JOSAK – GOLDEN UNICORN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

11TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM

Josak was torn. He desperately wanted to heal himself. To stop the pain that was lancing through his body every time he moved because of the bolt of damned Shadow magick that had struck him. It was not the first time he had been struck by shadow magick. He knew all too well the feeling of bone-numbing cold that emanated from these wounds. It shook your resolve and made you fearful and weak. And it slowed you. It was if someone had sucked the energy right out of you. Applied repeatedly, it would suck the will right out of someone, until they died.

But he was not going to die from this one bolt.

And he had desperately sought after the Stone of Evronn for decades. It contained within it most of the soul of his God, stolen from his Lord at the time of his death, and then used to imprison him for nearly a 1000 years. And now, finally, it was almost in Josak’s reach.

He longed to feel the stone in his hand. To feel his Lord’s souls in his hand. In the end his desire to touch the stone trumped his desire to end his pain, so he moved towards Kell, grimacing as he did so.

“Give it to me, boy,” he said, his tone short and demanding. He cradled his injured arm close to his body, but he held his other hand out expectantly.

Josak knew Kell considered resisting, but the flare-up of heat from the magical shackle attached to his breastbone quickly dissuaded him of that notion. He moved towards Josak and his outstretched hand. Josak smiled.

At the last second Josak recoiled his arm.

‘What if its trapped?’

‘If it were trapped why hasn’t it affected the boy? Could it be trapped in some way that detects for me? They know I am their greatest threat. It would make sense to single me out, would it not?’

Josak ignored the confused look he was getting from the boy. He didn’t need to explain himself to his minions. He cast a spell to detect magickal enchantments and peered intently at the pouch, expecting to see powerful protections and perhaps teleportation enchantments to both protect and hide the precious cargo inside, and then maybe divination spells, linked with perhaps threads of fire or some other elemental sphere with which to inflict massive damage upon the unsuspecting person who triggers it.

Instead he saw almost nothing. Just a simple enchantment which made the mundane pouch seem magick, when actually it wasn’t.

‘How the hell did you make it look like that Maragon? This pouch ought to light up this spell like a blazing fire. And the pouch has to be magick, or I would be able to focus and sense the stone from a lot further away. You do have some tricks, don’t you?’

But then why make it appear magickal at all. If you want people to overlook it, you could just make it appear totally unmagickal. Maybe you can’t? Or perhaps the magick I can see is necessary to act as a masking magick that hides the real magick?’

‘But if that is true, how do I open the pouch. God damn it! I could paralyse myself with paranoia.’

He reached for the pouch.

‘But I could kill myself with a lack of it.’

He reclined his hand again.

“Boy, please open that pouch and tip the contents into the palm of your hand so that I can have a closer look,” instructed Josak.

The boy hesitated, but again with the not-so subtle encouragement of his magick shackle, he reluctantly did what he was told. He untied the simple drawstring holding the pouch together and tipped the contents into the palm of his hand.

Josak watched intently as his prize fell into Kell’s hands; a clear piece of crystal, a couple of inches in diameter.

MITCHELL – PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

Mitchell gradually stirred as his consciousness returned.

His head hurt. It was as if something had stomped on his skull and smashed into a hard stone floor. He could tell he was moving. He could feel the air moving around him. But it was as if he was flying, or more like floating. There were people around him, but his mind was still too foggy to make out much of what was being said.

He tried to open his eyes and focus.

And he saw Eva standing over him, staring right at him. Her elven face was beautiful, with her pixie like features and gorgeous bob of blond hair, framing her face and her stunning violet eyes.

“Are you OK?” she asked.

He considered briefly. His head hurt. But when he tested his limbs, each of them seemed to be working, and without too much protest. He tried to stand.

And immediately fell. Except Eva caught him. He put his arm around her for balance. She was stronger than her small frame suggested.

“You must be careful. I suspect you have a concussion,” Eva replied. “My magick can heal wounds, but it does little for a concussion. You will have a fog in your head, and your balance will be even poorer for some time.”

“Unlikely we notice any difference then,” joked Hawkin, leaning in over Eva’s shoulder to take a look at him. “Or maybe he has been concussed most of his life.”

“This is no laughing matter, young Hawkin,” Eva replied. “Injuries like this can permanently impair brain function. As while I believe that may not limit some of your people very much, Mitchell’s brain function remaining unimpaired is critical for him to remain of value to Maragon the Teacher.”

