The sun had only just risen, yet the air burned with the oppressive heat of summer days in Aurelia. Kaja swayed miserably, looking as if she might pass out at any moment. She fumbled with her cloak and hood, but knew better than to remove it. Sakrattars handed her his fan and sidled closer to the temple steps, desperate for the meager shade they provided. There was nothing else that could be done without revealing her decidedly non-human nature. They would have to hope it would be cooler on the road than it was in town.

“Over here!” Leif waved. He approached with a friendly grin on his face and a travel pack slung over his shoulder. Behind him was Amale, who wore a sleeveless tunic, looking the most comfortable of them all in the sweltering heat. Leif wiped a stream of sweat from his brow. “This way,” he said.

The party wound through Orium’s largest marketplace, a maze of crowded stalls clustered at the foot of the temple to Aegis, patron goddess of Aurelia. A modest-sized but lavishly gilded statue of her towered over the scene, where farmers haggled with customers over the prices of eggs or bartered away onion baskets in exchange for cloth.

“Here we are,” Leif announced, gesturing to a line of wagons parked on the side of the road. Using his connections, he was able to secure a spot for the party in a small caravan bound for Barsicum. There were a few initial misgivings by the merchants but once Leif had explained that it was a mutually beneficial arrangement, they ultimately conceded. Of course, it had certainly smoothed negotiations when he mentioned that one of the party members was a natiuhan warrior.

The merchants, rubbing the sleep from their eyes, concentrated on overseeing the workers loading the last of their goods into the wagons, carefully counting to make sure everything was present and secured. Nearby, hired guards leaned against posts where their horses were tethered, whittling away the time until departure. Some checked their saddlebags or examined their weapons, others stretched or paced in bored circles. One man broke away from the bustle to greet the party.

“Remus!” Leif greeted him amicably. “Good to see you.”

Remus smiled politely but passed him by to get to Jo without a pause in his step. “So you’re the natiuhan,” he marveled. “I’ve never had the pleasure to work with one before. I won’t have anything to worry about with you around,” he chuckled. “As you can see, my regular guards are a bit lacking.” He jerked a thumb in their direction. Sakrattars looked over to see one of the guards yawning.

“I see,” Jo replied, uninterested.

“Here, why don’t you put your pack in this wagon.” Remus shoved a few sacks out of the way to make room. “The child can ride in here too and maybe one more of you.” He leered at Jo, a twinkle in his eye. “Come, let’s have you up by me. I’ll be driving.”

Humoring him, Jo followed and watched as he struggled to climb onto the driver’s seat. She was about to offer to lift him up, just to see the look on his face, but Leif had worked hard to get them here and she wasn’t about to spoil it for a bit of fun.

The pair of draft horses, who had been standing in relaxed boredom all morning, suddenly tensed when Jo got near. They snorted and trembled, their eyes bulging. Remus, confused by their sudden change in mood, cooed soft words to calm them but the horses were having none of it.

“I don’t think they like me very much,” Jo said, smiling wryly. She was having a bit of fun after all.

“Nonsense, they don’t mind strangers,” Remus said, though judging by their behavior, Jo was clearly an exception. He shook his head in disbelief. Ultimately, he had no choice but to let Jo bring up the rear, dashing his hopes of being seen personally escorted into Barsicum by a natiuhan warrior—something only high status Imperials could typically boast of. As they made their final preparations to leave Orium, Remus’ bubbly enthusiasm soured and he became sulky and moody.

The day was uneventful from then on. Kaja leaned over the edge of the wagon and let the countryside roll by. When she grew tired of the scenery, she tossed Bartholomew a beetle larva and watched the toad’s clumsily attempts at hunting. He gulped at the larva repeatedly, but succeeded only in moistening the floor of the cart with his wet, pink tongue. Kaja glanced up to see if Sakrattars would scold her for overfeeding him but he wasn’t paying her any mind. He had more pressing things to focus on.

His nose buried deep in a book, Sakrattars was becoming increasingly frustrated at his inability to get a fire spell just right. He would recite the incantation, only to be disappointed when nothing happened and he was forced to consult the book again. One mis-cast had accidentally set the corner of a jute sack on fire but he managed to extinguish it before anyone noticed. He shifted the goods around to hide the charred section, then returned to his studying.

Jo, Leif, and Amale brought up the rear on foot, listening to Leif’s endless adventurous tales and harrowing war stories. Jo doubted that any of them were even close to being true, a theory that was reinforced by Amale’s unimpressed side-eye and flicking ear.

