark mood, but no more. “Twinblade had...taken her as an apprentice, of sorts,” he said. “It wasn’t an easy life, but she did well for herself.”

Klessan cocked her head, eyes searching. “Did well for herself, or did well for herself?”

Jack shrugged, uncomfortable. He hadn’t talked to Theresa about her using her gift to aid the Bandit King, and she had offered few details. “She survived.”

Klessan nodded and let the matter rest.

“She has no issue with your victory over the man who raised her?” Whisper asked bluntly.

“Twinblade might have saved her life, but he didn’t raise her,” Jack said, frowning. “And she always knew our meeting would end in his death.”

Whisper looked at him sharply at his words, but kept her thoughts to herself. Before Jack could do more than cock an eyebrow at her, Duran had taken up his tankard.

“This is an occasion to be celebrated,” he declared. “To siblings, lost and found. Mountain-Father keep you both.”

The four Heroes clinked their drinks together and knocked them back. Klessan laid a hand on Jack’s and squeezed with smile, and Whisper knocked her knee against his. Even Brute laid a shaggy head on his foot. He couldn’t tell his friends all, not here and now, but at the moment, it was enough.

“So, when are you going to introduce me to this sister of yours?” Duran asked, interrupting the quiet moment. He waggled his eyebrows ridiculously. Klessan groaned as Whisper snorted in disgust.

Jack threw a gravy soaked chunk of bread at him.

X x X

Four Heroes and a dog approached the main gates of the Guild of Heroes, their shadows preceding them. They had made good time from Bowerstone, an early start and well conditioned bodies speeding them on their way. Brute bounded ahead, excited to explore somewhere new. Klessan whistled for him half heartedly, but made no move to pursue him.

“If he jumps on a Trainee he’ll break their ribs and the Guildmaster will lecture you,” Duran said.

“Brutie won’t do that, he’s a well behaved darling,” Klessan said.

“Sure he is,” Jack said. “Look ahead.”

Klessan looked forward, to the Guild doors and the hound that had just cocked a leg against them. She wailed as the floodgates were opened. “Brute no, you pest!”

Brute’s ears flattened and his eyes grew round as his master dashed towards him, looking incredibly guilty--but he didn’t stop, either.

“I swear that dog does it to her on purpose,” Whisper said as the two boys snickered.

They caught up quickly, just as Klessan finished ‘scolding’ Brute with a scratch behind the ears.

“Come on,” Jack said. “I’m tired of carrying this bag around.”

His friends rolled their eyes at him and his small pouch, reminded again of the heavy packs they carried on their shoulders. Jack and Whisper pushed through the double doors, and the Guild welcomed them home.

The Guildmaster stood in the entrance hall, waiting to greet them. “It is good to see you again, students,” he said.

“It is good to be home, Guildmaster,” Whisper answered for them.

“Will you be staying long?” the old man asked.

“Just the night,” Duran said, “if there are any rooms to be had.

The Guildmaster inclined his head. “Of course.”

“Are there any quality Quest cards to be had, sir?” Klessan asked, peering down the hall towards the Map Room.

“There are several,” the Guildmaster said. “What did you have in mind?”

Jack kept his peace as his friends quizzed their mentor, content to let them do the talking. After the long months he had put in strengthening and refining his Will pathways, the Guild suddenly felt like it had more depth, more to show him than he had been able to perceive before. It was like a half remembered tune, waxing and waning in and out of hearing, but just too slippery for his Will to come to grips with.

“-aster Jack?”

Jack started, broken from his thoughts. “Sorry, what?”

“Maze has left a message for you in his chambers, Master Jack,” the Guildmaster repeated himself.

“Thank you,” Jack said, Klessan poking him in the ribs with her elbow. “Is he not here now?”

“He left on business in the north several days ago,” the Guildmaster said, and Jack slouched, disappointed.

“The key to the tower,” the Guildmaster continued, offering a simple brass key from within his robes.

Jack accepted the key and nearly dropped it; it was startlingly hot to the touch. He played hot potato with it for a few moments before thinking to draw on his Will. With a thought, the key iced over and stopped giving off heat, whatever expression of Will that had been placed on it satisfied.

The Guildmaster’s moustache twitched in amusement as he turned to the others. “Come. I will have an Apprentice show you to your rooms, and you will tell me something of your adventures. I have heard little of you, Master Duran, up in your mountains…”

Duran scowled in embarrassment as he followed the Guildmaster deeper in the Guild. Whisper and Klessan fell in behind him, refraining from even gentle teasing. A subtle scolding from the Guildmaster was never fun. Jack left them at the Map Room, his path leading elsewhere.

X

The doors to Maze’s workspace at the top of his tower yielded to the key the Guildmaster had given him. He stepped inside, his first time without his mentor there to greet him. A spark of Will drew his attention to the heavy desk that sat before the stained glass window. There was a single page upon it, half covered in the spidery scrawl that belonged to Maze.

‘Should you receive this missive at a reasonable hour, I have an exercise for you,’ it began.

Jack grumbled to himself and made for the half hidden cabinet that he knew Maze kept his drinks in. If he was going to be put through another ‘learning exercise’ of Maze’s devising, he was going to treat himself. He retrieved a glass and a pitcher of the juice from the southern isles that Maze favoured and settled into one of the chairs before the desk.

‘You are to create and maintain a sympathetic connection between your Guild Seal and my own. What you use to establish the connection is up to you, and you are not to seek assistance from another.’

He frowned at the obtuse instructions, and poured himself a glass of juice. Maze’s book had attempted to trick him at times, but this was different. His frown faded as he warmed to the challenge. Klessan had contacted him through his Guild Seal just weeks after their graduation, months ago, and she had described the process. He strained his memory in an effort to remember what she had told him, but it didn’t fit with what Maze had instructed him to do. Jack drummed his fingers on the table. His mentor was teaching him sideways again, setting him up to learn two things at once. It wasn’t a bad way of teaching, but it often left him envious of the direct lessons his friends received. He was already starting to think this would be more than the work of an afternoon. With a final sigh, he buckled down and got to work. It would only be what Maze considered a reasonable hour for a few more bells, and the man could be grouchier than a drenched cat if woken.