Peregrine laughed. Hawkin seemed confused, trying to figure out if he had just been insulted.

The mention of Maragon triggered an ill feeling in Mitchell’s stomach. Something was wrong, but his concussed brain was struggling to remember what it was.

Eva saw his troubled look.

“What is wrong?” she asked. She saw Mitchell struggling for words.

“We have the medicine we require,” she said, guessing as to the nature of his concern. “We are heading as quickly as possible back to the church. Would you like to keep walking, or would you prefer to be carried as before?”

Mitchell ignored the last part, his brain processing the information. That didn’t feel like it answered everything. He was still anxious, and he didn’t know why.

And then he remembered the stone.

‘It is gone. I have failed everyone. We are all doomed and nobody will ever forgive me!’

Terror struck him, and his legs gave out. The best Eva could do was slowly settle him to the ground.

His hands went to the pocket in his tunic, hoping against the reality he already knew, that the pouch would still be there.

And he felt it.

His breath caught. He fumbled for the pouch and pulled it out. It was the same one.

‘How? Did I dream the attack?’

Mitchell knew that wasn’t true. But his mind screamed this did not make any sense.

He knew he should not, but he had to look inside. He needed to know if the stone was still there.

Eva looked at him with concern as he fumbled the drawstring. He could sense she wanted to reach out and stop him. But she did not.

He tipped the pouch, and the Stone of Evronn fell into his hand. He could sense immediately it was original stone – the one he had carried and attuned with ever since leaving the tower.

Relief flooded through him. Mitchell did not understand how this had happened, but he was incredibly thankful it had.

He could see Eva was very confused.

“Is there a reason you have taken that out now? You endanger us by exposing it like this,” she warned.

Mitchell considered what to tell her. He quickly decided he did not want to lie to her.

“I lost the stone back in the market. The young Indian took it from me before he knocked me out.” Mitchell hung his head in shame as he told her of his failing.

“Then how is it on you now?” Eva asked, a look of confusion apparent on her face.

“I do not know. Magick? It is attuned to me and will return to me if we are ever separated?” he guessed hopefully.

‘Please have that be the truth. It means I didn’t just screw up, and it makes it easier to protect going forwards.’

“I don’t think that is one of its powers,” replied Eva. “Maragon the Teacher would surely have informed me of that if it were true. It would have a great bearing on the strategies used to protect you and the stone in the event of an attack.”

Mitchell considered her response. He had to agree with her. Maragon almost certainly would not have kept that power a secret from the one he was sending to help guard them both.

“Then what are the other options?” he asked.

Her initial response was nothing but silence.

‘Great. She does not know either.’

JOSAK – GOLDEN UNICORN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

Josak knew immediately it was not the Stone of Evronn. He still tried to sense for the stone using his connection to it, but after a few seconds of focusing, he got the confirmation. He could not sense the stone at all.

‘How can it fucking not be the stone?’

He looked at Kell.

‘This is your fault! You incompetent fool. It is your fault they all got away! And the stone with it!’

Kell began to shrink back, to try and increase the distance between himself and Josak.

‘There can be no escaping your punishment.’

“How dare you fail me!” Josak screamed.

A tumultuous storm of fire and air whipped around Josak. Through his rage he drew the magickal energies in so fast, and then shaped them into a torrent of fire and wind, and blasted the young Indian. To Josak’s shock Kell barely moved. The winds and flame largely arched around him, doing little more to the Indian than ruffle his hair and singe the hairs on his arms and legs.

This enraged Josak even more. He put even more energy into the spell and increased its power.

‘How dare you defy me!’

The increased storm was deafeningly loud. Josak could no longer hear anything other than the howling winds. The candles in the room were extinguished by the storm, their pathetic levels of energy meaning nothing to the maelstrom. That darkened everything. And through the darkness Josak could see white runes of suppression activating on the magickal manacle embedded into Kell. The collar was trying to suppress magickal channelling of some kind.

As those runes sucked the magickal energy from him, the protective bubble around Kell collapsed. And then his body was hit by the full force of the wind and the flame. He was thrown across the room this time like he was some small child’s toy.

He slammed into the wall of the hotel suite. Then the wall of the suite collapsed under the assault of the hurricane of winds, fire and Kell’s body. Kell’s body tumbled further, into the next suite, and crashed into the large bed up against its far wall.