They camped for the night at the side of the road, circling the wagons before stretching out on their bedrolls. The night was muggy and windless, and only Amale and Jo seemed to be able to tolerate the heat, snoring peacefully while everyone else was restless and miserable. Kaja settled down with difficulty, but at last her eyes closed.

She awoke with a start in the middle of the night. Though moonless, the sky was still filled with stars. The guard on watch idly poked the glowing embers of the fire; another stood by the horses, dozing peacefully against a tree.

Kaja laid her head back down, trying without success to dismiss the feeling that had woken her—the feeling of being watched.

The second day of travel was just as dull as the first. Sakrattars fanned himself with his book, wishing that the wagons were covered so he could get out of the sun. Even Bartholomew sought comfort in the sparse shade underneath a stack of crates and wouldn’t come out for anything.

As the sun disappeared beneath the horizon, the whole caravan breathed a collective sigh of relief. Everyone was hot, thirsty, and desperate for a good rest at the upcoming inn.

The inns were a common sight along the main roads in Aurelia, spaced so no one would have to go more than a day or two’s travel without a safe place to rest. Small but well-kept, this one cast welcoming orange light onto the dark road beyond. The clink of crockery and the sound of laughter promised a night of hot food and relaxation.

A meal and some beer did wonders to revitalize the travel-weary crew, and the companions and the caravan guards stayed up to drink and socialize long after the merchants went to bed.

After a few mugs, Leif managed to cajole Jo into an arm-wrestling contest. Following his urges to “not go easy” on him, Jo ended their match in the same moment it began, slamming Leif’s arm down effortlessly within full view of the entire tavern. Leif yelped in surprise as the force of her movement knocked him right off his chair, sending his mug of beer flying. He came out laughing and soaked. “Hah! Did everyone see that? That’s what happens when you challenge someone who bested a jungle bear!”

Sakrattars scoffed. “There’s no such thing as a—ugh!” He recoiled in disgust as Leif stumbled into him in a drunken haze, smearing his robes with spilled beer.

“That’s right: a mighty jungle bear!” Leif slurred, swinging a damp arm around Sakrattars’ shoulders and yanking the irritated elf into an awkward embrace. Sakrattars shoved uselessly at his teetering bulk but he didn’t seem to notice. “No shame in losing to someone like that but a lot of glory to be had in winning!”

This captured the attention of several of the guards and even a few other patrons who weren’t there with the caravan. It wasn’t long before a betting pool had been set up and Jo was roped into a series of contests against all who dared to take her on. Whoever lost had to buy drinks for all the participants. Though Leif wasn’t technically participating, he still ended up with a full mug after each round.

In the end, Jo was undefeated and everyone went to bed late, completely worn out and dreading waking up early the next morning.

*

*

It was the middle of the night when Kaja was awakened, this time by a soft scratching noise. She sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, glancing over at Jo’s soundly sleeping form. When her eyes adjusted, she saw a small figure huddled in the far corner of the room. Thinking someone was there, Kaja quickly got up for her cloak but immediately knew that something wasn’t quite right. The creaky floorboards were silent and the room looked distorted, light and shadow undulating together in irregular waves. Kaja looked back to the bed and gasped.

She saw herself, curled up sleeping, her head cradled on the pillow.

She reached out and touched her sleeping body in disbelief. Was this a dream?

Scratch, scratch.

Kaja turned. In her confusion, she had almost forgotten why she had awoken in the first place. The figure, more visible now, appeared to be a very young and frail child wrapped in tattered clothes. It was hunched over, intently focused on the floor.

“Hello?” Kaja whispered. The child looked up, its face hidden behind a plain mask with dark, hollow eyes. Rather than fear, Kaja felt a wave of sadness. The child waited for a few moments but when Kaja didn’t say or do anything more, it turned its attention back to the floor board, scratching at the wood’s surface with a thin, bony finger.

Kaja knelt down beside the child and examined the board. To her surprise, it wasn’t nailed down. She gently moved the board aside and peered underneath. At first she didn’t see anything, but just as she was considering giving up, she spotted a small, crudely-made doll hidden in a dark nook thick with cobwebs. The child reached out silently, hands grasping. Readjusting her position, Kaja snaked her hand under the floor and grabbed the doll.

Small body quivering with excitement, the child eagerly took the doll from Kaja and held it close, their joy at being reunited with their beloved toy so palpable that it was infectious. The child tugged at the hem of Kaja’s dress and held out an emaciated hand, the skin pale, almost translucent.

When the child pressed something into Kaja’s palm, she woke up in bed, the soft light of dawn streaming in through the windows.

“I’m glad you’re up,” Jo said as she gathered their things. “Any longer and I was going to have to wake you.”

