Night settled on the city of Honeydew, and the bustling daytime activities quieted. Through the opened window, muffled sounds of merriment, a stringed instrument, and a sweet feminine voice wafted from a nearby tavern into the second floor of Red Maiden’s Trinkets and Baubles. Bertram had lit a fire in the hearth near the round table and served the party a hearty dinner of venison stew with soft, sour-dough bread. The Berserker and the burly shopkeeper drank and reminisced about old times.

Jor sipped at her mug and remained quiet for most of the late afternoon after sharing an abridged version of their flight from Moonvale. She only spoken when drawn into the conversation by Bertram, and Ben began to wonder whether the conflict between herself and Ann had anything to do with her aloofness.

Uhhh. Is she gonna sulk all night?

Ben took another swig of the sweet brew and found the taste quite pleasant, if a bit strong. He felt warm, content, and just a tad sleepy. The young man looked at the Keeper, who was daintily sipping her mead, her alabaster skin emphasized her reddened cheeks.

“Jush look at my Benny,” Ainsle’s coarse voice slurred as she attempted to elbow the large man and failed miserably. “Lover-boy’sh sho well oiled, hish eyesh burnin holsh inta,” she hiccuped, “inta the girl.”

Bertram let out a loud boisterous laugh that shook the air in Ben’s chest. He snapped his head to face the second of the two Ainsles across from him.

“I’m not drunk!” he protested indignantly.

The old woman cackled heartily. Ann giggled, and the pleasant sound returned his attention to the Keeper. Her chin was tucked, and her shoulders quaked in a vain attempt to dam the laughter threatening to burst forth from her pursed lips.

“I gotta say, lad,” the shopkeeper said before pausing to down his mug. “Ya pretty lucky to have a Keeper’s affections. Them prissy types from the Capital don’t respect tradition. It ain’t right, I tell ya.” He glanced at Jor, “Not talking about ya, lassy, ya’s all right.” Jor nodded and smiled absently at the remark. Bertram continued as he faced Ben. “Honor the lady, and ya’ll have a blessed life. Don’t listen what people say, it’s a bloody conspiracy, lad!”

Jor stood, and the red-faced shopkeeper stopped his rambling to look at her. “Ya leavin lass?” he asked.

The Squad Leader nodded. “Yes. I have something to attend to. Thank you, Bertram. I’ll leave this here and return tomorrow once you’ve appraised it.” Jor placed the wrapped staff upright against the wall next to the window. She faced Ben. “Will you need any help finding lodgings for the evening?”

“Pah, they can stay here for the night; I gots some spare sheets Matilda kept for guests,” said the shopkeeper as he waved a hand.

“Thank you. I’ll be back at dawn.” Jor left the party to their merriment, and Ben guessed she was off to find her cousin.

Oh, yeah…

The young man remembered the Archer’s confession about her forbidden love and shuddered at the thought of the cruel, powerful man.

“Is everything all right, my heart?” Ann’s breathy whisper was a shout.

Ben was startled as he felt her breath blast his eardrums, and he realized the absurd volume resulted from her leaning, and swaying, very close to his ear.

“Yeah. Are you doing al-”

“Aunt Ainsle?” interrupted a deep voice, and Ben turned to look at the newcomer.

“Kieran!” the Berserker exclaimed as she stood while knocking over her chair and Bertram’s recently filled mug, much to the shopkeeper’s dismay.

A handsome, tall, bronze-skinned, broad-shouldered man with messy red hair smiled sharp teeth at the old woman. Kieran wore a neatly pressed, black flowing robe, a sheathed dagger, and a fist-sized leather pouch fastened to a simple leather belt. Ben thought perhaps he was quite drunk as Kieran glanced at him with deep black eyes devoid of sclera or irises and felt an odd feeling brush his mind.

Kieran’s gaze soon tore from Ben as Ainsle barrelled into him and tightly wrapped her arms around his waist. The young man heard an ‘oof’ escape from the red-haired man’s mouth and was impressed that he had managed to remain standing. The old woman was still dressed in her grey-black full-plate armor, yet her great mace had been leaned against the mantle of the low burning fireplace. Ainsle stood back, her hands still on his waist, blue eye inspecting him from head to toe.

“Yoush sho handshome! Lasht time I shaw you were shtill shucklin Matilda’sh titsh!” The Berserker hiccuped and swayed. “Great titsh on that one. Great titsh!” she reminisced, and Bertram nodded solemnly.

Kieran’s gaze softened and slowly fell to the floor. He smiled subtly and chuckled in a low rumble. “I was a bit older than that… Great to see you, Aunty.” He raised his eyes and was startled as he noticed the bandage. “Aunt Ain, what happened?”

