Bear’s Crossing was named for the old iron bridge that spanned the Bear River. Zander couldn’t recall which ancient Leverian monarch had commissioned it, but he knew Alfread would remind him soon enough.

Like weeds clinging to the base of a mighty tree, Bear’s Crossing had sprouted around the rust-colored behemoth. The wealthiest citizens of the town were those who controlled the docks under the bridge—a locale affectionately known as “The Skirts” by common folk like Zander of Mirrevar. Every day, river barges docked here, their cargo unloaded and shipped overland to Balbarian, often recruits for the never-ending battles in Balbaraq’s Gap. The Skirts were also lined with emporiums carrying goods from Meridian to Qorath and often the countries beyond the sea.

While Zander appreciated Mirielda’s holyday purchases of frostwine or faraway spices, his own pocketbook had no space for such things. Zander didn’t even have a pocketbook; he preferred to avoid books of all kinds, not just the little ones you kept in your pocket. His few precious coins were reserved for two of his three great pleasures: eating and drinking.

Both pleasures—and the third too—were well-served in Bear’s Crossing’s taverns. Old Iron Inn, nestled beneath the bridge’s shadow on the western side of the Bear, was a long wooden building. The ground floor bustled with patrons while the upper levels served as both inn and pleasure house. Zander had spent ample time enjoying all the inn had to offer.

He brushed his fingers against the rusty iron sign outside as he entered. Lorelei, a petite maid with dandelion-yellow hair, greeted him with a broad smile.

“Big Zander!” she called, caressing his arm. “Will ye be havin’ the Lorelei special today?”

Against his instincts, he pulled away. “Not today. Have you seen Alfread?”

Her mood soured as she nodded toward a corner table. “Over there, with that bastard Kenneth. Tell him to stop harassing my sister, will ya?”

“For you?” Zander teased, running his fingers through her hair. “Of course.” He hesitated, then added, “But only because I’ve got a soft spot for you, Lorelei.” He caressed her rosy cheek. “Though I doubt it will stay soft forever.”

She winked. “I sure hope not.”

Zander chuckled and made his way to Alfread’s table, where Kenneth’s chants of “Finish strong!” rang out as Alfread finished chugging and slammed an empty mug on the table. As handsome Alfread hooted victoriously, Dinah dropped her tray and sent a set of drinking horns spilling to the planks. The innkeeper’s remarks were drowned out by Zander’s booming voice.

“That’s how you finish! Never let it be said that Alfread son of Evan failed to conquer the infamous flagon of mead!”

Kenneth, face red from thunderous laughter, struggled to respond, “I erd tha’ flagon’s been takin’ drinkin’ horns genst their will!”

Alfread, playing along, raised a fist. “Never again will they be forced to serve the lusty flagon! Freedom for the drinking horns!” He flexed dramatically, drawing attention from Dinah and half a dozen other maids.

Grinning, Zander eased into a chair, feeling at home amidst the familiar camaraderie.

The three of them were still laughing when Lucille approached. Unlike her older sister, Lucy lacked the same striking beauty, but she had undeniable charms. Zander struggled to make consistent eye contact when she was near.

“Hullo, Zander,” she said shyly. “Meat or mead for ye?”

Zander softened his voice and smiled, managing to meet her eyes. “What can I get for two iotas, Lucy?” He tossed the small iron coins onto the table.

Kenneth, ever crass, slapped her backside. “I’ll take a pair o’ soft potatoes, Lucy. Trade ye for a ripe cucumber.”

Lucille slapped his hand away, frowning. Though tavern maids were known for their role in providing tribute to Divine Leverith, they always chose who to serve—and were free to determine the fee. It was Zander’s duty, as an aspiring knight and frequent bedpartner to Lucy’s sister, to honor her autonomy.

“You’ll stop mistreating her,” Zander commanded, his voice hard.

Kenneth looked dumbfounded. “What?”

“Respect her,” Zander growled.

Kenneth lowered his head. “Lucy, I were jes’ japin’. Won’t happen again.” He downed his drink and stared into the empty flagon as if he might find someplace to hide his shame at that bottom.

Zander felt a surge of pride, like a knight in meladonite armor. “I’ll take a horn of Jacque’s mead and a leg of chicken, Lucy.”

Lucille’s eyes lit up. “As ye wish.” She turned to Alfread. “Anything for you?”

Alfread smiled, keeping his gaze respectfully on her face. “I’m content. How far has our little friend gone?”

“We just met the dragon!” Lucille beamed.

Alfread nodded, impressed. “I bet you solved some riddles too.”

Zander took a moment to realize they were talking about Alfread’s reading lessons at the temple. It seemed Lucille was one of the few tavern maids and farmer’s daughters that actually went there on Meladon’s Day to learn rather than spend a morning hoping to catch Alfread’s attention.

“I did!” she exclaimed.