Kaja shielded her eyes from the sunlight and yawned, then noticed that she was holding a small locket on a chain. She tried to unhook the locket’s clasp but it was rusted shut. Was the visitor last night real? Kaja inspected the floorboard where the child had been trying to get their doll. The board was nailed in place, with no evidence of having been disturbed.

“What’s wrong?” Jo asked.

“Nothing,” Kaja replied quietly. After a brief moment of contemplation, she fastened the chain around her neck.

As they were leaving the room, Kaja found a small piece of paper on the ground. Thinking that it might have to do with the mysterious child and the locket, she picked it up and unfolded it. Her Imperial Common still wasn’t very good and she struggled to read the words, but it was short and to the point:

Leave the caravan. There’s a spy among them.

It wasn’t related to the child at all. Someone must have slipped it under the door sometime during the night.

“Come on, Kaja, let’s go,” Jo called from the hallway.

Kaja read the note one more time, then folded it back up and stuck it into her pocket. They couldn’t leave the caravan now, not when they were this close to Barsicum.

It was another scorching hot day on the dusty road. Remus complained from the driver’s seat, dabbing his forehead with his handkerchief every chance he got, moaning about the uncomfortable bed at the inn and hoping that they would reach Barsicum by nightfall so he would be spared another itchy, straw mattress. Despite the incessant chatter, Sakrattars tried his best to concentrate on reading.

“Sakrattars, what’s a spy?” Kaja asked as the caravan bumped and rolled through a grove of trees.

Sakrattars sighed and closed the book. “A spy? Hmm.” He struggled to recall the word for it in Draconic. “It’s someone who watches you.”

“Oh.” Kaja rested her chin in her hands.

He turned back to his book, but an unsettling tingle coursed through his body. “Why? Where did you hear that word?”

Before Kaja could respond, there was a tremendous crash from ahead of them. The sound of cracking wood and squealing horses nearly drowned out the guards’ voices as they raised the alarm.

“Ambush!”

The guards wheeled their horses around as a swarm of kobolds came pouring out of the surrounding woods. With the first wagon stuck in a pit trap with a broken axle, the rest of the wagons were effectively sitting ducks. Horses reared and screamed. The wagon drivers tried to veer off-road to get around the obstruction, but only succeeded in tangling themselves up more. Remus turned back to face Kaja and Sakrattars in a panic.

“Go!” he cried, attempting to get off the cart. “Get to—” An arrow pierced his neck, cutting off his words, and he toppled over, gurgling and choking. Kaja gasped, holding her hands to her mouth in terror as Remus reached out to her one last time.

“Let’s go!” Jo yelled, waving to them to jump off the wagon. “We need to get out of here!”

“We need to help them!” Leif shouted back, his axe and shield at the ready.

“Are you crazy?” Sakrattars exclaimed.

Leif growled in frustration. “You’re a cowardly elf!”

Sakrattars turned to the others, clutching his book in one hand and Bartholomew in the other. “Let’s leave him,” he said resolutely.

Jo grabbed Leif’s shoulder and spun him around. “The ‘cowardly elf’ is right. We need to get Kaja to safety.” Leif was going to argue, but one look at Kaja’s terrified face was enough to convince him. He nodded reluctantly.

The companions escaped into the surrounding woods but they didn’t get far before they spotted more kobolds patrolling the area. Amale, ears alert and nose twitching, gestured to a ditch in the shadow of a fallen tree. Everyone dove behind it, holding their breath. The kobolds circled the battlefield, chattering in Draconic while they waited for an opportunity to move in and plunder. Clasped in their taloned hands were crude crossbows and daggers lashed to long sticks. The party watched as a badly wounded guard raised his own crossbow, surprising the kobolds by sending a bolt through one of their legs. Hissing and cursing, the others peppered the guard’s body with shots. He jerked at each impact, and then was still.

After excruciating minutes that felt like hours, the din of battle softened, the screaming and groaning quieted, and the horrible sound of butchery faded away. In the eerie silence that remained, Kaja heard a faint, unintelligible whisper. Confused, she looked around at her companions but they were all focused on the situation at hand. When she didn’t hear it again, she peered over the log.

Kobolds shuffled around the wagons, tearing into crates and ripping open sacks. Squabbles broke out over who would get to keep what. Some of the kobolds stood watch for any survivors, dispatching them as necessary. To the party’s surprise, one of the caravan guards was still alive. Kaja recognized him as the one who had been stirring the embers when she awoke a few nights before. He limped after a hooded figure dressed in a long, black cloak.

“I did what you asked,” the guard said. “I told you everything.”