“Bah!” Ainsle said as she disentangled herself from the man. “Thish nothin’…”

“Grab a seat, lad, eat and meet Miss O'Seighin’s companions. I’ll be right back,” Bertram said as he stood and shuffled off to somewhere among the mountains of clutter.

Eat and meet?

Kieran smiled and dragged another barrel chair to the table. Before he sat, he froze as his black eyes settled on Ann.

“Priestess?” He paused. “No. Keeper?” His dark eyes went wide. He stood straight and, with perfect posture, dipped his head in a bow. “Honor to you, Keeper,” he said in a deep formal tone.

Ann subtly dipped her head at the address, and Ben tilted his head at the exchange.

Ainsle bellowed a laugh as she dropped onto the shopkeeper’s seat. “Hah! Good, Bertie been teachin you the old waysh!”

Kieran smiled and sat. He picked up the knocked-over mug and scooped mead from the opened barrel before immediately turning his attention to Ben.

“Name’s Kieran and you are?” he asked as he extended a hand towards the young man.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Ben instinctively reached out to shake his hand and found the red-haired man’s grip soft yet firm.

“Ben. Good to meet you.”

“Likewise. Say,” He withdrew his hand and took a swig of the sweet brew, “you don’t look like you’re from around here.”

Ben tried to narrow his eyes, but his inebriation caused him to squint. He shook his head in a futile attempt to dispel the sluggishness.

“Yeah. I’m new to this country. By your appearance, I guess you’re not from here either?”

Kieran’s eyes narrowed- successfully- as he considered the young man. “Well, I was born in the Empire, but my heritage is a bit more complicated than that.” He paused for a heartbeat. “Would you mind if I asked you to turn around for a moment?”

The handsome man’s smooth, deep voice was pleasant to the ear. Ben shrugged and complied with the request. Sitting, he turned his body to face the opened window and snapped his head back toward Kieran as he heard him gasp. The red-haired man’s eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open to reveal sharp pointed teeth.

“I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

“Yash! Benny-boysh from the Old World!” Ainsle laughed as if Kieran’s revelation was the funniest thing she’d seen.

“You know about the Old World?” Ben asked, leaning forward in his seat.

The red-haired man grinned, and his black eyes seemed to alight. “That I do,” he chuckled. “Master Jared won’t believe this.”

“Who’s Master Jared?”

“Archmage Jared Durrene? You’ve never heard-” Kieran grimaced and tilted his head apologetically. “Of course, forgive me. You wouldn't know of him. Say, what was it like inside the cocoon? Are there any others that came with you? What’s the connec-”

“Easy there, lad.” Bertram had returned with a box made comically small in his massive hand. “These folks are tired after a week's trek from the Dark Lands. Here.” He handed the small box to a sheepish Kieran. “Happy birthday, boy.”

The man accepted the gift with a smile. “Thanks, Dad.” He opened the worn box and shut it immediately before placing it on the table before him. He closed his black eyes and ran a hand through his messy hair. “Thank you, Mother,” he said softly.

“She said I should give it to ya when I felt the time was right.” The burly man sniffed. “Matty would be proud to see ya now.”

Kieran cleared his throat and turned to Ben once more. “Forgive my excitement. Perhaps we can speak once you’ve rested?”

“Not at all.” Ben yawned. “Sure. I have a few questions myself. Happy birthday, by the way. How old are you?”

“Twenty-two summers old,” Kieran said with a toothy grin.

The young man felt his eyelids grow heavy and his vision foggy. He yawned again.

“Come on lad,” Bertram told Ben, “ya look like ya can use a bit a shut-eye.” The burly man pointed to an over-laden bookshelf on the opposite side of the room. “There’s a spare bed and some blankets and sheets behind that there shelf. Make yaself at home.”

He nodded gratefully to Bertram and stood to leave. Ann clutched at the sleeve of his gambeson and looked up at him with half-closed, questioning blue eyes. Ben chuckled at the inebriated woman and bent down to help her to her feet before supporting her swaying form with an arm wrapped around her shoulder. The pair navigated through the piles of junk on the floor to the bed behind the bookshelf, and he heard a whistle and laughter from the table.

Argh. Ainsle…

Ben found the small bed and removed the dusty books that had made it their home. He found the surprisingly clean sheets Bertram had mentioned and laid Ann down before pulling off her boots. He began unbuckling his dirty gambeson when the Keeper sat upright, with great effort, and reached for the belts on his chest.

“Please allow me, my Champion. What servant would I be if I’m unable to attend to…” she trailed off with a tired voice.