X

Jack had made little progress by the time evening had set in, although the task itself was becoming clearer. What Maze wanted wasn’t a simple line of communication, he had long since puzzled that out with his friends, but something more. He had worn a frustrated frown for the past half hour; the phrase ‘sympathetic connection’ niggled familiarly at his brain. He couldn’t even ask the Guildmaster about it. He glanced out the window, downing the last of his juice.

Apprentices and Trainees were streaming back into the Guild from the training fields, seeking a bath and dinner after a hard day of study. His stomach rumbled, reminding him that his last meal had been a sandwich by the roadside.

“Jack, it is time for dinner,” Whisper’s voice came to him through his Guild Seal, hidden under his shirt.

He followed the line back with a thought and a tiny flicker of Will. “On my way,” he sent back, and began to tidy Maze’s desk, setting his own arms and armour to the side.

“Guildmaster is seating us at the high table,” Whisper added, before cutting the connection.

Jack descended from the tower, mind still on his task. His legs carried him to the eating hall of their own accord, just as they had done countless times during his years living at the Guild. The halls were bustling, growing more crowded as he neared his destination. Eventually, he was forced to stop, a wall of Apprentices blocking his way just outside the eating hall.

“What’s the hold up?” he asked.

“Olau finally had enough of Alex,” an Apprentice said, not looking back. “He laid him out-oh, the Instructors are here.” She sounded disappointed.

Jack felt a flicker of Will and assumed the two brawlers had been separated. “Can we get moving then?” he said, hunger making him irritable.

The Apprentice glanced back, giving him a cursory once over before looking forward again. “The servant’s entrance is to the side.”

“Excuse me?” Jack said, mouth twitching in amusement.

The Apprentice froze, turning to look at him again, properly this time. She took in his physique, not that of a mere servant, and his travel worn clothing. Her eyes stopped on the gloves he wore and she mouthed one of the filthiest curses Jack had ever come across. “Um. I mean if you wanted to get past this mess in a hurry, you could take the servants entrance, I’m sure you know where it is-oh bollocks-I mean--”

Jack fought against the smirk he could feel forming and lost. “Don’t stress, I’ll just make my way through.”

“Of course, I’ll just--Giselle, move--”

He would have felt bad for the Apprentice if he hadn’t been so amused. “No need,” he said easily, and he brought his Will to the surface. Blue light filled the hall, and Jack stepped through the wall of bodies before him. Some shivered as he passed through them as if doused in icy water, while others didn’t notice until an ethereal limb passed through their torso. In no time he was passing the Instructor scolding the two Apprentices and in the half full hall proper. He released his Will, doing his best not to smirk at the muttering behind him, and approached the main table.

The main table was set on a slight dais to one side of the hall, looking over the rows of tables where Trainees, Apprentices and Instructors mingled. The Guildmaster and Maze were the only two with a permanent spot, and Maze was a rare attendee. The other spaces were occupied by those invited by the Guildmaster; Trainees celebrating their birthday, Apprentices who had done exemplarily on a test, long time Instructors--visiting Heroes. Tonight, Jack’s friends occupied the seats of honour, but there were Apprentices present as well. Jack took one of the last unoccupied seats, across from his friends and the Guildmaster, his back to the hall.

“Subtle entrance,” Whisper said from next to the Guildmaster.

“He’s such a boy,” Klessan said to the Apprentice sitting next to her. The girl was young, and looked a little starstruck. Duran just nodded to him, talking to the boy to his right who was almost as solid as he was.

“Your time as a Hero has not helped you shake old habits, Master Jack,” the Guildmaster said dryly.

Jack ducked his head. “I’m getting better,” he said.

There was a clatter as a chair scraped across the stone floor and the last table guest joined them. It was the Apprentice that he had spoken with before entering the hall. Her freckles were highlighted by a blush, and she couldn’t quite meet Jack’s eyes. He recognised her in the vague way of having passed each other in the halls over the years.

“Students, this is Jack, more recently known as Wraith,” the Guildmaster said. “Jack, this is Dale,” the boy next to Duran, “Jane,” the girl talking to Klessan and Whisper, “and Ysolde,” he nodded to the freckled girl seated next to him. “She is proving to be quite creative in her application of Will, but I believe you may have some insight that could help Miss Ysolde in her more...extra curricular efforts.”

Jack turned a curious gaze on Ysolde. She looked down at the table and muttered something, chagrined.

“I electrocuted myself when I started using my Will outside of class,” Jack offered. She had arrived at the table already embarrassed, and the Guildmaster’s subtle admonishing hadn’t helped. The other two Apprentices hid smiles, perhaps not wanting to be caught laughing at a Hero, but Duran snorted outright.

“I remember having to heal you after that,” the mountain man said.

“You have a healing expression?” Dale, the Apprentice, asked in surprise.

Duran nodded. “You might be ahead of the curve in Strength, but if you neglect your Skill and Will you’ll have a bugger of a time against a weaker but more balanced opponent…”

Dale listened attentively as Duran picked up what must have been their previous thread of conversation, while Jane turned to ask Klessan about her fletching preferences.

“I turned myself blue,” Ysolde confided in Jack quietly, fiddling with a lock of dark hair.

“How did you manage that?” Jack asked, eyebrows raised.

“I was trying to create an expression to blend in with my surroundings,” Ysolde said. “It didn’t turn out like I had hoped.”

Jack thought for a second, considering the requirements of such an expression. “You didn’t give the expression the structure it needed, did you? Just thought of what you were standing in front of?”

Ysolde nodded, gloomy. “There was a blue curtain at my window. I had to go to the Guildmaster for help undoing it.”

Jack winced. The Guildmaster wasn’t one to coddle, especially when dealing with Apprentices breaking rules like the prohibition from practising Will without supervision. “I was lucky, I never had any problems my friends and I couldn’t deal with ourselves.”