“The girl isn’t here,” the hooded figure replied, his voice cold with a metallic timbre.

“I don’t care. You owe me my payment—plus more for my damned leg!” he complained, a kobold bolt sticking out of his calf. “And if I don’t get every coin, I’ll—”

The figure suddenly spun around and drove a dagger through the guard’s gut. A second dagger sliced the traitor’s throat. His body slumped to the ground and the figure kicked it away with disappointment and disgust.

Then Kaja heard the whispers again. The hooded figure lifted his head, revealing a featureless metal mask with narrow eye slits. The whispers grew louder. Kaja’s heart pounded. She instinctively clutched the locket around her neck. The hooded figure looked in the direction of the party, scanning the woods carefully. Kaja let out a sigh of relief when he was interrupted by a kobold.

“Sir,” the kobold barked, “the knife lady has been giving us trouble in the woods.”

The hooded figure’s gaze lingered on the spot where the party was hiding for another moment before he turned to the kobold. “What would Bhorovane say, knowing that you couldn’t handle a lone skirmisher?”

“That’s Lord Bhorovane!” the kobold snarled, although her voice now sounded a bit uncertain. “And it’s not our fault. The knife lady wears the blue.”

This got the hooded figure’s full attention. “Show me.”

Leif grinded his teeth. “They’re all dead. We couldn’t do anything to help them.”

“If we had stayed, we would be too,” Amale murmured. Though his words were pragmatic, his tone suggested he was feeling the same regret.

“It’s too dangerous to approach the road again,” Sakrattars said. “We’re only a couple of hours from Barsicum. If we can reach the city I think we’ll be safe. And if this ‘knife lady’ has their attention, we can use that to our advantage.”

Jo nodded and put her hand on Leif’s shoulder. “There’s nothing more we can do. They’re with Melcuni now.” As the party melted back into the trees, Leif lingered a moment longer. His steel-blue eyes scanned the battlefield, his jaw clenched in barely suppressed frustration. He turned briskly and followed his companions.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

With Amale in the lead as their scout, the party made their way through the woods, continuing until the remains of the caravan were no longer in sight. Just when it appeared that they might pull off their getaway, they came across the overgrown, crumbled ruins of an ancient cottage. Amale crouched, holding up a paw, and everyone stopped in their tracks.

An elf dressed in padded armor and a navy blue tabard was facing off against a kobold, with a dead kobold laying at their feet. The pair circled each other in tense anticipation, both waiting for their opponent to make a mistake. When the kobold finally thrust their pike forward, the elf dodged the attack and closed the gap faster than the blink of an eye. She made two precision cuts with her daggers and the kobold dropped the pike and crumpled to the ground.

“She must be the knife lady,” Leif whispered, “but where did she come from? She doesn’t look familiar.”

“Shh,” Sakrattars hushed, “look there.”

The mysterious hooded figure from before, escorted by a group of four kobolds, was fast approaching the knife lady’s position. The elf was occupied with wiping the blood off her daggers, seemingly unaware of the danger she was still in.

“We can’t let them harm her,” Leif said. “If we ambush them, we should be able to take them out.”

“There’s five of them and four of us. And Kaja,” Sakrattars added as an afterthought. “It’s too risky, we should just go around while they distract one another.”

“And just leave her to die too?” Leif huffed.

“She’s not our concern.”

“Unbelievable! You’re no coward, you’re craven.”

“Stop,” Amale growled sharply. “Look.” The knife lady had disappeared. The hooded figure and his entourage now entered the stone ruins, coming dangerously close to where the companions were hiding. Some of the kobolds sported new weapons, stolen from the slain caravaneers. Reptile-skin pouches at their belts swung heavily, laden with newly obtained coins.

One kobold paused a few paces from them. She turned in a circle slowly, sniffing.

“Let’s go back,” Sakrattars whispered nervously.

“If we move, they’ll spot us,” Amale answered. “We need to hide and wait, or fight.”

Jo tightened her cestus and flexed her hand. “I’d rather strike first than wait to be found.” Leif’s face brightened and Sakrattars’ fell. Kaja gripped the locket but her silent apprehension went unnoticed. Once the nearest kobold moved off, Leif and Amale crept through the undergrowth to the flanks, slowly surrounding them.

When everyone was ready, Jo rustled the bushes. One of the kobolds signaled to the others to investigate. The hooded figure followed. The kobolds were so close now that Jo could see individual scales on their armored bodies and smell their pungent breath. Nearby, Amale mimicked a bird call. That was their sign.

Jo and Leif burst forth swinging fist and axe, causing the kobolds to jump back in alarm. Sakrattars readied a spell, shielding Kaja behind his body. Amale dashed to a better vantage point and nocked an arrow, analyzing the fight for an opening to shoot.

