Irbishar Halrun was balancing a matter of life and death.

Specifically, he was overlooking one of the man-eater plants he had recovered on a recent expedition out of the country. He named it Blip. His family dagger was dangled slightly over the edge of his fine wooden desk, the blade slightly dulled by a bit of odd goop that was attached to it. The plant looked upwards, making slightly gurgled whines as they glanced upon the blade. Irbishar gently patted them upon the head.

“Now, now, little one, don’t be afraid. If my guess was correct, the blade will stabilize itself upon the side of this table...think of all of the brawls in the taverns that would be solved with my trusty weapon hidden in an innocuous place! Let us see for sure...” 

He let the blade go, as it continued to teeter on the edge. He heard a knock at the door. 

“Oh, fuck...alright, come in, if you must. Hardly have time to make myself look presentable..” 

He lifted his plant back onto the desk, just as the knife fell to the ground. He placed this back in its holster under his cloak. Adjusting his frazzled hair in the bowl of water behind him, he placed his gloved hands together as he sat straight behind his desk. 

The man who entered was a plump fellow who Irbishar only knew as Mr. Blimbs. He was one of the new recruits of the Citadel, in an effort to expand their workforce beyond the incompetent morons he had at his disposal, but most of the new blood only seemed to make it seem more boorish and dry than anything. The man was clearly a nervous wreck at the best of times, though Irbishar attempted to give him a comforting smile. 

“I assume that you have news for me, of some variety? Let me guess, the religious folk are at my neck again for my history? Another ill-fated expedition to look for more continents? Oh, let me guess...another attack from the night creatures!” 

“A...actually sir...” The man began, trembling, “Y...you’ve been summoned by High Lord Whist...he needs to con...confirm with you a private matter.” 

Irbishar’s smile faded suddenly. Without another word or gesture to his assistant, he leapt over his desk, and out the door. 

Irbishar’s study in the Citadel was on the third floor of the main building, marked by a needlessly long hallway that only had his room at the end. The Citadel proper was a quiet, but busy, cluster of casual knowledge seekers and academics alike. He had to hold back the urge to start pursuing new means of getting his glue-like substance working, for he knew delaying for long upon the summons of Lord Whist was not something one would intentionally do. At the second floor, he entered a small skyway, cutting directly towards the main palace. 

The palace itself wasn’t very lavish. It was mostly stone, though with fine golden and diamond-laden staircases heading up towards the main throne room. The double doors that marked it were made from a very fine wood, and were impossibly thick. He entered as calmly as he could, and spying Whist upon his throne, he gave a small, but flashy, bow.

“My lord, you have asked for my presence?” 

High Lord Whist, his real name unknown, was relatively young as far as most leaders go, only appearing to be in early fifties. Regardless, he was built more like a strong house than a man, his large fur cloak and dark-gloved hands giving him the impression of a military general. Despite this, his ruffled face and calming eyes made him look more like a grandfather than anything. His eyes looked Irbishar up and down, before he struck his staff against the ground.

“I have, Irbishar. I’ve got something I need you to look into.” 

“Anything, my lord, so long as I can get out of my study for a while.” 

Whist chuckled. “Then you’ll be happy with this one: I’ve been notified by one of my current patrons that the last few trade shipments between us and Ventilver have been ransacked, all of the loot pillaged. Said patron grows tired of this happening, and would request that a party be sent with the next caravan heading there. I have the warriors themselves, but I’d need someone to go along and file the official report. It may be below your level nowadays, but could you do this for me?” 

Iribishar rose as quickly as he could. “Consider it done, my lord.” 

“Good, good...” Whist said, amused. “Before you head off, do you need anything for the journey?” 

Irbishar tapped his chin lightly, looking towards the ceiling. 

“I’d just need a cleaning cloth and a copy of The Curse of Golvor the Giant. Oh, and someone to feed Blip while I’m gone. He just needs about one rat a day, it takes him a while.” 

“I’d be happy to have someone attend to it. Now, get a move on! The caravan is just waiting outside” 

Irbishar gave another small bow, before strutting out the door. His smile was unending. It wasn’t an expedition to one of the southern lands, of course, but being able to travel with a host of rugged adventurers, possibly coming in contact with some hooligans along the road...it made his heart pulse with excitement. And that, among these stale books, was hard to come by. 