“My friend didn’t make the cutoff for the last grading,” Ysolde said, looking down.

Jack paused for a moment too long, unsure of what to say. “I’m sure you’ll find new friends,” he said, feeling horribly awkward. He considered patting her on the shoulder, but thought better of it. “Have you been practising any other Will expressions?”

She was interrupted in responding as the servants brought plates heaped with Shepard’s Pie, still steaming from the ovens. Goblets of Orchard Farm apple cider were placed before the Heroes, while the Apprentices were given water.

“Some,” she said, taking up knife and fork. “I can summon fire, and ice.”

“That’s a good start,” Jack said, approving. “What can you do with them?”

Ysolde looked startled. “Uhm. Not much. I’m the most advanced in my class though,” she said, a touch defensive.

“Oh. Well, your next step...could be anything you can think of, but when I started on fire, I learned how to throw an explosive fireball, and then practised my control by making a whip out of it. I only started on ice recently, but I’ve been focusing on freezing the ground around me to disadvantage any foes.”

“Wow,” Ysolde said, meeting his eyes for the first time. “I haven’t thought of doing anything like that.”

“My mentor told me the biggest obstacle in developing your Will is your imagination,” Jack said. “You had a good idea with your chameleon expression, but it sounds like you need a more developed mental structure and a lot of focus.”

“Chameleon?” Ysolde asked.

“Reptile that takes on the colours of its surroundings,” Jack said. “I don’t think you’d ever achieve true invisibility with it, and you would have to tweak the expression every time you used it in a different environment, but it sounds like a very good idea.”

“You think true invisibility is possible?” Ysolde said, becoming more animated. “All the books I’ve read say it isn’t.”

“I know it is,” Jack said. “Maze can do it.”

“Oh,” Ysolde said, slouching. “He’s the archmage though.”

Jack frowned, washing down a spoonful of beef with some cider. “Everyone starts somewhere, right? Just because something seems impossible now, doesn’t mean it always will be.” A white mask and a red cowl crossed his mind’s eye, but he hauled his focus back to the present.

“I guess,” she said, but her expression was considering, not dejected.

“Just remember, every expression has to start somewhere,” he said. “I created an expression to stave off the need to sleep for a few days while I was an Apprentice, and last winter I combined it with another that sped up my perception of the world to create an expression that basically slow time.” He grinned.

“Slows time?” Ysolde asked. “That’s impossible,” she accused.

“Well, yes, I’m not actually slowing time, but that’s what it feels like when I use the expression,” Jack said.

“That sounds like it would take a toll,” she said, taking a sip of water.

“It does,” Jack said. He paused at an explosion of noise from the closest table, waiting for the good natured boisterousness to calm. “I’m still working on it, and it isn’t something I can use in combat yet. But just because something doesn’t work out at first, it doesn’t mean it’s useless.”

“I can’t think of much use for turning myself blue,” Ysolde said doubtfully.

“Maybe not,” Jack said. “But can you turn something else blue?”

“I hadn’t thought to try,” Ysolde said. She looked at her goblet speculatively.

“Give it a crack,” Jack said. He glanced at the other occupants of the table. They were all distracted by their conversations. “If it explodes, we’ll say I did it.”

Ysolde giggled, and placed her fingertips on her goblet. She frowned in concentration, and Jack felt her Will rising. It felt like a stagnant river stirring into motion. There was a peculiar sensation of empty space as the expression began to unfold, and the feel of something like gravity, but not, tugging at his Will channels. He concentrated on keeping his Will under control and not rushing in to fill the absence. It was almost like the the expression came with an invitation for him to add his Will to it.

Jack put the sensation to the back of his mind to be considered later, grinning at Ysolde’s pleased smile as the wooden goblet was suddenly a deep royal blue. “Well done,” he said.

“Ah,” the Guildmaster said, drawing attention. “Very creative, Miss Ysolde.”

“There’s something the farmboy can’t do,” Whisper said, looking the goblet over.

Jack suppressed the urge to try it himself, just to see if he could, and shrugged. “Can’t know everything. If I were you, I’d look into anchoring that expression to an object,” he suggested to Ysolde.

“How so?” she asked. “None of the Instructors have mentioned anything about that.”

“They wouldn’t,” Jack said. “It’s usually beyond Apprentices. I came across the idea in one of Solcius’ journals; can’t remember which. It should be in the Library.”

Ysolde mulled the idea over. “Merchants would pay good coin for an object that would turn people colours if the wrong person grabbed it.”

“That’s a decent idea,” Jack said. “Don’t forget to pursue other avenues as well though.”

Klessan, meanwhile, was staring him down with narrowed eyes. “If I wake up with green hair, we’re going to have problems Jack.”

“That doesn’t sound like something I would do,” Jack said.

“Mmhmm,” Klessan said, utterly unconvinced.

Whisper rapped her knuckles on the table, drawing their attention. “I was talking to Guildmaster about Quests that might suit us,” she said.

“I still say Witchwood is the one for us,” Duran said.

“What’s this?” Jack asked. Sequestering himself in his mentor’s office all afternoon had evidently left him out of the loop.

“Whisper and Duran arguing over Quests,” Klessan said.

“I would also prefer somewhere new, but it is more than a week’s travel to Knothole Glade,” Whisper said. “We would arrive too late to make a difference. We should leave the Quest to someone who can.”

Duran made a face. “I just left the mountains. If my father gets wind of my return, it’ll take me months to get away again.”

“What are the Quests?” Jack asked.

“Some of the smaller hamlets on Witchwood have had villagers go missing,” Klessan said. “The chief of Knothole Glade took out a Quest Card to find whoever or whatever is responsible and put an end to it.”

“And then there’s a trio of earth trolls that have planted themselves in the middle of the only road to one of the bigger lowlander settlements in the Pyrepeaks,” Duran said. “The money isn’t great, and the renown won’t be either.”

“But it will open up Quests in the future for us,” Whisper said with the air of someone repeating themselves.