But something was off. The hooded figure didn’t act surprised or move to defend himself. Rather, he stared straight through the battle at Kaja.

“There you are,” he said, unnervingly calm. He parted his cloak and drew his daggers. The forest dimmed unnaturally as a sliver of darkness partially eclipsed the sun’s light. The birds fell silent, and a chill breeze rustled through the treetops with a loud whisper. Kaja shook with terror, her eyes widening in recognition. A palpable surge of fear emanated from the hooded figure, crashing against the unsuspecting party like a wave.

Startled and shaken, Amale let loose his arrow. The hooded figure’s form wavered and jolted, a shadowy mist pouring from the joints of his armor. The arrow sailed through the space the man had occupied a moment before. The shadowy mist coalesced nearby, his form returning.

Ignoring the ineffectual attack and moving impossibly fast, the man snaked his way through Leif, Jo, and the kobolds, his eerie metal mask never once turning away from his target. He seemed to jolt and dart through reality, discorporating into shadowy vapor to pass through trees and circumvent the struggling fighters, only to re-form once the obstacle was passed. Before Sakrattars could even register the man’s approach, he had already bypassed him and was face to face with Kaja.

“I know who you are”—the hooded figure’s voice cracked into two: one of a man and one ancient and malevolent—“little zmaj.”

Sakrattars splashed a wave of magical acid at the assailant, but he twirled away, black cloak billowing. “Kaja, go!”

Kaja willed her legs to move but she was frozen in place, watching in horror as Sakrattars fought back with his spells. Only after the hooded figure’s metal gaze focused on Sakrattars was Kaja able to run and hide. She crawled under a dense bush and peered through the leafy branches, trying to catch her breath. Fear washed over her like a mighty river; it felt as if she were being crushed into the damp earth.

Another arrow sailed past the shadow man, sticking harmlessly into a tree. Amale gritted his teeth and ducked back into cover, his shaking paws fumbling with his quiver. Every time an arrow or attack got close, the man’s body dissolved, the swirling shadows darting to the side and out of harm’s way. He laughed contemptuously.

Sakrattars swiped forward, magical fire streaming from his fingertips, but the shadow man swung his cloak around, the thick wool repelling the spell in an explosion of embers. He vaulted over Sakrattars’ head, jumping much higher than any being of his stature should have been able. Amale emerged from cover, a fresh arrow nocked, only to see that his target had disappeared.

The shadow man descended behind Amale, readying a strike in midair. He turned his head towards Kaja and, although his face was obscured by the mask, she felt their eyes make contact. He not only knew where she was hiding, he wanted to be certain that she was watching. It seemed as if they were both suspended in time—his cloak rippling gracefully, her breath catching in her throat—as they stared at one another.

Kaja opened her mouth to force Amale’s name out. Her heart thudded against her chest. She would be too late. Why couldn’t she say anything? Why was she never able to save anyone . . .

Amale’s ears suddenly swiveled back as his instincts guided him in evading the shadow man’s attack. He dropped his bow and drew his kukris to repel the furious assault. The kukris found only air as the man dodged, phasing through trees and occasionally through Amale himself, only to appear behind him for a vicious, closed-fisted strike. Discouraged and frightened, Amale faltered and one of the enemy’s daggers met its mark on his forearm. He let out a sharp yelp as his kukri clattered to the ground. The man laughed again. He could have landed a deadly strike at any time, but he was enjoying the fear and pain far too much to end the game so soon.

Running on pure adrenaline and fear for Amale’s life, Kaja burst forth from her hiding place. “Stop!” she cried.

The moment she was exposed, the shadow man swirled away from Amale and re-formed in front of Kaja. She skidded to a halt and screamed, cowering from a blow she anticipated was coming.

But one never came.

A gust of air whipped at her cloak as Jo bull-rushed the man, forcing him to abandon his strike as he turned to vapor, letting her pass through him without effect. Jo positioned herself between him and Kaja, swinging her fist down onto his head. His form jolted again, disappearing and reappearing in the blink of an eye as Jo’s attack passed harmlessly through him. In the same motion, he swirled through her and slashed her calf from behind. Jo spun on her heels, intending to bring her elbow down on him, but he was too quick and twisted away, raking the point of his dagger along her ribs as he did.

Kaja shut her eyes, her thoughts a chaotic jumble of panic and guilt. Jo was fighting for her, bleeding for her. She could die. They could all die.

