Reginald pulled his foot back a second before the bereaved's jaws snapped shut. He scrambled for purchase on the sheer cliff edge, hoping that no more of the shallow ledge would fall away. Far below, three bereaved circled, snapping at one another, occasionally leaping, trying to reach the two small lizard creatures huddle against the rock.

"I want mamma." Reginald’s little brother cried, barely holding on beside Reginald. The younger green skinned draconic was crying, huge salty tears running down the sides his snout.

"I know John. I do too. But it's ok. They can't reach us." Reginald said reassuringly. "We're going to be fine. We just need to reach the top and we'll be fine."

John's only response was to cry harder. "You need to stop crying. They're attracted to sound." Reginald cautioned. He shushed the small draconic. "We're fine. You have to stop. We need to keep moving." Tears ran down Reginald’s face as well. “Please just stop. Shh.” He shushed his brother.

He tried to stay calm as he began edging his way along the thin ledge. He tested each step now, making sure the stone was solid enough to bear his weight. He held firmly to John's hand, pulling him along. The bereaved below began howling, the noise stabbing right through the two boys, freezing them in place. Reginalds breath was coming in short frantic bursts now, and fear coursed through every vein. When the mournful howls finally faded, he forced himself to keep moving.

Step by agonizing step, inch by terrifying inch, the boys made their way along the cliff. Reginald could see their goal getting closer and closer. A small section of the cliff had broken off centuries before, leaving them a way to the top. It would be difficult, but it could work. They were only twenty feet or so away from it.

The howls of the bereaved sounded again, echoing off the cliff into the Hordelands. The land was tough and rocky, only a few lonely bushes clinging to life in the barren wilderness. Far off in the distance another bereaved answered the call of the ones below.

Nineteen feet. Fifteen feet. Ten feet. Five. Salvation was only a few steps away. The ledge widened here, and Reginald was filled with relief. Two feet. "Reggie!" John cried, pulling on his arm. The edge had broken under John's feet, and he was slipping over the edge. Reginald pulled, trying to get John over to solid ground. John's foot slipped completely, and in a flash he disappeared over the edge.

Reginald was nearly yanked over the edge by the sudden weight, but just managed to keep his footing. He thanked all the ancient Gods that the ledge was wider here, it was the only reason he didn’t fall. John screamed, thrashing violently as the bereaved gathered below. “Stop! Stop moving!” Reginald yelled, “Hold on!” The weight of the younger boy brought Reginald to his knees. John screamed louder as he was lowered down the cliff.

Reginald braced on hand on the ledge, and tightened his grip on his terrified brother’s hand. “I’m going to pull you up! It’s ok! You’re ok!” He yelled down frantically. He closed his eyes as he pulled hard as he could, slowly lifting John back up the cliff face. “You’re ok!” He yelled again, “You’re almost back up! We’re almost home.”

Those, of course, were exactly the wrong words to say. Fate can be kind or Fate can be cruel. When it counts the most though, fate can be downright sadistic.

John stopped. Reginald pulled and pulled, but John didn’t move. Reginald opened one eye to look down the cliffside. One of the bereaved was standing, it’s front clawed legs against the cliff face, it’s long neck stretched out. John’s foot was trapped in the bereaved’s spiky mouth.

John screamed. Reginald pulled. And the bereaved’s teeth dragged the boys inexorably down. “Reggie!” John screamed. “Don’t let me go! Don’t let me go!”

Reginald didn’t answer his brother. Every drop of effort went into pulling.

----------------------------------------

The screaming of bereaved brought Reginald back to the present. He wasn’t sure how long he had been standing there. Hours were minutes and minutes were hours in the fog of memory. Time? He thought.

Four hours past. Ten minutes to the fifth.

Only about five minutes lost then. He stood on top of the town wall, looking over the space between field and forest. Only about an hour til sundown. No chance of getting to Percival and back with the walkway protections active. He sighed. Not much of a choice. Creatures from the Hordelands would only be here if someone brought them. And no one would bring bereaved over unless they were absolutely insane. Or have some way of controlling them. I haven’t heard of anything that would let you control a bereaved. Have I?

Nothing in memory. Yours or mine.

Reginald pulled his wand and drew a small link in the air, muttering incomprehensible syllables to make the proper vibrations in the air. The link activated, and then flew at his face and disappeared into one eye. In his vision shadows disappeared and the forest brightened. He could now make out the shapes of the two bereaved moving in the trees, one on either side of the pathway. “Clever.” He muttered to himself. The deadly creatures were close enough to the trail to use it for protection from the other forest dwellers, but far enough that they wouldn’t be visible to anyone walking the trail until it was too late. Unless, of course, the person in question knew the links for eliminating shadows for their vision.