“Are there any other Quests you might recommend to us, Guildmaster?” Jack asked.

The old man shook his head. “You have winnowed out the Quests best suited to you as a group,” he said. “Beyond that, the choice of Quest is not one I will make for you.”

“The Pyrepeaks are the only choice,” Whisper said. “The missing villagers are like as not dead already.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t prevent more being taken,” Duran said. He took a long draw of cider.

“Without a sympathetic connection to the Cullis Gate on the island it does,” Whisper shot back.

Klessan said something, but Jack’s mind was elsewhere, caught on Whisper’s words. He hadn’t even considered the Cullis Gate system, one of the remnants of the Old Kingdom, when Maze had given him his latest task. He was seized by the urge to leave dinner early in favour of the library. What little lore he knew concerning the Gates was turned over in his mind as he attempted to divine what Maze had meant by ‘sympathetic connection’. He couldn’t even ask Whisper about it, due to his mentor’s constraints. Doubtless she had heard tell of it from her brother.

“Jack?” Whisper asked.

“Sorry, what?” Jack asked, jerking back to the present.

“Do you have a preference?” she asked.

“I think we don’t need to decide tonight,” Jack said. “But if we could get to Witchwood without delay, does anyone have an issue with it?”

His friends answered in the negative, but eyed him speculatively.

“Do you have a way of getting us there?” Duran asked.

Jack shrugged. “I’ll let you know in the morning.”

“I’m beginning to suspect your Instructors did you a disservice by letting your experiments in Will go on without comment,” the Guildmaster said dryly.

“I’m still alive,” Jack said, perhaps a bit cheekily.

“Yes,” the Guildmaster said, frowning slightly. He turned his gaze to the Apprentices drinking in the exchange. “This is one manner in which I would suggest you not seek to emulate your seniors.”

Jack ducked his head. He had a feeling that a reprimand from the Guildmaster would pull him up short no matter how renowned he became.

“Have we learnt anything new about the raiders who attacked the Guild?” Klessan asked, drawing attention away from Jack.

“They no longer darken our shores,” the Guildmaster said, “but I’m afraid we still don’t know how they came to find us.”

“Were any of their armours retrieved?” Duran asked, less interested in their origin now that they were apparently all dead. “Instructor Mal was saying they were animal hide, but I’m not sure I believe that.”

Jack and Whisper exchanged a brief glance; if the Guildmaster wasn’t going to make mention of the ship that had departed Albion before the Guild had dealt with the rest, they wouldn’t either.

“A report was written, I shall make it available to you,” the Guildmaster said, leaning back in his chair.

Duran nodded his thanks, polishing the last scraps of food from his plate.

“You were there when the attack happened, weren’t you?” Jane, the Apprentice, asked Klessan. “I heard the four of you killed most of them on your own.”

Klessan grinned, but scratched the back of her head. “I almost got impaled by a raider that got too close,” she admitted. “But Jack shanked stabbed him in the leg and I finished him off. Got a few more with my bow.”

“Jack stopped me from losing my head,” Duran added, eyes alight with mischief. “Quite literally.”

“That was after you broke their charge with that old sledgehammer of yours,” Jack said, rolling his eyes.

“Don’t forget that blast globe that almost killed us all,” Whisper chimed in. “You made them think twice when you Willed it back at them.”

The Apprentices’ eyes darted between the Heroes, drinking the banter in like it was some epic saga.

“And then I almost killed myself because I was a young idiot who didn’t know how to conserve my Will,” Jack said. The day his friends didn’t try to gently mock him in front of any audience was the day he knew something was terribly wrong.

“As opposed to being an old idiot now, not even a whole six months older,” Klessan said.

“Exactly,” Jack said. “Good thing the Guildmaster was there to pull our hides out of the fire.” He remembered the precision and power of the lightning Will expression the man had rained down on their foes.

“I live to protect my students from more than just themselves,” Weaver said, displaying just a hint of his dry wit. “Speaking of, Master Dale, have you completed the task set to you by Instructor Han?”

Talk turned back to the Apprentices and their current studies, for which Jack was grateful. The Guildmaster directed the discussion, prompting the Heroes to share what they had learnt and allowing the Apprentices to see how what might seem like pointless or frustrating tasks would be of use when they embarked upon their careers. The hall slowly emptied, Trainees and Apprentices leaving for late night classes or to get a good night’s rest for the hardships of the following day. The high table was just finishing their desserts, another privilege of the invitation. The only other occupants were a group of Instructors lingering over a working dinner and the odd servant slowly cleaning up. The candles were burning low, and Jack was almost ready to call it a night.

At length, the youngest among them departed, carrying with them the well wishes of the Heroes they had dined with that night. To Jack’s amusement, Ysolde split off from her classmates, heading not to the dormitories, but towards the library.

“A most productive evening,” the Guildmaster said.

“We thank you for hosting us,” Whisper said for them.

“Not at all,” Weaver said. “The Guild is a home to you for as long as you wish it.” He rose, and they stood with him, bowing as their mentor stepped away from the table. “Now if you will excuse me, I have quite a bit of grading to do.”

“Teachers,” Klessan said, shaking her head.

“Hmm?” Duran asked. The big man stepped away from the table, and the others followed.

“You saw him during the raid, throwing around lightning like no one’s business,” Klessan said. “But then he’s all, ‘don’t forget to do your classwork’.”

“He’s the Guildmaster,” Duran said with a shrug. They left the hall behind, empty but for the servants now.

“I think it is all teachers,” Whisper said. “The school in the Bowerstone slums; I saw the headmaster knock out a tavern lout who had been bothering his students.”

“Really?” Klessan asked, fascinated.

“Better form than some of our yearmates,” Whisper confirmed.

The Guild halls were almost empty at this hour, the Quest room closed for the day and most students attempting to get a good night’s rest. The four friends chatted idly as they walked the hallways of their youth; or rather, Jack led the way while his friends talked. It was only as they began to descend into the lesser travelled lower levels that they took note of where they walked.