The shadow man drew back, preparing for another attack. Jo assumed a defensive stance, her skin glistening with sweat, blood, and dust. Amale, clutching a kukri in his remaining good hand, stood back to back with Leif. Jeering kobolds surrounded them, taking experimental swipes, probing for weaknesses. Leif narrowly deflected the blows with his shield, but they were being slowly hammered into a corner of the ruins. Trapped.

Sakrattars, meanwhile, had noticed a pattern. The man’s form turned to mist and shadow any time someone struck him, but he never landed his own blows in that state. So just before making an attack, he had to be solid. Otherwise his strike would just pass right through his enemy. Sakrattars drew a shaking breath. He hoped he was right. If he wasn’t . . .

Banishing doubt from his mind, Sakrattars studied the man’s movements as he struggled against Jo.

There.

In the instant before the man’s dagger slashed across Jo’s ribs again, Sakrattars hit his forearm with a shot of magical acid. It sizzled and hissed, quickly burning through his darkened leather vambrace. Howling in pain and fury, the man recoiled and clutched his arm. Taking advantage of the opening, Jo gave him a two-handed shove and he slid backwards, panting and flickering as he tried to register what had just happened.

Kaja set her jaw. This was all happening because of her and she wasn’t going to let it go without a fight.

Not this time.

Driven by some horrible mix of fear and anger, Kaja lunged forward and clenched the man’s wrist in a tight fist. He shrieked, a horrible inhuman sound distorted by the metallic echo of his mask. He thrashed as the flesh of his arm froze solid under a rime of shimmering white frost, but Kaja refused to let go, pouring all of her arcane energy into the attack.

Seizing the opportunity, Jo sunk her fist deep into the writhing man’s gut. He fell over, blinking in and out of existence, bleeding darkness in roiling waves. His mask slid off and crashed to the ground, revealing the quivering, tortured face of a human man underneath. He shifted rapidly through expressions and emotions, often showing two or three at once—the ghostly images superimposed on one another. Laughing, screaming, weeping, ecstatic, furious, terrified.

The icy magic crept up his arm, as if the frost were devouring him alive. He struggled weakly, giving a final shudder before he went rigid. A black mist spewed forth from his mouth and spiraled into the sky. A fell storm roared into existence as hailstones burst from the gray clouds, pelting the stunned companions.

Seeing this, the kobolds panicked. They threw down their stolen weapons, fleeing into the undergrowth. They turned to look over their shoulders as they fled—but it was not the party they seemed to fear. It was that dark mist swirling in the sky. The companions, too, stared at this aberration above them, confused and speechless.

A strange yearning tugged at Kaja’s heart. The mist exuded a magnetic pull, inexplicably drawing her in, urging her to pursue it through the clouds. She fell to her knees, her head thrown back, her eyes rolling uncontrollably. One thought consumed her mind: her prey was escaping.

“Kaja?” Jo shook her, trying to break the trance. “Kaja!”

But Kaja could no longer hear. A frightful presence clawed at her chest as if her body was its prison. It longed to chase the retreating mist, to rend it into nothingness. Kaja cowered from the trapped spirit, the fear she felt strengthening the chains that bound it, and thus further enraging it.

“Kaja!”

When Kaja opened her eyes, the mist was gone, the sky was clear, and she was in Jo’s arms, with Leif, Sakrattars, and Amale looking down at her with concern. She clutched her chest, sucking in a gasping breath. The ground around them was covered in hailstones, which began to steam as the summer heat returned.

“Thank the gods,” Leif sighed from relief.

“What happened?” Sakrattars asked.

Kaja blinked. “I . . . I don’t know.”

“Does it matter?” Jo shook her head. “She’s alright.” Her adrenaline was starting to wear off and the pain from her injuries was setting in. “She’s alright,” she repeated gratefully then winced. She grasped her side and pulled away a palm covered in blood.

“Let me help,” Amale said softly, retrieving a healer’s kit from his pack.

“You’re hurt too,” Jo said. Blood matted the fur on Amale’s arm where the shadow man’s dagger had grazed him.

“You moreso,” he said simply. Jo didn’t argue further.

“Who was that man?” Leif asked. He looked to Kaja, who immediately cast her gaze downwards. “He called you a zmaj. What does that mean?” Jo placed a hand on Kaja’s shoulder, attempting to turn her away from all the questions. Kaja, however, slipped from Jo’s touch, taking a step toward Leif.

She drew down her hood with an unsteady hand, exposing her horns and long, white hair. Leif gasped and instinctively took a step back. Even Amale was awestruck, Jo’s injury temporarily forgotten. “They are my people. I’m a zmaj,” Kaja said, her voice trembling. “They want to kill me.”

“They?”