With Golvor in hand and cleaning cloth in pocket, Irbishar got into the back of the large trading wagon. Despite it being filled with goodies and other items, there was still more than enough space for everyone taking the journey to be comfortable. He rested in the far back along with the guarding party, a group of two armor clad men sporting typical iron swords, and a woman with more jagged armor whom seemed scarier than either of the men combined. Attached to her hip was a short but thick pole, commonly held by Officers. Irbishar couldn’t contain his excitement. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, that wouldn’t happen to be a Holvorden Rod, would it?” 

The woman looked him up and down, and even with his inability to read a scene, let alone women, he could feel the judgement pouring off of her eyes.” 

“Didn’t expect a scholar to have any familiarity with weaponry. But yes, it would be. It was passed down from my family for the last two generations.”

She pulled the rod from its place on her belt. As she did, the rod suddenly expanded into a dark, jagged blade that had a light blue glow around it. Irbishar gave an impressed whistle.

“Believe me, I’ve done my share of research upon the forms of battle. And weapons such as that always tend to impress me. Some believe that they were tied back to the humans who used to live on the Plains, the magic users...that they forged weapons that could trick their opponents. Very impressive. The name’s Irbishar, by the way.” 

He extended his gloved hand, giving as warm a smile as he could muster to counter her cold appearance. She extended her own hand begrudgingly. 

“Zylvera. Korvan Zylvera. Now, be quiet, scholar. I don’t wish to chat for this entire blessed voyage.” 

Irbishar had a feeling Korvan wasn’t one for friendliness. He could respect that enough. Her companions, on the other hand, continued to dart their eyes in his direction. He stared at the two of them, waiting for them to look back at him again. 

“Is there something you two would like to ask? I’m not going to bite.” 

One of the armored men suddenly looked nervous, despite his menacing appearance. He removed his helmet, his dark hair shining in the evening sunlight.

“Y...you said your name was Irbishar? That wouldn’t...that means you were the guy that survived the Night Creatures, right? Do you...do you have the mark?” 

Irbishar sighed as quietly as he could. He had known for a long time that his name was known less for his advances in intelligence, study of ancient species, or even his ability at sleight-of-hand magic tricks, and more for his story of miraculous survival. As was standard by this point, he raised a portion of hair away from his face, revealing where his injury was. 

The area around his left eye was covered with a variety of scars, long held since childhood. More perculular than this, however, was the moderately sized copper trinket placed over his eye, with a glowing red ruby at the center. The ruby had a mark of glowing white that represented his pupil, and it even blinked when he did normally. The two armored guards gawked at it like a pair of tourists, and even Korvan looked over with a small hint of being impressed. 

“So the rumors are true then. I’d heard that the other survivor of those plagues was a scholar. Seems I didn’t place the two together. Tell me, though, how did you survive?” Korvan’s arms remained crossed as she spoke, as well as keeping her unwavering cold stare upon him at all times. 

Irbishar stretched for a moment. “I’m not entirely sure myself. It had happened when I was only seven. Me and my brother lived in one of the smaller villages on the Ventilver side, and we had decided to go out and hunt frogs, or whatever odd bug we could find. Somehow, we were separated...and then I heard their screams....those horrid, horrid screams...as if dozens of children were shouting in fear at the same time...I thought I spied my brother in the distance, but as I approached, he turned into dust. I could only faintly see the creatures forming around me, and right as they were about to swing, my brother pushed me aside. I was still struck by their claws, of course, but my brother...he took the bulk of the blow. I managed to make it back to my family soon after. I remember it feeling so much darker...I hadn’t really realised that I’d lost my left eye by that point, and I would have lost it forever if...if not for the next day...” 

Irbishar sat up straighter. “A man, wearing a painted mask and irons shoes appeared the next day. He had heard about the commotion, and as he approached our small town hall where we kept the sick and injured, he handed my mother this,” he pointed to the copper piece, “...and then simply walked off, never to be seen again...if not for that man, I’d probably have not gotten this far in life. Though, it just serves as a reminder of my older brother as well...that man would have gone off to study instead of me...but dwelling on the past isn’t helping. The point of the matter is, I can see. Sure, this eye only sees things in odd shades of red, but...details are still very noticable. Plus, I find I see my peripherals better with it. Maybe I’m just overthinking things. Still...I wonder who that man was? Maybe he was one of the few magic users...?” 

The group had gone silent during the explanation of his story, and it remained that way as the sun began to dip down beneath the distant sea. 