Seeing the interior wall of his suite start to come apart brought some semblance of sanity and control back to Josak. He knew immediately what he had done was going to be a problem. The landlord was a very understanding man, and Josak paid generously to have him look the way to all kinds of strange behaviour; people being dragged into his chambers kicking and flailing, strange body shaped objects being carried out of the room, and all kinds of strange noises or smells emanating from his suite at all times of the day and night. But destroying walls and severely damaging rooms was likely to cross a line from which he may not be able to come back.

As the incredible storm subsided he also briefly considered if he might have killed the boy.

But he saw the boy move. And slowly pick himself up out of the rubble of plaster and timber.

‘Maybe I should have healed myself first. My temper is worse when I am in pain.’

MITCHELL – CHURCH OF FAYLEN, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

Mitchell lay back on the thick wooden pew of the church, and looked up at the beautiful stained-glass ceilings, but without really taking them in. His mind continued to try and process what had happened with the Stone, but so far all he had managed to do was to eliminate possible ideas for how it had returned to him.

Even Eva had been unable to offer anything which Mitchell felt was a good explanation for what had happened.

‘I would settle for a semi-plausible theory at this point! This is driving me crazy trying to solve a puzzle when apparently I am missing half the pieces.’

Importantly, the antidote had been prepared and administered to Maragon and the others. Both Eva and the priests were confident they should all survive, which was fantastic, but the healing would take time. So now they just waited.

His view of the windows was interrupted by Eva’s head, her face calm as she looked him over.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

“I am fine…I think. Still got a headache but my vision is getting better.”

“Still seeing any spots?” she asked.

Mitchell looked around to see if he could find a darker image to look at to help answer her question.

“A few, but they are getting smaller.”

“Keep drinking water. And do not go to sleep until the spots are gone,” she advised. “I mean it. It’s very important you don’t go to sleep.”

Mitchell held up his hands placatingly. “I get it. I get it. Do not go to sleep.”

Mitchell noticed for the first time there was a red-stained patch around a nasty tear in Eva’s clothing.

“You are wounded,” he said, his words halfway between a statement and a question. He sat up and looked at the area more closely.

“I am fine. The priests have healed my injury. I suffered this fighting Josak and some cronies he charmed into helping him,” she explained, before following with a question. “Do you know how to stitch wounds?”

“I do,” Mitchell replied. “I have had to help Maragon stitch wounds on himself on multiple occasions. I have also had to stitch wounds on Ragnar and on Samtha.”

“That is good to know. It is possible you may have had to stitch this wound on me, and it is good to know you could have done so if it had been required.”

It occurred to Mitchell the wound was rather close to her breasts. He started thinking about whether she would have had to expose her breasts for him to do so. He thought it quite likely. He had never seen a pair of breasts. He would not have minded having had to stitch her wounds under those circumstances. And then he realised what he was thinking about, got very embarrassed, and started blushing heavily.

“How was your stitching? Did the stitches hold? Did they leave much of a scar?” she asked, oblivious to the self-inflicted embarrassment Mitchell was suffering.

“I am not sure. Maragon says I am getting quite good,” Mitchell replied. “Ragnar said I took too long and was too worried about trying not to leave a scar. He believes scars tell the stories of one’s life. Samtha kept trying to make me laugh, but afterwards said I did a good job.”

“Samtha was trying to make you laugh?” asked Eva, clearly confused.

“She had cut herself during a bar fight on some broken glass. I think she thought the blood was making me queasy, so she was trying to take my mind off it.”

“You seem to be in and around bar fights quite regularly,” Eva observed.

Mitchell chuckled. “Not as much as you might think. The first time was with Samtha. We were celebrating my completing an important part of my training. And while we were in the tavern she dared me to go and ask a pretty girl for a dance. The girl’s… brother I guess… seemed upset that I had spoken to her. He came up with two of his friends and told me leave the tavern or they were going to mess up my face.”

A look of concern came over her face, and she seemed deeply concerned for his well-being.

“What happened?” Eva asked.

One of them took a swing at me. I partially deflected it, and then he tried to punch me again. I ducked it and swept his legs out from under him. Luckily for me, he smashed his head on a nearby table. That is when his two friends tried to get me. Luckily Samtha stepped in and handled both of them. From memory she smashed one’s head into the bar and kicked the other one in the face. But not before one of them smashed his glass of beer and tried to stab her with the jagged glass. Some of it punctured her hand pretty badly.”

“I am pleased you were unhurt, but perhaps you should not frequent places which allow the consumption of alcohol,” Eva warned.