“You don’t have much to say, farmboy,” Whisper said as they descended, the air cooling as they went.

“Just want to make sure we’re not overheard,” he said.

Duran and Klessan exchanged a glance; their friend was not prone to dramatics.

“Where are we headed?” Duran asked as they passed all the cold storage rooms.

“The Chamber.”

“Are we even allowed in there?” Klessan asked.

Jack shrugged.

“It is not forbidden,” Whisper said uncertainly, but the point was made moot as they came to the narrow bridge that crossed the great chasm before the Chamber of Fate.

They fell silent as they crossed, Jack leading, feeling as if they approached hallowed ground. The atmosphere was altogether different than their initiation and graduation. The stone doors opened at a touch, swinging smoothly on greased hinges.

The four crept in, padded soles still loud in the stillness of the grand chamber. Mosaics and frescos of heroic victories lined the walls, the subjects in them all long dead save four, and Scythe’s status could be argued.

Jack spared a glance for the painting depicting his mentors overcoming the previous Guild leadership, before coming to a stop before another. Harvest fields littered with corpses filled the backdrop, Heroes all. A farmer cowered at the edge of the frame, as if trying to flee the painting to escape the figure at its centre. One could not tell where its red cloak ended and the lifeblood of Heroes at its feet began, its sword driven clean through a figure in plate armour. A golden eye seemed to gleam behind a bone white mask as if it stared out at those who dared to look upon it.

“You know I found my sister in Oakvale,” Jack said, turning from the painting of the Bloody Harvest. They stood in a rough square, the others watching him.

“You never said why you went different ways so quickly after,” Klessan said. .

“It isn’t safe to travel together,” Jack said. He glanced around the Chamber. It was empty save for themselves, but paranoia crept up his spine, he felt as if golden eyes lingered on his neck. With a thought, he built up and released a pulse of Will, lacking structure but not intent. His friends winced as the pulse passed through them, rubbing temples and shaking out tingling limbs. There were no unseen presences to spy upon their conversation, but there was an echo, or the absence of an echo that should have been there. He put it from his mind as a peculiarity of the Chamber and focused on the task at hand.

“You know who razed your home,” Duran said with a start. Through their years of training, Jack had never spoken of that night. “And you think they’re still a threat.”

“Theresa saw them before he cut out her eyes,” Jack said. He tried to detach himself, to relate the facts neutrally. He would soon as not stay silent, but he was not fool enough to think himself able to even survive a fight with that man, and he would not do his friends the disservice of making this decision for them.

“Her name is Theresa?” Whisper asked.

Jack blinked, jolted from his sober thoughts. “Yeah. You would have gotten along; she liked to tease me too.”

“‘Likes’ to tease you,” Klessan corrected him gently.

Jack went back over his words before shrugging awkwardly.

“Who do you need to kill?” Duran interjected, coming to his rescue.

Jack began to pace, Will bubbling to the surface in search of release. He clamped down on it. “I’m not telling you this because I expect you to help, but because even Questing with me will be dangerous.”

Klessan snorted, very unladylike. “You can go right the hell ahead and skip this part. Just get to the bit where you tell us who we’re hunting down already.”

“There’s a reason I’m--”

“Klessan is right,” Duran cut him off. “It doesn’t matter who they are. We’ll hunt them down and kill them like the fox they are.” He folded his arms, fixing Jack with a serious gaze. “You would do the same for us. Give us the name.”

Jack looked to each of his friends in turn. Duran and Klessan were expectant, but still confident. Only Whisper seemed to feel his worry. He had made a real muddle of it all; allowed them to interrupt his thoughts. His mouth set mulishly.

“Jack of Blades.”

Whisper paled dramatically, while Klessan’s gaze flicked between them all, uncertain.

Duran frowned. “Be serious.”

Jack stared at him, not responding.

“Is there another Jack of Blades we haven’t heard of?” Klessan asked, voice high.

Jack shook his head.

“You’re serious,” Duran said in horrified realisation. “Jack of Blades.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this Jack,” Klessan said, “but sometimes there are enemies you just can’t fight.” She looked pained, like the words had cost her.

“You’re right, I don’t want to hear that,” Jack said without heat. “I’m still going to kill him. This is why I’m warning you of the danger of even Questing with me.”

“Skorm piss on your warnings Jack,” Klessan said. She began to pace. “Blades killed my Grannan; she was a Hero, but he never looked sideways at my Aunt or me. You don’t have to challenge him.”

“I don’t mean to challenge him on the Arena sands before a cheering crowd, Klessan,” Jack snapped. “My sister and I are going to kill him by hook or by crook and throw his curst mask into the sea.”

“Jack of Blades is not a Hero like you or me Jack,” Whisper said at last, “or even like Maze or the Guildmaster. He’s something else.”

“Damn right he’s something else,” Duran said. “Do you even know how many Heroes he killed at Bloody Harvest?”

“I’m not--! My brother fought him once, you know,” Whisper said, pensieve.

“I’ve never heard that story,” Jack said.

“You wouldn’t have. It was this little Quest, something to fill the days. A child had been kidnapped,” Whisper told them, her manner that of repeating a story told to her. “He found the child, slew the ones who had taken her, and he was on his way to complete the Quest.” Her mouth twisted. “Jack of Blades was waiting for him on a little forest trail in the Greatwood.”

No one spoke as Whisper took a moment to collect herself.

“Blades told my brother he would let the child live if he could best him.”

“Did he?” Duran asked, voice quiet.

“What do you think?” Whisper said, chuckling mirthlessly. “He hasn’t taken a Quest involving children since. And you are never to repeat that story to anyone.”

“I’m not going to attack him tomorrow, or next month, or even next year,” Jack said. “But he destroyed my home, killed my father, my mother, and cut out my sister’s eyes and left her for dead. I am going to end him.”

Duran made a sound of pure frustration, and Klessan reached for him. “Jack--”

“I’m not asking you to fight him,” Jack said, cutting her off. “Just warning you that the day will come when I will.”

