In the last waning light of evening, a cold wind blew through a ruined keep. Around exposed trusses, through open wounds in the keep’s towers and over piles of rubble, strewn about the grounds. It burned at Lord Aubrey’s exposed skin, a sting that carried the bitter promise of winter.

He watched over the workers below as they sorted through the rubble, the efforts to rebuild the keep only just beginning. However, his mind was elsewhere, hardly registering what he was seeing. He heard the footsteps of one of his soldiers approaching, though.

“They’ve arrived, my Lord.”

An unsettling shiver went down his spine.

“See them inside, then. Tell them I will visit them later tonight.”

“They’ve already entered, my Lord. And they wished to speak to you immediately.”

Aubrey paused, then sighed quietly. His hands clenched on the stone railing of the wall, tightening until his knuckles had whitened.

“Very well. You are dismissed, soldier.”

The soldier bowed, then left him alone atop the wall once more. Aubrey steeled himself, wishing he could partake of a glass of wine for his nerves. But no, tonight he would need his full faculties. That, and luck.

His hand moved to rest over his coin purse, within which a small, smooth black stone lay, tucked at the very bottom. Then, he walked towards his ruined tower, feeling like a doomed man to his own personal gallows.

The outbuilding on the side of his tower remained intact, and a fire already burned inside. It was one of the few suitable rooms left in the keep for entertaining visitors, and Aubrey had it prepared well in advance.

As it turned out, he was not the first to arrive.

“Evening, Lord… Aubrey, was it?” A raspy yet deep voice said as he entered the door.

Aubrey’s stomach dropped, then went cold. There was someone already seated in a chair, resting before the fireplace.

“Yes, it is,” he responded cautiously. “And to whom am I speaking?”

“Come, take a seat. Or don’t. This won’t take long either way.”

Aubrey walked quietly to a chair then sat down, eyeing the man across carefully. Only, he couldn’t. The more Aubrey tried to look at the man, the more his eyes blurred and lost focus, sliding off him until Aubrey found himself looking at the floor, or the ceiling. He knew the man was there, but couldn’t make out more than an outline, and the muted greys of the man’s clothes.

“A nice keep you have here,” the man said, but there wasn’t a hint of politeness in his voice. “Though it was a bit nicer last time I visited.”

Aubrey gave up trying to look at the figure, turning his gaze to the fireplace instead. A bead of sweat had built at the centre of his back.

“I must say, though, I was rather confused when orders came down for us to come here, of all places. A keep at the very end of the Empire is hardly where people in my line of work tend to find ourselves, after all.”

Aubrey felt the skin crawling sensation of the man turning to look at him, even as Aubrey himself tried and failed to do the same. A headache had started to form in his temples, and was growing worse by the second.

The man’s voice was cold like the edge of a knife when he spoke.

“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about why we’re here, would you, my Lord?”

“That I would not, good sir.”

Aubrey could feel eyes burning into him, but could not meet their gaze no matter what he tried. The sensation was unlike anything he’d felt before… his stomach churned uncomfortably as the pressure in his head built.

“Hm, funny enough, I believe you. You don’t know a thing, after all.”

The sound of a blade being sheathed made Aubrey gulp. He hadn’t even known the man had a weapon drawn the entire time.

“That does make this unfortunately harder, I’m afraid.”

The blurred figure rose from his chair, and Aubrey sucked in his breath as he began to chant. The man’s voice was unnatural, speaking in whispers that came not from his body but the air around him, layered over itself dozens of times in countless voices. Male and female, young and old, not one of which sounded anything like the deep, raspy wheeze of the man’s normal voice. The chanting built in intensity, voices speaking unknown words in a language Aubrey couldn’t begin to understand, until all at once, everything went silent.

A soft ping sounded, like a drop of water or the ringing of a bell. Aubrey felt a wave of something pass over him through the air, sending a ripple through him that didn’t seem to affect his clothes or hair in the slightest. He felt it inside, near the pit of his stomach.

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

Aubrey waited in anxious silence.

“Well, isn’t that interesting,” the man said.

“Is there a problem?” Aubrey asked.

“It seems they were right to send us here, after all.”

“What does that mean?”

The indistinct figure took a seat again, the chair creaking under him.

“Traces of magic… an old magic. One I have not encountered in many, many years.”

“I can assure you, I know of no mages here in my keep, good sir hunter.”