The wagon had stopped for the night, as they locked it down using chains to the nearest rock. Korvan and one of the guards were standing outside, quietly chatting about their jobs. Irbishar had nestled into a corner behind a shipment of soft cotton, only vaguely aware of his surroundings. But even he, as he listened to the winds striking the outside of the wood, could hear the distant whispers of the Night Creatures, tracing a careful circle around the light of their wagon’s lanterns, simply waiting for someone to make a mistake. It worried him, especially after having to think about the story again that evening. He attempted to plug his ears with some of the cotton. 

Or he would have, if the arrow hadn’t suddenly torn through the driver. 

He heard the scream first, as part of the arrowhead tore through the small doorway to the driver’s part of the wagon. He let out a small yell himself, as Korvan and her men all got up, preparing their weapons as quickly as possible. They pulled two shields out, keeping their eyes locked on the darkness around them. Irbishar slowly looked out as well, gazing into the dark around them. He spotted some of them beginning to approach

“They’re surrounding the wagon. Two men with axes, one with a hammer...and one with his own Rod...” 

One of the armored guards looked back for a brief moment. 

“How the hell can you see--” 

An axe blade suddenly dug into his neck from the side, with the remaining two members falling backwards, seemingly being taken the same way. Finally, Irbishar grew worried. His mind raced with the quickest plan of counterattack that he could possibly consider. He turned out the lanterns in the back, and covered his face with his cloak, not counting his left eye. In one of his gloves, he placed several splintered pieces of wood, making it look more rugged and travel weary. The bandits finally rounded to the back, and peeked inside. Irbishar began speaking in what he assumed was a haunting whisper. 

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“..do you hooligans even know who I am? It seems not...you wouldn’t have attacked my wagon if you had...pitiable fools...”

One of the bandits leapt up into the wagon. His face was mostly covered by a wooden mask, though his light green eyes could be vividly seen even in the dark.

“Don’t even try to pull a fast one. We’ve killed your entire damned guard team. What could someone like you do to me?”

Irbishar stood, quickly shoving large handfuls of cotton into the shoulders of his cloak to make himself look more large and threatening. 

“What can I do to you? I am Orverrian Vyharensteil...one of the last great Spellcasters of the modern age...and you, sir, are surely going to be killed” 

Through the darkness, Iribishar could see trace amounts of sweat around his face. The man attempted to recollect himself. 

“Yo...you’re a liar! The only Spellcaster around here is that damned King back in Ardentia. They’re all marked in that one book!”

“You refer to the Book of Collected Magic-Users? They can only catalogue the ones they’re able to find...I am very elusive. But, I suppose you don’t have to believe me. Let me show you!” 

In the next second, a fireball appeared in his hand, and with a remarkable speed, he launched it at one of the bandits standing outside, their body erupting into flames. The chief looked back in utter horror, giving Irbishar enough time to whack him over the head with the handle of his dagger, the man’s body collapsing back into the darkness. Only one bandit remained, as his eyes turned to Irbishar’s glowing ruby. 

“What’s your call, friend? The Night Creatures? Or me?” 

The man began to scream, but before he could turn to run, he was suddenly struck with a large sword. Korvan emerged from the dark, carrying one of her injured comrades on her back. The bandit lay dead upon the ground. Irbishar let out a small whistle. 

“Took you long enough, I didn’t think I could keep that dreadful voice up much longer. How do you think I did?” 

“Trust me, a smart soldier knows real shoulders when they see them. If I hadn’t known you, I’d have seen through your ploy.” She set her comrade in the wagon. “Though, I will admit, I’m not sure how you pulled off the fireball.” 

Irbishar opened his cloak. Several balls of what seemed to be crunched up brush and sticks tied with twine were visible, along with a small bit of flint. 

“It’s one of my sleight of hand tricks that I taught myself. Never have had a chance to use it on a real person before. Some beast will be having cooked human tonight. 

“And that’s why we need to keep moving. The farther we drive this wagon away from the battle, the better. Join me in the front. I’ll just be needing to tie up our ‘stowaway’ and patch up my partner.” 

Irbishar nodded, and opened the wooden window between the back and front of the wagon, and rested in the passenger’s seat. He re-lit the lanterns, the road around them still almost entirely dark, as the moon was obscured by a rolling set of clouds. Even though she was only five feet away, he could hear the distant call of the Night Creatures, having spotted him being relatively alone. Their screams echoed in his mind, the sounds of what seemed like several children dying in agony all at once. It unsettled him that such a race existed that would make such terrible creatures. Finally, Korvan stepped through the window, whipping the horses to move forward. Her eyes were mildly worried”

“How is your friend doing?” 