There were, of course, many potential ways past the bereaved and into the forest. The safest though, was a distraction. Reginald pulled his hood over his head and activated the cloak. Instantly his form shimmered then vanished, the invisibility link embroidered into the back of the garment activating with a thought. Helpful, but not enough to get past the bereaved. He jumped off the wall, floating gently to the ground. He turned back to the wall and crouched down, moving his wand over a section of grass. The green grass peeled open like the pages of a book, exposing the wet soil below.

Reginald drew quickly, two sets of nearly identical links side by side in the dirt. He reached into his robe, then paused as a mournful howl sounded. His breath was coming quickly now, heart pounding in his chest. He pressed a hand to his chest, forcing himself to calm. The howl cut off, and he started moving again. The contents of a small vial were dusted over the symbols before being placed back in the robe pocket.

There was another howl, and with mounting horror Reginald realized that it was closer than before. He forced himself to move past the paralyzing effect of the sound, waving his wand one more time over the earth. The two symbols glowed briefly before sinking into the ground and disappearing.

The next howl was terrifyingly close. Reginald stood and turned slowly. Fifty feet away on his left a bereaved was slowly stalking towards him, its head low to the ground. Two tiny black eyes sat on either side of the circular mouth, the sunlight glinting off each eye as it swung its head slowly back and forth, searching. The other bereaved was about a hundred feet ahead on Reginald’s right, searching. Reginald had been prepared for this, knowing that scratching in the dirt would sound like prey to the two predators. He hadn’t expected them to be this close though.

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He took a deep quiet breath, then let it out slowly. Both creatures perked up at the faint noise. Reginald placed his wand in his robe, then held out a hand towards each of the horrors stalking him. He waved each hand in a complex movement, sending energy into the links he had drawn. He muttered a quick incantation to finish powering the spell. In front of each hand, a copy of Reginald suddenly formed. The two illusions darted to each side, running noisily away. Reginald gave each of the creatures a rude gesture before putting his hands down.

The bereaved turned and chased after the illusions, and Reginald smiled. The creatures were smart, but they weren’t that smart. He waited patiently for them to be out of earshot before he moved. Suddenly, both creatures stopped running, skidding to a complete halt. They were several hundred feet away, probably just on the edge of their own hearing. Slowly, they both turned and stared directly at Reginald.

“Well, shit.”

**********************

“Bereaved, if the myths are to be believed, are pack hunters from the Hordelands. They look like a black furred deer with a leech’s head, apparently.” Jonal was saying as he and Triss made their way to the town hall. “Their eyesight is pretty bad, only really able to spot movement. But they have excellent hearing, and once they bite onto you the only way to get free is to cut off whatever limb they’ve bitten. Even if you kill it, once its got it’s teeth into you its over. At least, that’s what the stories say. There’s an awful lot of strange and terrifying stories ‘bout the Hordelands. Most of them are foolishness.”

“What are the Hordelands anyways?” Triss asked. She was nearly out of breath trying to keep up with Jonal. He was incredibly fast for someone his size. “Reginald mentioned that.”

“It’s across the Elemental Sea. A land that’s barren except for hordes of terrifying and mystical creatures. At least, that’s what the stories say. You’d be best off asking Reginald I expect, seeing as he comes from there. Ah, here we are.” They had arrived in front of a medium sized granite building that stood apart from the buildings around it. A set of four worn stone steps led up to a set of dark wooden double doors. Jonal ran up the steps two at a time, then grabbed a large black metal ring mounted in the center of one door. He lifted it and let it fall three times, a loud noise echoing each time. “Coming?” He said to Triss, who had stopped at the bottom of the steps.

“Reginald comes from the same place as those creatures?” She asked. She made her way up the steps. “From a place where no one lives except a bunch of crazy homicidal monsters?”

Jonal nodded. “Something like that, yeah. Least, I figure he’s from there. Thats where Draconic live.”

Figures. Triss thought as they waited outside the door. I learn more about Reginald in five minutes here than a week actually living with him. Makes sense he has no problem killing if the Hordelands are as bad as Jonal is saying.

They are worse than you can know. The voice said.

Oh, back are you? Where were you all day? Triss thought.

I speak when I wish.

“Yeah, then I’ll listen when I wish.” Triss muttered to herself quietly.

“What was that?” Jonal asked.

“Oh, nothing.”

The large wooden door swung open, and a very elderly man stood before them in the doorway. He was bent nearly double, hunched over a thin wooden cane. His white wispy beard nearly reached the floor, and his bald shiny head was covered in age spots. “Young master Jonal.” The old man wheezed. “How can I help you today?”

Jonal bowed to the old man. “Elder Nert. We must speak to the council. It’s a matter of great urgency!” Jonal said, holding out the medallion.

Elder Nert leaned forward and inspected the medallion. After a moment, he straightened slightly and looked at Jonal. “What was that?” He asked.

“What was what?” Jonal replied with confusion.

The old man blinked at him. “What?”