“Oh, I’m aware of as much,” the man said with a chuckle. “There are none here, after all. Yet… something lingers.”

“Something?”

The fire flickered unnaturally, as if blown by a wind that did not exist. Sparks flew into the room, landing gently and then burning out on the wooden floor.

“Say, Aubrey,” the man said quietly.

Lord Aubrey barely registered that the man had dropped all honourifics.

“Hm?”

“There’s this old acquaintance of mine… someone I’ve not seen in many years. An old bastard in the Order with a few too many skeletons in his closet. You wouldn’t happen to have run into anyone like that recently, would you?”

Aubrey kept his face a painted, cold mask, though inside his heart was racing.

“I’m not exactly-”

“You know just who I’m speaking of, Aubrey,” the man said, anger creeping into his tone. He rose from the chair slowly, coming to stand in front of Aubrey’s chair, looming over him. Aubrey’s eyes tried to find anything to focus on, but everywhere he looked, the man’s figure was somewhere in sight. His eyes started to flicker and shake, unable to focus anywhere, as that pressure in his temples started to scream.

“If you’re speaking of Ordained,” Aubrey said, his tongue started to feel swollen and numb. His whole head now felt like he was feverish. “There was one here who might match that description, yes.”

“And this man… did he have anyone with him?”

The sound of a blade being drawn caused more sweat to begin rolling down Aubrey’s back.

“An apprentice, yes.”

Though Aubrey still couldn’t focus his eyes he thought that, just maybe, the man seemed startled by that.

“An apprentice? What did they look like?”

“A young Arklander lad,” Aubrey said, wincing in pain as it became too strenuous to even keep his eyes open. “Seemed a nice enough kid.”

The man paused, and the pressure building around Aubrey abated. The baron took the moment to breathe deep, trying to collect himself in the sudden reprieve.

“A young lad, you say? Not a young woman… or an old hag?”

Aubrey nodded.

“Hmm… If he’s not travelling with her, then what…”

The man sheathed his blade again abruptly, and Aubrey felt a strong hand clamp down over his shoulder. A hand that was a little too strong. The grip was like a vice, clenching harder than any normal person should have been able to, even without seeming to try too hard.

“You’ve been a wonderful help, my Lord. I wish you the best of luck with your keep.”

Then the pain in Aubrey’s temples came back, this time so strong it felt like his head was being split by an axe. Aubrey gasped and doubled over, clutching and clawing at his temples as a hiss escaped his lips. The ground under him seemed to shake and shudder, and then all at once, snapped back to stillness. The pain in his head disappeared in an instant, and Aubrey blinked his eyes open in shock.

There was no man standing in front of him, nor any sign that he had been there. The fireplace was cold and empty, nothing remaining of the fire that had been roaring just a moment ago.

Aubrey took a shuddering breath, then collapsed low into his chair. He shakily reached a hand down into his coin purse, clutching the black stone within.

I hope that was enough, Master Griffith.

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Outside the keep walls, six riders in grey and white armour waited patiently. The seventh walked calmly out to meet them, lowering the dark hood from his head as he approached. He had long black hair streaked with grey, pulled back and plaited so that only a few strands fell over his face. A black scarf was wrapped around his neck, pulled up high and covering his face from the bridge of his nose down.

“Find anything?” The largest of the six asked, his voice a shockingly deep baritone.

“Indeed,” the seventh responded, a dark smile tugging at the corner of his lip under the scarf. “It seems the Diviners did not send us on a wild goose chase, after all.”

“How many do we leave alive?” One of the six asked, a woman who spoke with a cold detachment. She was already holding a war spear loosely, the reddish-bronze tint of its metal catching the moonlight dangerously.

“Our lead has already left the keep,” the seventh said. “Our business here is finished.”

“Shame.”

“Now, now,” the seventh chided. “Our hunt is only just beginning, isn’t it? You’ll have your chance at the kill soon, Annora.”

The woman ignored him.

The seventh walked to where his horse was tied to a tree, releasing the knot and mounting his steed. The other six bristled in anticipation, waiting with what the seventh knew to be a barely restrained excitement for his order.

He smiled to himself, waiting longer than he needed to address them. He could feel their anticipation, the desperation with which they wished to be set loose.

When he felt they’d waited enough, he turned to face them.

“You know what to do,” he said quietly, enjoying the way they hung from his every word. “After all… we have a druid to hunt.”