“Perhaps. But a tavern is often a key part of a town or village social structure. It is normal to go there and hang out with the rest of the people from the town,” defended Mitchell.

‘And more than anything, all I want is to fit in and be normal.’

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Eva went quiet for a time, and Mitchell wondered whether she really understood. It seemed to him that in all the stories the elves were quite single-minded in their pursuit of a particular purpose or calling. It seemed here Eva was quite dedicated to being a Guardian. Peregrin seemed similarly dedicated to becoming a Blademaster. The humans he knew did not seem nearly as dedicated to their craft and sought more of a balance between their work and their fun.

“Have you considered what Madame Trelecki said at the market?” Mitchell asked.

‘She called us Eternal Guardians. But she had never seen us before.’

Eva nodded. “Some have the gift of what my people call ‘the sight’. It allows them to see the paths of fate, and see the future, or the past, or both. The Seers are probably the most famous of these but they use their magick to enhance these abilities to their fullest potential. My guess is Madame Trekeli has it.”

Mitchell nodded. He had assumed as much already.

“What do you think she meant by eternal guardians?” he asked.

Eva considered her response before answering.

“Perhaps she feels the strong connections we have with the Seven. We have each spent a lot of time with people who could be called eternal guardians.”

Mitchell was still getting to know Eva and her mannerisms, but it was the first time she had said something to him where he felt like he knew she was not being truthful. Or at least not fully truthful.

“I do not think that is it. Her gift seems quite powerful. She knew Josak was there, and I still think her warning may have helped us. If Josak had captured me himself, maybe he would now have the stone.”

Mitchell watched her face to try and read her reactions to what he was saying.

‘She masks her emotions so well; she may as well still have her mirror-mask on.’

Once he decided she did not intend to add any comments at this point, he pushed ahead with his own theory.

“I think it is possible we each become members of the Seven in the future. That would mean we are both eternal guardians. And it makes sense. I think it likely we are both being groomed for it.”

Eva did not say anything. But he could see in her eyes she thought the same.

“And our connection grows through tragedy and death because members of the Seven must die for us to become part of it. In my case Maragon. I am not sure who you might replace.”

Eva again nodded her agreement. “I think at the very least your role in the Seven is certain, provided you don’t die before Maragon. And I will do everything in my power to make sure that does not happen.”

“She definitely called us both eternal guardians,” Mitchell protested.

Eva nodded her head in acknowledgement. “She did. But my people live much longer than your kind. Our lifetime of several centuries likely seems like an eternity.”

Mitchell was not sure if this was another half-truth, or perhaps Eva just did not believe she was special enough to be an eternal guardian. Mitchell was having trouble believing he might be.

“Why do you protect me?” queried Mitchell. “There must be others who could carry the stone. Others more powerful than me? Heck, you could carry the stone and do a better job protecting it than I can.”

“Perhaps. You are still very early in your journey as a mage. But Maragon trusts you 100% to bear this burden, and to carry this item without falling into temptation to use if for evil or personal gain. I also trust you with this, both because Maragon testifies for you, but also from I have seen of you.”

Mitchell felt a flush of pride go through him to be spoken highly of.

“But it is more than that,” Eva continued. “As Maragon explains it, the stone has a say in this. And it has accepted you as its protector and has even begun to attune to you. This was unexpected and quite unusual. It is for both of these reasons that you cannot easily be replaced.”

“Why is it unusual?” Mitchell asked.

Eva again considered her answer.

‘Likely considering how much she can tell me.’

“Powerful artifacts usually only attune to powerful souls. The powers they usually contain are formidable. These powers may damage or kill a weaker or younger soul. The stone is an incredible boon to any caster. But to many, the power will likely be too great to contain, and the risk to both themselves and those around them if ever they were to use it is significant. But for some reason you have been able to bear the stone and even use it without catastrophe. Hence, we suspect the stone likes you and is helping you.”

‘A sentient artifact likes me?! In most of the stories the bards tell, that usually results in a weak minded fool doing the item’s bidding. It never ends well.’

“And do you think the stone intends to help me, or to wield me to do its bidding?” he asked.

Eva carefully considered her answer, as was her way in this conversation.

“If your goals are the same, I am not sure it matters. It is only when they differ that who wields who will be pertinent,” Eva counselled. “Given both of your goals will be to defeat Razilin’Tera and his forces, I think we should be fine.”

She smiled warmly, which helped lift the small feeling of dread that had come over him.

“What of the other things Madame Trekeli said?” he asked.