“He’s not my friend. We’re simply in the same company. But he’s doing just fine. He was only lightly struck with a blade. I used him to be able to sit in the dark, waiting for an opening. We’ll be having to question that bandit though. I’ll admit, something seems off about all of this.” 

“How do you mean?”

She shrugged. “It feels...it feels like they knew we’d be coming. Like they expected this shipment to be here, that they knew exactly what we were carrying, both weapons and cargo...if not for you, I doubt we’d have been able to do much. But something felt...staged, I suppose.”

Irbishar laughed. “Staged? You’re joking! It all seemed pretty real to me.” 

She gave a small smirk. “More proof that you don’t see much in the way of conflict. A rogue bandit party would have killed the horses, maybe even tried to burn the wagon. More importantly, they’d most likely not be so well equipped. This is the first time in a while I’ve seen one with a soldier-grade weapon. Mostly they attack with nothing more than sticks tied to rocks, or a crude wooden sword that children train with. But full on armor? Masks? This seemed too prepared.”

Iribishar looked out upon the road. “I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it. You’re right in your assumptions, though. I try to venture out often, but I mostly have the King’s Guard with me if need be. No one even attempts to mess with them. Unless you travel down south, of course. Avinor’s not entirely friendly with us, and especially not Orthoros...”

“Orthoros? You mean the horse-fuckers? I’m surprised they’d even bat an eye at you!” 

“Well, they’re not one for intelligent creatures, if we’re honest. But they’re strong, supposedly. I’d mostly been down there because I heard a rumor that there was a Verrotan tribe living within their borders. Turns out there was, but they were close to the Northern Border as much as possible. Must not be fond of the locals all that much.”

“Verrotan...I’ve heard of those. The people with bodies like strong ropes. I’d always wanted to fight one, but...I hardly leave the Expanse. I don’t really need to. Someone’s always going to need protection up here...but it’s not like the King Will be opening his heart to creatures again.”

“We’ve been trying to establish relations with a host of races from the other nations, but...most if not all have given us the cold shoulder. We did essentially slaughter them whenever one came into the country for centuries, I can’t exactly blame them for being so skittish around us.”

She nodded. “Politics. It always comes down to politics. What a shocker.” 

Iribishar looked out onto the road again. He could see the faint traces of the Shovernpoint Mountains in the distance, rising from beyond the horizon. 

“I assume that we’re planning on stopping before the mountains. We’re not exactly equipped to deal with a landslide should it occur.”

She shook her head. “I know a small outcropping that I found on my last trip through here. It should keep us safe for the night. We’ll be there in half an hour, I’d reckon.” 

Irbishar let himself into the back as she resumed her cold silence. He saw her companion, a bandage wrapped tightly around his waist, with a rock pressed on it for pressure. To his left, the bandit’s hand was cuffed to the side of the wagon, making sure he couldn’t pull away when he woke up. His heart was still racing, but he allowed himself to give over to sleep, the light rocking of the wagon helping him drift faster into his mind. 

Iribishar was rudely woken up by what sounded like the kicking of a child. 

Specifically, it was the sounds of the bandit leader, his mask having been removed by Korvan, whom looked as if she hardly slept a wink. The bandit in question had a rather pretty face, his beard and facial hair cut pretty thin, though his regular hair was disorganized and wavvy. Korvan herself was sitting on a crate beside him, watching as he struggled against the cuffs locking him to the wagon. They were still moving along, just having passed by the Wayside Rest midway through the range. 

“I assume your companion felt a bit better?”

She gave him a legitimate smile. “Yeah. He calls it a flesh wound, supposedly. I don’t buy it, but..I’ve more important matters to attend to, as you can see.” 

The bandit struggled again, before settling down. Korvan leaned over again, pressing her gauntleted hands together. 

“I’m going to ask again. Your attack was too coordinated. Who told you that this wagon would be heading where it was. And you better give a more legitimate answer than last time, unless you liked having a leg.” 

The man looked up at Irbishar. His eyes clearly remembered the igniting of his fellow bandit the night before, and it seemed as if he were suddenly more open.

“Yeah, we were told by this...this guy in Vertilver. Didn’t say who he was, said he was talking in place of another guy...told us that he’d pay us big bucks to destroy this wagon, extras for killing the folks inside. I think he said his name was, like Horlyver or something...he was built like a warrior, but he dressed like he was heading for a dance...said it was of interest to his boss that the wagon be stopped. Didn’t expect such serious resistance.” 