“WE NEED TO SEE THE COUNCIL.” Triss said loudly, having figured out the issue.

Nert looked at Triss and nodded. “Why didn’t you say so then?” He turned and began shuffling into the building. Jonal rolled his eyes and followed the elder with Triss bringing up the rear. It took a frustratingly long time to make it down the short hallway and to another set of double wooden doors. Elder Nert paused at the door for a moment, searching in the pocket of his whitish robe. At last, he drew out a small brass key and used it to unlock the door.

The council chamber was a large, circular stone room with a high ceiling. Windows were spaced evenly around the room near the top of the walls, and the fading light of day streamed through them, bathing the room with a lavender glow. The light reflected off a polished half-round table that took up nearly a third of the room. It appeared the councillors all would sit on one side of the table, and petitioners would address them from the center. A smaller table with two chairs sat in the center.

There was no one else in the room.

Elder Nert gestured towards the room with his free hand, supporting himself with his cane. “The council chambers.”

“Where are the…WHERE ARE THE COUNCILLORS?” Jonal asked, remembering the old man’s hearing issues.

“What? Oh. Home, I expect. There’s a session next week I think.” Nert replied.

“WE NEED THEM NOW. IT’S AN EMERGENCY.” Triss told the elder.

“Oh. An emergency? Well, I suppose we could have a session in the morning then if its that important.”

“NO, WE NEED TO SPEAK TO THEM TONIGHT.” Jonal cut in, obvious frustration on his face.

The elderly man looked at Jonal with confusion. “But it’s supper time.”

It took several more minutes of shouting to get Nert to agree to get the councillors. Once they realized that the old man intended to shuffle all the way to each individual councillors home, Jonal and Triss agreed they needed a little more help. Triss stayed with elder Nert as Jonal ran to fetch the councillors.

Surprisingly, the seven town councillors were assembled in less than fifteen minutes. Elder Horst, an overweight red-faced gentleman, was the current Keeper of the Laws and was responsible for comparing the medallion to the diagram. Triss was genuinely worried for the old portly man, who was still huffing and puffing ten minutes after jogging up to the council building. He led them all into a small antechamber near the front of the building where the Law book was kept. After a few minutes of comparison, he turned to the remainder of the group and nodded. He tried to speak, but was still breathing too hard.

“Well. I never thought we’d hear directly from Lord Percival himself.” Nert confided in Triss as they followed the assembly down the hall to the chambers. He smiled. “I haven’t seen him nor Reginald since I was a boy.”

He stepped into the council chambers, leaving a stunned Triss in the hallway.

***************

“Did my sweethearts get their target?” Yorun asked, not taking the spyglass down. In the distance, the mercenaries were rapidly dismantling their camp and hurrying inside the walls. A couple elderly men wearing official looking robes and one young woman with a standard looking dress were talking to the mercenary’s leader as the soldiers packed. Yorun hoped this meant the bereaved had taken the little draconic as a snack.

“Yes, Master.” Eric said. He didn’t even ask how Yorun had known he was there. Yorun always knew things like that. “He used an invisibility cloak -“

“Ineffective against my sweethearts.” Yorun cut off the younger man.

“As you say, Master. He used the cloak, and cast a pair of illusions as a distraction. I refocused their attention as you have taught, and they pursued him into the forest. I heard them catch him seconds later.”

“Excellent, excellent. Good work as always.” Yorun praised the younger man. He finally stood, putting away the spyglass. As always, he put it carefully and deliberately away before turning to his apprentice. The young man had sun-darkened skin, already weathered and hard from a life spent out of doors. His brown hair was short and dirty, and he had several days worth of patchy beard on his face. “The mercenary scouts were dispatched as well?”

“Yes Master. I killed all three personally.” He hesitated after speaking, as though he had more to say.

“Out with it, Eric. I would know what you think. You are my apprentice, not my servant.” Yorun said.

“I wonder Master, what we are doing. I thought we were to continue to build up our resources until we could conquer the Faded Hills, then recruit the population of wolf-walkers that still live there. That was the plan you told me, your brilliant plan. We’ve recruited so many repressed races to our cause already. I worry that this new plan may be premature, and we may stretch ourselves too thin.” The apprentice wrung his hands nervously as he spoke.

“Yes, yes. That is the plan. Still. These mercenaries, however, are a problem. Now that they’ve started looking for us we must eliminate them.” It was a complete fabrication of course. They could have easily hid from the mercenaries and made their way north to the Faded Hills. Yorun smiled. There was blood to be had here. There were lives to be taken here. He had been patient. For so very long he had been patient. Seeing that man die, seeing the blood run free, had awakened that part of him that could not wait. Could not be patient.

Yorun drew a thin, red wand out of his robes. “It is a small town only, and no defences that would impede us. Summon the troops into the formations they have practiced. We attack at nightfall.”