“Which part do you mean?” Eva asked. “There are quite a few to choose from.”

Mitchell tried to recall the Madame’s words exactly.

‘We haven’t really discussed the use of the word betrayal, but that one scares me. I would like to talk about that one last, or later… or maybe never.’

“The Great Evil would seem to be Razilin,” Mitchell replied. Eva nodded.

“The Shade I am not sure,” Mitchell continued.

“Me neither,” replied Eva. “I am not aware of any of the powerful agents of Razilin’Tera that you would call shades. Maragon likely knows many more though. Perhaps he can help us with that one.”

“The most famous shade in Klydorian legend is the Black Baron. According to the stories, he possesses nobles every now and then, and tries to capture the Klydorian throne. Maybe that somehow gets involved.”

“That is a terrifying thought,” responded Eva, a cold shiver visibly playing across her body and face. “I am willing to risk pain and death for the right cause. But the idea of suffering eternally as some twisted evil spirit is utterly horrifying.”

“I agree,” replied Mitchell, although he had not really given it much thought. Clearly Eva had, and he did not want to disappoint her and concede he had not.

“Then we make a pact,” she said, with more fervour than Mitchell had been anticipating. He was slightly scared of what she might say next.

“We do not allow that to be the fate the befalls either of us. We both vow on our own souls that we will kill the other, if it comes to that, before we allow them to become an undead creature of any kind.”

Mitchell could see the utter seriousness and sincerity in her face. She reached across and took his hand in her smaller one. He would have enjoyed it normally, but right now he really wished she had not.

“Swear it,” she urged.

“OK. I swear, if required, I will do everything in my power to kill you if that is the only way to stop you becoming an undead.” Just saying the words was terrifying to Mitchell. Vows like this were never to be taken lightly, and Maragon had warned him constantly of making vows or oaths. He said good people could do the right thing without needing an oath or vow which could be twisted to make a good person do evil.

But it was clearly of great importance to Eva that he do it - and so he would.

“And I swear, if required, I will kill you Mitchell, to save you from becoming a creature of undeath.”

Mitchell found he pulled his hand back from hers the moment he felt enough time had passed for the vow to be sincere. He felt guilty, like he had just done something he knew he was not supposed to. But he could not really be sure why. The vow he had taken was a good one, and one he would earnestly try to fulfil if it came to it. Although he intended to try much harder to ensure it never came to that.

“What of the rest of her foretelling?” he asked, almost reluctant to go on. “The second evil which is petty and jealous, or what I though was the worst part, my brother, who is my saviour and my end.”

“I am unsure of either. Although I suspect any of Razilin’Tera’s high priests likely fit the definition of petty and jealous. Perhaps she was talking about Josak. As for your brother, do you have one?”

“I do not know,” replied Mitchell honestly. “I do not think so. But I was found and taken in by Maragon as a baby.”

“Perhaps it is a metaphorical brother,” Eva surmised. “Maybe there is another version of you we will encounter that works for Razilin’Tera. Perhaps we must work to turn him back to the light. If we succeed, he is your saviour. If not, he is your end.”

“Perhaps,” Mitchell answered, somewhat lamely.

‘Or he is another mysterious apprentice Maragon has stashed away somewhere. Maybe he even is my brother! But why would he be my end?’

He chose to keep the existence of the other apprentice to himself.

‘But why do I keep this secret? I can tell myself because it is Maragon’s secret, and therefore not mine to tell. But is that it? Is it because I like that Eva thinks I am special; some kind of chosen one? If she knows Maragon has other apprentices, then maybe I am just a possible chosen one. It could just as easily be one of these other apprentices. Would she ever leave me and go and start protecting one of these others?’

‘What would Maragon do here? That is one easy. Only tell people what they need to know.’

‘And deflect attention onto something else.’

“What did you think of the section Madame Trekeli said directly to you?” Mitchell asked.

‘Perhaps I have learned more than I realise.’

Mitchell again saw the face he was sure meant she was considering how much to tell him.

“If you are going to protect me, you need me to trust you. Tell me everything and make me believe you are telling me everything. I cannot trust you fully if I think you are keeping secrets from me.” he said.

He saw an almost look of resignation, and then her eyes brightened, and she looked him squarely in the eyes. They really were amazing eyes. He almost got lost in them and didn’t hear her words.

“I am not from a famous family. Our calling has always been one of tending to the needs of nature. There is no glory in it, but it is the true way of my people. We are not really meant to be warriors, or even battle mages. The elves were meant to tend to the needs of the Earthmother, and her beautiful natural world.”