Ben’s brows furrowed at her referral to herself as his servant. He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook his head.

“You’re nobody’s servant, Annie. I’m fine. I can manage. Please rest,” he said determinedly.

Ann smiled and stretched. She blew out air from puffed cheeks and lay on the bed before staring with sleepy blue eyes at the wooden ceiling.

“I’m afraid I’m quite drunk, my darling,” she said softly.

“I can see that,” Ben chuckled as he draped his gambeson over a crate and began slipping off his boots.

“Please be gentle.” The Keeper sighed.

WHAT?

“Uh, Annie, I…” Ben turned to find Ann snoring loudly.

He let out a sigh, and his hot cheeks began to cool. Ben chuckled again and rubbed his stubbled cheeks before laying a spare blanket on the floor beside the bed and settling in for the night.

Ben opened his eyes and was greeted by the foggy clearing near the cave in the woods. He stretched and willed the ornate halberd to his hands before flourishing it and surveying the area for a surprise attack from his sparring partner. The Monk had employed an ambush maneuver the previous night upon Ben’s arrival in his domain. He expected the dark-skinned man to try a similar approach to the evening’s spar, and Ben turned with light steps as his gaze swept past every shadow and tree.

He waited for a few minutes and decided perhaps the Monk wouldn’t be joining him. Ben felt the spars to be incredibly helpful in his development. Yet, he wished he had more variety in training partners as he had adapted to the unarmed fighting style, and he’d begun to win more exchanges than he lost. As if summoned by the thought, the fog started to thicken, and Ben turned to greet the molten, crimson eyes of his Avatar. With the haft of the halberd resting on his shoulder, he watched as the orbs materialized in the same spot amongst the dark trees, and he was surprised to feel that the entity had become more substantial to his perception. Ben watched as great, black, clawed paws dug into the pine-needled ground. Black flames billowed, ethereally slowly, from the form of a smooth obsidian feline creature. Its features were an amalgamation of angular, inky glass that reflected the pale moonlight and crimson gleam of its eyes.

“Hey. You look… good,” Ben said as he watched the large cat saunter over to sit before him.

Ben took in the sheer size of the entity. Its head was as tall as Ben’s, and each claw the length of his arm. A long-spiked tail swished and impacted the ground in heavy thuds, and he felt the hot breath of the Avatar caress his form, yet the slow wafting flames emitted no heat.

JOIN

CONVERSE

The intent conveyed by the being filled the young man, and he stepped forward to touch its flaming nose. His vision exploded in a blinding white light. He felt his body cede to gravity, and when the light subsided, he saw the familiar grey sky rushing toward him. Tendrils of mist trailed behind his form as he passed through the blackened clouds. Ben was greeted by a war-torn desert scape, crimson sand littered with corpses and rusted weapons as far as the eye could see. A purple sky with twin moons gave the rapidly approaching dune an odd hue. He impacted the sand and abruptly found himself standing upright on a hill overlooking the battle-scarred land.

He leaned the ornate halberd on his shoulder again and surveyed his surroundings. He felt the presence of his Avatar manifest itself behind him, and he turned to look at the feline creature who lay lazily atop a modest pile of corpses. A tall, pale woman in midnight armor with short black hair and grey eyes sat reclined against the angular obsidian ribcage of the entity.

“You,” Ben said, surprisingly unbothered by the corpses littered all over the desert.

“Yeah. Me,” replied the woman with an eerily familiar voice.

“What’s going on here? I thought you were a manifestation of my Avatar.”

The woman smiled and rubbed the flaming, glassy belly of the Avatar.

“He does like his theatrics,” she said humorously, smiling with her cold grey eyes. “You’re pretty sharp. I’m assuming he used my form to test you, and since you’re here, I guess he found you worthy.”

“Why am I here?” Ben paused to add, “And who are you?”

“I’m just a fragment of a lost girl.” The woman swept her gaze over the bleak landscape. “He’s very jealous, in case you haven’t noticed.” She grinned. “He wouldn’t be content to let the ether claim my soul, so we compromised, and now the form you see is the fruit of that bargain.” She gestured to herself.

“Still doesn’t answer my questions,” Ben said firmly.

The woman laughed, a pleasant sound to his ears. “This form went by many names, but I think there's only one that you'd be interested in. Deidre, but you can call me Dee.” She winked. “Dee, The first Herald.”

Ben felt a weight shift deep within his being.

“As for why you’re here,” the woman stood and materialized an identical ornate halberd, “An acquaintance of yours has designs on your power. So...” With graceful precision, she flourished the weapon. A stark contrast to the manifestation he had faced in the clearing. “I have till morning to get you ready.”