“I’d not define this as serious, honestly. But why tell us this? Where is your sense of...bandit loyalty?” 

The man looked at Irbishar for a solid 10 seconds in dead silence. Iribishar stepped away, allowing Korvan to step back in. 

“What’s your name, thief?” 

The man looked at her, grumbling against the chains. He looked out the back of the wagon. 

“It’s Lorvareas. Sintilar Lovareas. And don’t call me a thief. I just need the money. This is only my second job of this particular work. I’ve been a baker, a dancer,a thief...all of them having turned out failures...”

Irbishar stepped back in. “Why not try being a bodyguard, through the official channels?” 

He began to laugh uncontrollably, slamming his fist into the floor of the wagon. 

“Yes, of course! Why hadn’t I thought of...oh, yes, there’s one small issue with that.” 

In one quick motion, he pulled his arm out of the handcuffs...or supposedly had. His skin was still inside of it, his now skinless arm being revealed to be nothing but a large collection of beetles, slime, and other assorted junk. 

“I’m a Urvarian. Came from the southern seas. I’ve tried to pass as human a good number of times, but someone always figures it out. It’s something about the eye color...maybe our lessened blinks than actual humans. All we are is trash from lost souls who have died in the ocean.” 

He pulled the arm out of the cuff, and placed it over the bugs. They crawled upwards, sealing the arm around them again, and he stretched his fingers. He looked at the two, noting the mix of shock and disgust upon Korvan’s face...but even stranger, he saw stars in Irbishar’s eyes.

“So...so that’s why I couldn’t get a read on you last night. You’re not just one entity, you’re thousands! This...hold on a second.”

He pulled a rough looking leather journal out of his cloak, and quickly began to take notes. He wrote surprisingly fast for standing in a rickety wagon, and after only two minutes, he had written an entire entry.

“It’s hard to find texts of non-human creatures nowadays. Only us and Avinor are really interested in keeping records of everything. The other countries are too busy with their wars and their...horse fucking, as they call it. I must ask, are you born naturally? Do you reproduce asexually? Is there a magical element to your birth? I must know these things!” 

“We’re born through tapping into the ancient magic that birthed this world. You humans don’t really feel it up here, but at the bottom of the sea, the Ancient Gods...we can still feel their presences. We can still feel their energy flowing through us. It just take that, and finding a proper corpse, and voila, you have one of us. There’s only about 1000 Uvarians in my main tribe...but it just takes some time to get enough bugs together that are sentient. But I still feel human, to some extent.” 

All three travelers heard a knock at the front. Korvan’s fellow bodyguard opened the small door. 

“We should be approaching Vertilver in the half hour or so, just as a heads up. I don’t know what we’ll be doing with our friend over there.” 

Korvan and Irbishar looked at each other, and they slowly walked to the other end of the wagon. 

“I think we turn him in.” Korvan said, finally. “Regardless of what he is, he still was responsible for the death of another, and could have done more.”

“I’d normally agree, but...I don’t think he had much of a choice. This...Horlyver guy seems like he was one of the only people that was nice to him, and treated him as human. You know full well that he’d be recorded as a non-human creature, even if Vertilver is less antagonistic to his kind.” 

“Possibly...as I said before, I don’t do politics well. It’s all just a clusterfuck of terms and negotiations. You didn’t put his name in your report, did you?” 

“I hardly do. Unless it involves someone that I need to bring to the light, of course. Otherwise, I just make the entry and send it in. I get paid rather well for notes on any sort of creature. Especially with his hardships, though...I wouldn’t feel good if we just brought him in.” 

Korvan gave a hard sigh. “I suppose you’re right. Go ahead and tell him yourself, though. I’ll be up front.” 

She walked and climbed through the small door, telling her partner of what they were doing. Iribishar walked up to Sintilar, and helped him to his feet. 

“If you get off here now, you can make it to one of the villages in about an hour. Just...don’t get into trouble with this folks, alright?” 

Sintilar gave a sturdy smile. “Thank you, Irbishar. I’ll not forget this kindness anytime soon. And I’ll work on...seeming more human, of course.” 

With a small nod, Sintilar stepped out the back of the moving wagon, and began running up the northern road. For being a pile of bugs and slime, they were surprisingly swift. He gave one last wave before he disappeared over the horizon. Putting a final note into his journal about the species, he placed it back into his cloak, just as they began their final descent into Ventilver.

To Be Continued