“Bounty hunters, or so I thought,” Sakrattars said, his eyes narrowing with suspicion, “but this was no mere bounty hunter. There was something powerful at work here. Tell us the truth, Jo.”

Jo and Kaja exchanged glances. “Alright,” Jo sighed, “it was last winter when I found Kaja in the Goldenwoods . . .”

*

*

“So you saw that shadow man before?” Leif asked. Though exhausted and footsore, the party could see Barsicum’s outer walls now, the majestic spires of the distant University reflecting the sun’s golden light. Seeing the familiar sights lifted Sakrattars’ mood considerably—no one had thanked him for, or even acknowledged, his insight that turned the tide in the battle with the shadow man.

“We didn’t see anyone,” Jo replied, limping on her hurt leg, “but we sensed someone who was like him. I don’t think they were the same though. The one we felt back in the Goldenwoods was much more . . .” she shuddered, her voice trailing off.

“There’s more than one of those people out there?” Leif frowned. “One was plenty, if you ask me.”

They walked in silence before Jo spoke again, her tone somber. “Follow us and there’s only more danger waiting for you. I’d understand if you want to part ways once we deliver the letter to Lucretia.”

Leif and Amale looked at one another. Both of Amale’s ears pointed toward Leif. After a moment, Leif grumbled, “I don’t appreciate the secrets, but. . .” He turned toward them. “I’ll help you if you’ll have me.” Amale nodded in agreement. Kaja smiled shyly, touched by their loyalty when she had expected them to leave.

“How about you, elf?” Jo turned to Sakrattars, who had been uncharacteristically quiet during the discussion.

Sakrattars was torn. On one hand, terrifying beings were hunting them and Jo still wasn’t telling them the whole truth. The Goldenwoods were far from Jo’s southeasterly home of Culacalli. The fact that she was there at all was incredibly suspicious and Sakrattars felt that she was concealing crucial details from them.

On the other hand, if he survived the journey and published his studies, an illustrious academic career was all but guaranteed to him. He could study and teach anywhere in the world and his family would never be able to accuse him of being a disappointment and failure again.

In the end, he had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

“I’ll help too,” he said at last. “I already said I would be your diviner.”

Kaja smiled brightly. Leif barely concealed an eye-roll, but said nothing.

When they reached Barsicum, it was decided that they would go to Lucretia’s home first and then head to an inn for a much deserved meal and rest. They could regroup and start fresh in the morning.

“Hey elf, where’s this address?” Jo asked. “Twelve Via Liber.”

Sakrattars bristled. “How would I know?”

“You lived here, right?”

“That doesn’t mean I know where every address is,” he sighed wearily.

“What he means is that he didn’t get out much,” Leif quipped. Jo stifled a laugh, then clutched her ribs in pain.

“Give me that.” Sakrattars snatched the letter from Leif’s hands and approached a city guard. “Excuse me, can you tell us where we can find this address?”

The guard, put off by the ragged appearance of the party, looked at the paper reluctantly. His eyebrows shot up. “Is this a joke?”

Sakrattars took the letter back, reading it over in confusion. Astinos’ mother Camilla was elderly, could she have misremembered? “Why do you say that?”

“The lady who lived there went mad.” The guard shifted his weight, scratching his neck nervously as he recalled the events. “Killed a bunch of people and burned her own house down. It was a big scandal.”

Now that he was reminded of it, Sakrattars did recall hearing market gossip about such an event at the end of spring. But why would Lucretia, or anyone, do such a horrible thing? It didn’t make any sense. Yet the fact that both her lover, Astinos, and Lucretia herself had met with unfortunate fates added weight to the lump forming in Sakrattars’ gut.

“Can you tell us where the house is anyway?” Leif asked.

The guard looked at him skeptically. “If you really want to go there.”

Following the directions they received, the party came upon the scorched ruins of a small home on the outer edge of the city. By the time they got there the sun had almost completely set and the low light cast eerie shadows onto the blackened stone walls. A perimeter of wooden fencing had been erected around the burned house, with signs ordering everyone to stay away. Truthfully, the fencing was probably unnecessary—none of the locals had any desire to trespass in that place.

The party bypassed the fences, Amale glancing back at the warnings with a concerned whine. Leif tried the door but the wood had turned to brittle charcoal and crumbled off its frame. Startled by this, a rat shrieked and skittered off into the rubble. The thatch roof had completely burned away and the support beams were charred and broken, lying where they had crashed down weeks previously. The floor was covered in ash and scattered objects, most too burned to identify.