“You are more certain of that than you should be,” Whisper said.

Jack hesitated, but only for a moment. “Theresa has seen it.”

“Seen? I thought she…” Duran trailed off.

“She has dreams. Visions,” Jack said shortly.

Whisper glanced at him sharply, but said nothing.

“This is a lot to take in,” Klessan said. Her hands worried at a lock of her hair, a nervous habit she had long since broken herself of.

“I know,” Jack said. “I just wanted to tell you before we all committed to a Quest together.”

“Don’t be a fool, farmboy,” Whisper said. “We will not choose to abandon you because you have a powerful foe.”

“He’s a bit more than just a powerful foe, Whisper,” Klessan said dryly. “Bit late for us to go our separate ways anyway; we’ve already Quested together.”

Jack grimaced. “I only recently found out-”

“Shut up, Jack,” Duran said. He rolled his eyes. “We’ve all Quested with you. Oh, and you saved my life once, defended my clan, and spent years training with us. Might be a bit late to pretend not to know each other.”

“It’s not like I want us to go our separate ways,” Jack said, annoyed. “I just want you to be aware of the dangers.”

“We are Heroes,” Whisper said. She crossed her arms. “We didn’t choose this path because we thought it would be safe.”

“Now come on,” Duran said, stepping forward to clap Jack on the shoulder. “That’s enough serious talk for one evening. I’m knackered.”

Duran’s words broke the mood that hung over them, and Jack let out a sigh. He had done what he came down here to do. They began to filter out of the Chamber.

Whisper nudged him with her elbow. “You had better not sleep in tomorrow. We have a Quest to pick up.”

“That was one time,” Jack groused. He caught Klessan’s eye and she offered him a small smile, but said nothing. She looked to be deep in thought.

Duran closed the stone doors behind them with a thud, returning the Chamber of Fate to stillness. The lingering remnants of their conversation faded, and it was again empty but for the tapestries of past triumphs.

X

Jack rose before dawn the next morning, eschewing a sleep in to work on the task he had been set. The months spent deepening his Will channels and increasing his control proved their worth as he sat still on the floor of Maze’s tower office, almost meditative in his focus. The pouch he had been gifted lay before him, emptied of its contents; his Will was concentrated upon it.

The first rays of the sun crept in through the stained glass windows, slowly illuminating the room. Jack paid them no heed, his mind’s eye chasing his Will down the countless pathways branching out of his Guild Seal. Carried with it was a piece of the essence that made the enchanted pouch what it was, leading the way to its source.

He knew the moment he made contact, felt it in his Will. A tendril of answering Will grasped him, revealed by the connection he had carved from the pouch. It latched onto him, the self that he had cast out along the ways, and inspected him. Jack felt like a deer before a hunter, and fought the urge to flee to the safety of his wraith form; he knew instinctively it would be of no help here. The Will presence released him, apparently satisfied, and he returned to himself in a rush. Blinking, he clambered to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his body. The sun had well and truly risen.

Soft white-blue light shone from the empty space behind Maze’s desk. The light receded a moment later, revealing the archmage himself. His normally fine purple robe armour was stained with travel, and he smelt of forest. His hair was lank and wet, as if he had been standing in the rain, and he sported the bristly beginnings of a beard.

Maze glanced about his office, taking in the pile of Jack’s possessions. “You didn’t spend all night on this, did you?” he said by way of greeting.

“No sir,” Jack said. “Yesterday afternoon and this morning.”

“Well done, in that case,” the old man said. He ran his hands through his wet hair and it dried instantly. “Tell me what you’ve just achieved.”

“I used an object infused with your Will to create a sympathetic connection to your location,” Jack answered.

“And this is helpful because…” Maze prompted.

“I can use that connection to teleport to you,” Jack said, “using the Cullis Gate system.”

“No,” Maze said in a pleased tone, thoroughly confusing his student. “You could have teleported to my side, if you had a much deeper understanding of the Cullis system and had I not broken the connection you had created by moving through its veins myself.” He sank into his chair with a pleased sigh.

“So...wait,” Jack said, “what was the point of that exercise?”

“I wanted to see if you could do it,” Maze said. “Also, under certain circumstances, it is quite a useful skill.”

Jack nodded, seeing his point. He was hardly phased by the man’s teaching methods any more.

“Did you sense the drawbacks?” Maze asked.

“I was vulnerable,” Jack said. “You could have attacked me through my Will and I wouldn’t have been able to defend myself.” He took a seat across from his mentor.

“Correct. The seeker is always disadvantaged in such cases,” Maze said. “Even more so than if another spellweaver were to catch you using an unmastered expression. Never attempt to seek out a foe in such a manner.”

Jack hadn’t even considered using it to locate his enemy, but the path was closed to him regardless. “How do I make a connection to an actual Cullis Gate then?” he asked.

“You have to approach one physically and attune yourself to it,” Maze said. “Only this connection won’t break, because, well, a Cullis Gate travelling the Cullis system would be quite the trick.”

“You called them veins,” Jack said, the phrasing jumping at him. “Why?”

“A turn of phrase,” Maze said, waving a hand in dismissal. He stopped himself and glanced back at Jack. “No, I tell a lie. The Cullis system was built on the same pathways that the Focus Sites cap.” Frustration leaked into his voice.

“Another Old Kingdom mystery?” Jack asked.

“Yes,” Maze said with a frown. “If there were more Gates, it would make more sense, but they are completely irregular…”

“So there’s a pattern to them?” Jack asked. He leaned forward, always interested in discussing the Old Kingdom. “Do the Focus Sites support them, or do they feed the Sites?”

“The utter absence of a pattern, perhaps,” Maze said. He shook his head. “We can sit down and discuss this properly later. I have a favour to ask of you.”

“Of course,” Jack said. Refusal never entered his mind. “What do you need?”

“There is a defunct Focus Site, somewhere on Witchwood Island. I should like to study it, but I cannot locate the Skorm touched thing for love or money, and more pressing matters require my attention,” Maze said. “You will teleport to Witchwood, and in return you will do your best to find it.”