Mitchell reflected on the legendary elves he knew, and they were all magnificent rangers, sword masters or mages of unequalled skill and power. Sometimes he just assumed that was the natural way for all elves.

“In the legends, the elves are always greatly skilled masters of bow, blade or spell,” Mitchell said, repeating his thoughts.

“And those legends are true. But they perhaps do not call out how unusual elves who’s true calling is combat are. For many it is a path of great sacrifice rather than glory, taken up only because the times are dire and the need is great. This was particularly true back before the Llewyrr split from the Silverestri and left our sacred homeland. But once the great sundering occurred, and the rifts to chaos began to open in our lands, the choice was that a great many elves took up combat as their calling, or we had to leave our homeland. The Llewyrr today are the descendants of those who chose to leave.”

“I imagine that would have been very difficult, having to leave your homeland,” Mitchell surmised, sounding genuinely sympathetic.

“Perhaps harder than even you could understand, and I don’t mean any insult in saying that. The elves are connected to the natural world in a way that few, if any, of the other races are. For us to up and leave our home forest was a little bit like cutting off part of ourselves. But that was what my ancestors felt they had to do in order to save us. They felt that losing our forest but retaining our way of life was the better choice than to keep our homeland, but lose ourselves in the fight to keep it.”

‘Her description of her people is less awesome than those elves from the stories. But it is more beautiful. I have never really felt connected to anything. I would dearly love to be connected to the earth as they are. To feel that grounded. To belong to the place you live. Or at least where they were.’

“Do your people feel the same connection to the Llewyrr forest now as you once did the Silveroak Forest?” Mitchell asked, hoping she would say yes.

“We believe so. The oldest amongst us say it is not yet the same, but it is possible their connection is not as strong as those who have been born more recently. I doubt we will never really know. But I know most of my people would fight to the death to save our homeland. And my parents, and their parents before them, have tended to forest like it’s a part of us. And I was supposed to do the same.”

‘I suspect this is where her story goes astray, where she becomes the orphan of the forest.’

Mitchell leaned slightly closer to Eva, already showing sympathy for what he expected to hear next.

“But my calling was not the same as my parents. I don’t necessarily want to fight. But I want to right the wrongs of this world. I want to leave it a better place than it was when I was born into it. But a Guardian likely spends her life travelling. At the very least throughout the Llewyrr lands. And just as likely further than that. Our justice does not recognise borders as the boundaries to our jurisdiction. Justice cares not for these things. You break the law, and you deserve punishment. The Guardians strive to make sure that justice is received.”

“That is a very noble calling!” said Mitchell.

“Perhaps. My family saw it as selfish. They saw it as a calling that allowed me to travel and have great adventures, but one that meant I would turn my back on our responsibility to the forest, and it meant I would see a great deal less of my family.”

“They do not see being a Guardian as a good thing?” asked Mitchell, confused as to how that might be possible.

“They do. They just think I should have left it to somebody else to do, and I should have kept our family tradition of tending the forest. Part of the issue is I have a relative who also felt the call to leave his village. He wanted to be a Ranger, and to travel the length of his woodland home, keeping his people safe from the great many threats that lurk in the woods, and the world beyond.”

“Why was that a problem?” asked Mitchell.

“He got involved in some grand crusade and left the forest. He was then captured by Dark Elves and tortured for nearly a year. My family thought he was dead.”

Mitchell only knew stories of Dark Elves. But in those stories they were evil, night worshipping creatures, who were cruel, made slaves of other races, and were generally untrustworthy and despicable. Their sadistic and perverse ways were also infamous.

“But he escaped?” Mitchell asked, noting the ‘family thought he was dead’ comment.

“Yes… and No. He survived, but the elf who came back was not the one who left. They tortured him horribly. He was scarred, and forever maimed.”

Mitchell knew he should not ask, but he was also desperate to know.

“What did they do to him?”

“They cut fingers from both his hands to take away his skill with bow or sword. They cut his face, and both his eyes, scarring him horribly and blinding him, at least for a time. And they did other sadistic and horrible things that I will not detail here. Suffice to say they ruined him.”

Mitchell was horrified. But he also knew who she was talking about. He knew this elf – Rivas.

‘He is one of the Seven. Overcame incredible injuries to rejoin them when they too thought he was dead.’

“Your cousin is Rivas!” Mitchell exclaimed.