The few people that passed by stared at the party, some with suspicion and others with a contempt reserved specially for unscrupulous thieves. Perhaps it was the cursed aura of the place or Jo’s presence, or maybe a bit of both, but none of the bystanders actually took the initiative to accost them.

“Look.” Kaja held up a scrap of singed paper found in the ashes of the fireplace. Miraculously, it was still intact despite an obvious attempt to have it destroyed. Sakrattars examined it, puzzled. Many other items had been burned to ashes, even those far less flammable than paper. This, however, showed only burned edges. Perhaps someone had saved it from the blaze. . . and then left it behind for some reason? It appeared to be a map to an estate in the north, where the southern hook of the Grayspur mountain range and the southern edge of the Goldenwoods met.

“I didn’t know her, but . . .” Leif mused, turning over a portrait. The paint had bubbled and boiled, scorched far beyond recognition. The ornate frame suggested that it had once been a cherished item, perhaps even an heirloom. “I can’t believe anyone would do this.”

“But she did.”

Everyone whirled around, startled by the unexpected voice. Metal sang and bowstrings stretched as the party readied their weapons. An elf stood in the doorway, leaning against the ruined frame, her arms crossed. She had two dagger sheaths on her hips and was clothed in padded armor and a familiar navy blue tabard . . .

“You’re the ‘knife lady’,” Sakrattars said. “Are you following us?”

“My name is Linnea Moonwing,” the elf introduced, noticing Jo’s apprehension but electing to ignore it. She locked eyes with Kaja. “I warned you there was a spy.” Kaja’s hand closed around her pocket where the note still remained. “Do you mind?” Linnea asked, looking at Jo, Leif, and Amale, who still had their weapons raised.

Slowly, and reluctantly, they lowered them. “You know her?” Jo asked Kaja.

Kaja shook her head.

“But I know you,” Linnea continued, “or at least, I know the people who are hunting you.” She took her weight off the doorframe, taking a step into the house to join them. “They’re members of a ruthless cult called the Irkallu. The Empire has known many seditious groups, but the Irkallu are . . . different. They’re more organized, more driven, and more dangerous than any of the others. We thought we'd destroyed them a dozen times before, but they always come back, century after century.” Her gray eyes shifted to Kaja. “Their most elite members are known as ‘Fallen’ and have strange, sinister powers. You met one of them in the woods today.”

“We’re just supposed to trust you?” Jo said incredulously, moving to place herself between Linnea and Kaja. “How do you know all this?”

“It’s my job. I’m a member of the Ordo Draconis. It is our duty to identify, disrupt, and destroy threats to the people of the Empire, and to do so outside of the public eye.” She twisted off her left vambrace, exposing the Empire’s heraldic symbol, a golden dragon curled around a sun, hidden underneath. “Lucretia was also a member of our order, before she disappeared.”

“What happened to her?” Leif asked, waving the letter with the ring enclosed. “We came here to deliver this to her. It’s from her late lover.”

Linnea frowned. “So they found Astinos too. Then it’s only a matter of time before they find Bandrigan and Feriel.”

Sakrattars recognized the names from Camilla’s story. “All four of them were Imperial agents?” He gazed down at the map Kaja had found in the fireplace. “Did Bandrigan and Feriel live in the mountains north of here, by any chance?”

“They went into hiding, so I don’t know.” Linnea took the scrap of paper when Sakrattars offered it to her and studied it carefully. “If this is indeed where they are, then Lucretia knows it too. I need to stop her before she murders again,” she paused. “Barsicum isn’t safe for you either, the Irkallu could have their spies anywhere. Would you consider going with me to the estate?”

The party exchanged looks.

“Only if you tell us more about these ‘Irkallu’ and why they are targeting Kaja,” Jo said.

“I don’t know why they’re targeting her, just that they are,” Linnea replied simply, “but I will tell you what I can about them if that would please you.”

Jo squinted, unsure if Linnea was mocking her or not.

“It seems we have little choice but to go with you,” Sakrattars interjected. “If the Irkallu know we’re in Barsicum, we can’t stay here.” Jo grumbled in reluctant agreement. Both Leif and Amale looked sullen. They could all use some hot food and medical care, but it seemed they’d get neither tonight. Though they didn’t like it, leaving was the only option.

Kaja clutched the hem of her dress, twisting the fabric anxiously. Could the Irkallu be the ones who attacked her village that night? She thought of an army of Fallen, masked, supernatural warriors razing the ancient conifer trees to the ground and spilling red blood onto white snow. Although she still held onto a small hope that there were other survivors, somewhere deep inside an uncomfortable possibility was growing too big to ignore—

They were hunting her because she was a loose end, the only one who got away from them that fateful night, and she needed to be eliminated.