“I thought I had to visit a Cullis Gate physically before I could use them?” Jack asked.

“Generally, yes,” Maze said. “But there are shortcuts.”

Jack grinned at the man. “I thought shortcuts were a temptation of Skorm.”

“Which is why this will be a one time occurrence,” Maze said shortly. “In the pursuit of knowledge, a most worthy endeavor.”

“And so you don’t have to spend any longer hiking through forests in the rain?” Jack asked knowingly. His mentor had tidied himself up some, but he still smelt of wilderness.

Maze’s mouth twitched upwards. “Quite. Now, before I send you off beyond the shores of Albion, you shall learn on a rather shorter jump. Take my hand.”

Jack grasped his mentor’s forearm, and white light overcame him. When his vision cleared, they were elsewhere. Quick reflexes and a honed body kept him from landing on his arse, suddenly no longer supported by the chair he had left behind.

“Do keep in mind such changes when translocating,” Maze said, face stern.

Jack knew the man, however, and could see the amusement peeking through. He pulled a face, and took in their new surrounds.

They were still in the Guild, his improved sense of Will told him that much. The stone walls held no windows and only a single exit, but the chill of the lower levels was missing. The only illumination came from the glow of the Cullis Gate that dominated the centre of the room. Rings of soft blue light drifted up from the circular pedestal that was its base.

The young Hero squinted at the stone pedestal. It was almost entirely obscured by the light it gave off, but he swore he could see runes carved around its edge.

“I need to make a connection with it the same way I did with you through your Will?” Jack checked.

Maze nodded, but offered no further guidance. He leaned against a wall, arms crossed, as if settling in to wait.

Jack closed his eyes, and reached out with his Will. He did his best to ignore the hum and familiar presence of the Guild itself, focusing instead on the condensed presence of the Cullis Gate before him. To his surprise it reached back, meeting his Will; not with thought of its own, but like parched earth drinking in the rain. He blinked, now very aware of the Gate, like it had been concealed by the background from a sense he didn’t quite know how to describe.

“I’ve got it,” Jack said. Scant moments had passed.

Maze’s brow raised, infinitesimally. “As you say.” He approached and took Jack’s shoulder, and a heartbeat later they were back in his office. “Now take yourself back.” He disappeared in a corona of light.

Jack scowled. That was brusque, even for his mentor. He reached out with his Will, pushing the ‘noise’ of the Guild to the side, and sought the signature of the Gate, taking it into himself. From there, he supposed he would--his Will turned in on himself, and he forced himself not to panic. White light suffused his sight. When it cleared, he stood once more in the Cullis chamber, this time on the pedestal itself.

Maze was watching him, brows well and truly raised. “I am impressed,” he said, putting Jack further off balance. “I have never seen such swift success.”

Jack shook his head, as if to clear it. Maze now not one to be free with praise. “I’ve no idea what I just did,” he said. “I tuned my Will to the gate, and the expression happend on its own.”

Maze nodded, as if that made perfect sense. “You synchronised your Will to the Gate, and the system ferried you here. And with perfect accuracy.”

“Accuracy?” Jack asked. He was beginning to feel out of his depth.

Maze took his shoulder and they stood once more in his office. He gestured for him to take a seat as he retrieved the foreign juice he so favoured from his drinks cabinet. Jack sat as his mentor poured.

“The more in tune you are with the Gate, the better your connection, the closer you will appear to it,” Maze said, falling into a lecturing tone. “It is not uncommon for over eager students to find themselves in the middle of an unknown wilderness.”

“So I could have ended up in the frozen north in my shirt and trousers if I’d gotten it wrong.”

“I would have retrieved you,” Maze said with a shrug. “Now, how do you suppose I can teleport to my office given what I’ve told you?”

“Deliberate inaccuracy?” Jack guessed.

“No,” Maze said. “Familiarity, and triangulation.”

Jack’s eyes lit up with realisation. “You’re attuned to other Gates. Many others.”

“Correct. Despite the ease of your initial success, I’ll ask you not to experiment in such a manner until you’ve created connections with a several more Gates.”

Jack shrugged, accepting the restriction easily. Maze had never steered him wrong. “Are you going to take me to the Witchwood Gate?”

Distaste crossed Maze’s face. “I’ve seen enough of that island for the time being. When you are ready, I will send you on your way.”

“Is there a limit to how many you can send?” Jack asked.

“Not as such. Why?”

“My friends and I were going to take a Quest to find some missing villagers there,” Jack explained.

“Ah yes, I had heard about that business,” Maze said. “There was no talk of appealing to the Guild for help, but that was before my sojourn in the woods.” He scratched his chin. “It is rare for the island to suffer from any banditry. Too inhospitable, and the locals take a rather dim view of it.”

“Whatever it is, we can handle it,” Jack said.

“Undoubtedly,” Maze said. “Now, tell me about your victory over Twinblade. You certainly drew some attention with that feat.”

“Defeating him wasn’t even the best part,” Jack said, eager to share his good news. “I found my sister, alive and well.”

Maze choked, juice expelled from his nose as he pounded his chest. “You what?!”

Jack smirked at his mentor, like a fox in a henhouse. He had never elicited such a reaction from the man. “She was rescued by bandits, and had been living with them as a seeress.”

Maze stared at him for long moments, almost uncomprehending. “Good Avo. I would never have-” he cut himself off. “I’m well pleased for you, Jack.” He held out his glass toward him.

Jack clinked his glass to Maze’s, smiling widely. He was expanding his Will, he was about to embark on a Quest with his closest friends, and his mentor was proud of him. Life was good.

“A bandit seeress,” Maze muttered to himself. “Of all the things…”

“She did what she had to to survive,” Jack said, defensive.

“Oh, I don’t question that,” Maze said. “Has she spoken of her visions to you?”

“Not in detail,” Jack shook his head. “Why?”

“It’s a rare gift. I should like to speak to her about it.”

“We went our separate ways some weeks ago,” Jack said. “I’m not sure where she is at present.”