“He is,” Eva confirmed, with both her words and a nod of her head.

“But you are Llewyrr, and he is Silverestri?” Mitchell queried.

“Yes, but our people only split around 1000 years ago. For us there we could trace that time in as little as three generations. He is what you would refer to as a distant cousin. But our families are generally small, so we pay more attention to relatives even when they are such. While I had only met him once, I knew of him, and my mother spoke to his through the trees.”

Mitchell thought it best not to ask how it was that two elves could talk to each other through trees that were separated by thousands of miles. Elves were innately magickal, as if they were directly tied into the tapestry of magick in a way that other races simply were not. As such, it seemed they could do things that other races could not.

“The Seven helped rescue him. That was nearly a decade ago,” she continued. “I had only just begun my training but the Guardian I was assigned to knew Javelin, and I met Maragon for the first time then. From the moment we first met he was offering me advice, and teaching me things about magick, fighting, and perhaps most importantly, how to outthink an opponent either tactically or strategically. We worked with the Seven over many months. I became close to Maragon.”

“After that my Guardian worked with the Seven a couple of other times over the years, and I got to know Maragon, Javelin and a couple more of the Seven quite well,” Eva explained. “My first mission on my own was one helping the Seven.”

“What was your first mission?” Mitchell asked.

“A half elf criminal named Pretis was skirting the borders between the Klydorian and Llewyrr side of the forest, committing crimes in the Klydor half, then fleeing into the Llewyrr side to escape the law.”

“How evil was this Pretas?” asked Mitchell.

‘Apparently my mind wants all the juicy and shocking details today!’

“Pretty evil. He killed at least two people while robbing them, and there were accusations he raped at least one of his victims.”

Mitchell was aghast at the crimes. Bad people existed everywhere, but Klydor had a much lower incidence rate of this sort of crime than many other places. Or so Mitchell had been told his whole life.

“What happened to him?”

“We tracked him down to a hideout on the Llewyrr side of the forest. In the end, once we found his tracks and were able to follow him to his lair, his capture was actually quite simple. The hardest part was stopping either of Samtha or Ragnar from killing him afterwards.”

“Ragnar wanted to kill him after you captured him? That seems quite unlike what I would have guessed him to be like,” Mitchell replied.

“Oh, he wanted to untie him and give him a weapon. I believe he said to give Pretis a fighting chance. But we both know that would not have changed the outcome any. That is still just murdering him, but Ragnar gets to feel better about himself afterwards. In the end I was able to convince the others that I had to take him to my order, and he had to go through a full trial.”

“What happened to Pretis after that?” Mitchell asked.

“He was sentenced to death.” Eva replied bluntly, her tone indicating she was comfortable with the resolution.

“How was the sentence carried out?” queried Mitchell, interested to know how cruel or extreme would the method be.

“The need for it does not happen often. In general, my people are very much supportive of life, and in rehabilitation. But sometimes the crime, as in this case, demands a serious retribution, both as punishment and as a deterrent to all others. In examples like this the most common method we use is a ritual which translates into your tongue as the Ritual of Returning.”

“The ritual is performed in the forest, under a tree of the condemned’s choosing. It is a magickal ceremony where the offender is returned to nature, and his body is dissolved into its natural elements, and fed to the forest, symbolising the cycle of life. We are not so much killing the offender, as accelerating their regeneration into the next cycle, with the belief in that cycle they will be born again and hopefully better.”

Mitchell could see a beauty in that outlook. He did not think the belief structure behind the way humans practiced capital punishment could be seen in such a positive light. Hanging, tying people to a post and executing them, or even trials by combat, all seemed to be as much about the spectacle as anything else. But then he had lived a relatively sheltered life in Garet. He had seen two hangings in 18 years. Mostly people had been sentenced to hard labour in the mines for more serious crimes.

“So your people believe in reincarnation?” asked Mitchell.

“Yes. But we believe once your soul advances to a certain point of enlightenment you will ascend from this plane, and will not return here again. This is why our people decline in numbers through the generations. Our time here, in what your people call Driax, is past its zenith. Our best souls have moved on, and the rest must now strive to catch up. It is another reason a calling to combat is considered such a sacrifice amongst my people. We believe that does a lot of harm to a soul, and undoes much of the enlightenment you may have obtained.”

“And how do you know if a soul such as Petris will come back better?” questioned Mitchell.

“We can never be sure,” conceded Eva. “But we believe the Gods will work with your soul, if you are willing, between cycles. This can help you improve. Some of my order also take action to ‘assist’ this growth between cycles.”

“Prayers for the condemned?” guessed Mitchell.

“Not exactly a prayer. They cast an enchantment on the condemned, one that forces him or her to live through their crime from the point of view of their victims. This enchantment is left to run for many hours before the ritual is concluded, and they are allowed to pass on. It is a method not endorsed by all of my order, as it is quite cruel, both to the condemned and to those unfortunate enough to watch it. I have only had to witness a small number in my decade of service, and by the end the condemned is often a wimpering mess, pleading for the end to come.”

Eva continued, “My mentor, Namacii Ilrakhar Aenar, did not believe in this practice, often referred to as the Withering Judgement. He would not explain his reasons, saying I must decide for myself on the matter, but having seen it, I am as worried it might damage the soul more than help it heal.”

While his elven language skills were not great, Mitchell recognised the word Namacii as ‘Judge’. He assumed the rest was her mentor’s name.

“So your parents are concerned you might be killed, or worse, captured, tortured and maimed. And if none of that happens, the best possible outcome is you damage your soul and then cannot go to this enlightened place where many of the elves already reside?”

“I believe you have quite succinctly explained the issue, yes,” Eva replied.

Mitchell could think of nothing to say which would make any of that any better, so he said nothing.

After a few moments of slightly awkward silence, Eva broke it with a question, “What did the Madame whisper to you?”

Mitchell considered the final moments of that encounter. And the critical warning he received.

“She just told me that the one who hungered for what I was carrying was here. And that I had to go. I don’t think she knew his name, or at least she was not willing to say it if she did,” he replied.

But then he thought about more than just the words she said. A suspicious look washed over his face, and then a half-knowing smile.

He began to cast a Divination spell, making sure to get a firm grip on his own tunic, as that was the focus for his spell.

“Per nebulas spatii et temporis”

(Through the mists of space and time)

“Da mihi visionem huius indumenti humilem”

(Grant me vision of this here humble tunic)

“Et ostende mihi quid acciderit”

(And show me what happened to it)

“In foro ante hodie”

(In the market earlier today)

He closed his eyes and focused his mind on that moment when the reading finished, and Madame Trekeli had leaned in to deliver her warning. Initially all he could see was the black of his closed eyes. But then a vague grey mist appeared, before these passed and now he could see himself, near Madame Trekeli, and he could hear her words being said, just as they were in that moment.

And there he saw it.

The Eridani woman possessed hands so nimble he could hardly believe it even as he was watching it happen. Using her close proximity and body contact, she pick-pocketed the pouch from his tunic, and even more amazingly, replaced it with her imitation.

‘I had heard the Eridani referred to as thieves before. I see they do indeed have some skills in this area.’

Mitchell remained focused and tried hard to remain attuned to his tunic and the vision.

‘So I know how the Stone was taken, and how I ended up with that other pouch. But how did I get it back?’

He watched himself run through the market. He winced as Kell tackled him, relieved him of the fake pouch, and then knocked him unconscious.

‘Hopefully as I get better with this spell, I can learn to fast-forward through any embarrassing parts like that.’

And then he watched as Eva came for him, cast a floating disc to put him on, and began to float him back to the others. Nobody other than Eva came anywhere near him, so he felt reasonably sure nobody had replaced the pouch yet. At least not without using magick to put it there.

His vision continued, and then he saw Eva and the pretty young girl from Madame Trekeli’s stall, ushering everyone through some kind of secret exit at the back of the market. As he was floating past her, the young girl leant over him and performed some kind of supposed blessing. He could clearly see her put her head on his chest, and saw her hands, almost a blur, reach into his tunic and replace the pouch.

‘I have my answer!’

As the vision ended he opened his eyes and found Eva staring at him, her face only inches from his. He shuffled back and away from her reflexively.

“What did you see?” she asked.

“I know what happened with the stone,” he replied, a look of both pride and relief to have solved his riddle.

He immediately got up and started walking away.

“Where are you going?” she asked, although already starting to follow him.

“I want to find the girl who was manning the stall with Madame Trekeli, or perhaps just the Madame herself,” he replied, with a noticeable perk in his step now. “I will explain on the way.”

“Ok. Just let me get my mask. Perhaps we could bring Azzanon.”

“Why?” queried Mitchell.

“He seemed quite fond of the girl. I suspect he has images of her beauty burned into his eyes, and will just jump at the chance to seek her out again.”