“Good, good,” Maze said. His gaze was miles away.

“I could arrange a meeting,” Jack offered. They had split, but not without forethought.

“No,” Maze waved him off. “Don’t trouble yourself. We both have enough to do, in the short term.”

Jack shrugged. If Maze wanted him to know what occupied his thoughts, the man would tell him. He drained his glass. “I should tell the others we have a way to Witchwood.”

“Yes, of course,” Maze said. “Come see me when you’re ready to depart.”

Jack rose and made tor the staircase, leaving his mentor to his thoughts.

X

With transport arranged, the decision to Quest on Witchwood over the Pyrepeaks was an easy one. By mid morning the four Heroes had split to gather what supplies they would need. Brute had been left to haunt the entrance to the kitchens, greeting every passing servant with mopey eyes and a feeble wag of his tail as they prepared lunch.

Forewarned to the weather on the island through Maze, Jack made for the store that the Guild maintained within its main building, coin purse heavy on his belt. The hardy clothes issued to him by the Guild had just about reached their limit, and it was time they were replaced.

The bald shopkeeper was occupied over by a row of armour mannequins with another customer when he arrived, and it seemed Jack wasn’t the only one of his group to consider his attire. Klessan was haggling over a pair of leather boots, topped by fur.

“You’re not selling a corset to the Lady Grey here,” Klessan was saying.

“If word got back to the craftsmen who made these that I let them go for the price you’re asking I could never face him again,” the shopkeeper declared, hand over his heart.

Jack left them to it, well aware of Klessan’s stubborn streak. He set about his appointed task, replacing the gorget he had lost facing Twinblade and restocking what consumables he carried. A pile accumulated on the shop counter as the prices made apparent to him just how fortunate he had been in his Quest rewards. His boots weren’t quite worn through, but he replaced them with a pair similar to the ones Klessan was haggling over. The chipped iron bracers he had purchased in Bowerstone only last Autumn were upgraded to a set of chill obsidian, the volcanic glass drinking in the light. He was deciding between a pair of oiled canvas cloaks when he was interrupted.

“You don’t want something boring like them, Jack,” Klessan said, expression impish. “This is the one you want.”

Jack blinked at the cloak she held out to him. Rich purple, its hems were intricately embroidered with golden threads. It offered little protection from the elements, and would be ruined by the first skirmish it came within spitting distance of. His nose turned up at the offending item. “What in Skorm’s name is that?”

“It gets better,” Klessan exclaimed. She turned it about, displaying its back--as well as the fanciful dragon sewn into it.

The younger Hero groaned and closed his eyes to Klessan’s snorts. “There’s a reason I avoided that section,” he said. He took the canvas coat with the deeper pockets and made for the counter.

“I know, isn’t it awful?” Klessan said. She draped it back over the display it came from. “Can you believe Heroes actually buy these things?”

“I think Maze would set it alight on sight,” Jack said as they approached the shopkeeper, who smiled blindingly as he began to tally Jack’s purchases. “While I was still wearing it,” he added.

“Big spender,” Klessan said, taking in his choices.

“Duran and I did well on our first Quest, and Oakvale was very thankful,” he said, beginning to count out coins.

Klessan narrowed her eyes at him. “Aren’t you going to haggle?” she demanded.

Jack hesitated, noting that Klessan held the boots she had argued for in one hand. He glanced to the shopkeeper, and the man’s smile became decidedly more fixed. “I don’t really need to…”

The brunette made a dismissive noise. “I’ll take care of it then,” she said. Her eyes betrayed her enjoyment of the situation. “Now, these boots are of the same make as mine, so they should only be a few silvers more, and these potions…”

Jack hid a smile as the shopkeeper grimaced and set his shoulders like a man going to battle.

X

Jack licked crumbs from his fingers, the remnants of a meat pasty. Lunch was in full swing, but he and his companions stood in the Guild courtyard, waiting for Maze to descend from his tower and send them on their way. The girls had eaten their fill already, while Duran tore strips off a leg of lamb with his teeth. Brute watched with slavering jaws, eyes fixed on the bone he knew was his.

The sun beat down from its zenith. Clad as they were for the stormy weather of Witchwood Island, they were soon sweating, even in the shade. Wiping his forehead with a gloved hand, Jack grimaced and flexed his Will. A heavy swirl of frost blew out from him, carried on a chill wind. Brute licked his chops clean of the snow that dusted them, tail wagging, while Whisper scooped a handful from her shoulder and smeared it across her face.

Footsteps echoed down the nearby tower stairs at last, announcing Maze’s approach. He looked them over, dressed for travel and ready to go, and gave them a nod.

“Ready?” the archmage asked. “You will arrive at the gates of Knothole Glade.”

Duran tossed the remnants of his lunch to Brute, who caught the bone but remained at attention, imitating his master. The four Heroes exchanged a glance.

“Ready,” Jack answered for them.

“Avo guide you then,” Maze said. He raised a hand, runes on his brow glowing.

Jack gelt his mentor’s Will settle around them, and the familiar light of teleportation took them. It cleared only moments later, and they stood in a wide clearing, rain pouring down on them. Tall log gates greeted them, sharpened at the top and almost as tall as the Guild walls. Guard towers rose at either side, and torches burned brightly along the surrounding walls.

The defences of the town weren’t what drew their attention, however. Their focus was on the balverine chewing on the thigh of a very human leg. Nearby, three more were munching on corpses in various states of dismemberment. One of them was sucking the marrow from a bone too small to be anything but a child’s.

Brute dropped his bone and growled, low and deep, and the balverines’ heads swivelled to them as one. The biggest loosed a growl of its own. Brute fell silent, ears flat against his skull.

Jack drew his sword. It snarled in tune with its wielder, chill enough to strike fear into the most hardened of men. The balverine quieted, but rose to its feet, abandoning its meal. Klessan shook her whip out, Duran and Whisper already bearing hammer and staff.

A bell began to toll within the town, and the balverines lunged for them.