“You’re a clever lass,” Alfread said with an easy smile. “Try this one: ‘Her voice is a hiss, she’s scary to kiss. She’s needed to live, but death she can give.’”

Lucille repeated the riddle and then smiled. “Let me think on it, Alfread.” She looked back at Zander as she walked toward the kitchen. “A leg of chicken and a horn of mead.”

Zander nodded with a smile.

“What did Sir Edward want?” Alfread asked, but before Zander could answer, Dinah leaned on the table, her Leverith-blessed figure capturing Zander’s attention.

“Alfread,” she purred as if addressing a divinedamned prince, “your flagon’s empty. More mead?”

Zander was forced to field many feminine inquiries about his incomparably handsome, tall, lean, honey-brown haired, amber-eyed, charming best friend regarding why he never offered tribute to Leverith with them. For years, the tavern maids had kept a running bet on who might conquer Alfread’s virtue and make a true Leverian out of him. Zander doubted today would be the day someone would finally claim that coveted pot.

“No thank you, Dinah,” Alfread replied with a warm smile.

Dinah leaned further, her cleavage on display, but Alfread courteously kept his eyes on hers while Zander and Kenneth were less-than-stellar paragons of propriety.

“Tell Jacque his mead was excellent today,” Alfread said.

Dinah lingered, waiting for more, but when nothing came, she stood, a hint of disappointment on her pretty face. “We’ve got much better things on the menu, Alfread. Come see me if ye want a free sample.”

She walked away, ignoring Kenneth flagging her with his empty flagon. “Ain’t I ‘ere?” he shouted. “I’d’ve bought more mead, wench!”

Zander laughed. “That’s what you get for disrespecting women.”

“She’d roll out a divinedamn barrel for Al and spoon-feed ‘im her heated honey, but I can’t even git my flagon filled!”

Lucille returned with Zander’s mead, beaming. “Thanks, Lucy,” Zander said, slipping her an extra iota. “For your troubles.”

She flashed Zander a bright smile, which he missed, before turning to Alfread. “Fire!”

A few patrons looked around in alarm before Alfread apologetically explained Lucille had solved his riddle. He quickly recovered, flashing a smile at her. “Well done, Lucille. I would’ve also accepted Seraxa, the Divine of Fire.”

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

Lucille grinned. “That’s probably the better answer.” She gave Zander a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I’ll be back with your food.”

Kenneth, still waving his empty flagon, was pointedly ignored. “Balbaraq’s Balls!” he howled.

Zander ignored Kenneth’s grumbling. “There’s a wolf pack harassing the lands upriver. Archlord Bearbreaker wants them gone. Sir Edward says it’s my task.”

Alfread perked up. “A mere wolf pack is no match for Zander of Mirrevar!”

Zander grinned. “For us, you mean.” He knew Alfread’s skills with a bow and tracking would be essential. Finding the wolves would be the hard part. “Will you join me on this hunt?”

Alfread didn’t hesitate. “Of course, brother. Let’s slay some beasts.”

Zander drank to that. Then, he turned to Kenneth, who was smiling dumbly into his empty mug. Despite his crude jests, Kenneth was a ferocious fighter, one of the few people in Bear’s Crossing Zander couldn’t take lightly. Zander trusted Kenneth and had a fondness for him that he would never confess for the fear of never hearing the divinedamned end of it. “There’s room for one more. What say you, Kenneth?”

Kenneth looked thunderstruck, blinking a few times before a grin spread across his square face. He nodded.

Dinah returned with Zander’s meal—a chicken leg and a slice of buttered barley bread. She leaned in close and whispered, “Lorelei wants to know if ye’ll reconsider if I join in.”

Zander took a long sip, trying to rein in his excitement. A glance at the soft bosom pressed against his shoulder did indeed inspire reconsideration. “Tell her I’ll consider it,” he said, keeping his tone businesslike despite the temptation.

“Bring your friend,” she added with a wink, then turned to Alfread. “Until next time, Alfread.” She sashayed away.

Kenneth smirked. “Balbaraq’s Balls! What was that whisperin’ about?”

“Lorelei wants to honor Leverith with me this evening,” Zander replied, after a pause. Alfread raised a brow, but Kenneth believed it as if the shite had dribbled straight out of Meladon’s arse.

“Pretty Lori? She’s the secon’ mos’ comely wench this side o’ the river.”

Zander shook his head. “She’s the most beautiful maid in Bear’s Crossing.”

Kenneth snorted, launching into a comparison of Dinah and Lorelei. Zander barely listened, his eyes finding Lorelei across the room. She winked at him, her smile sultry.

Zander remembered the first time he had stared into her eyes, four years ago on Purification. In honor of Dalis, Divine of Water, everyone immersed themselves in the river to purify themselves of Zamael’s evils. Unsurprisingly, a few hundred people in varying states of nudity gathering in a river led to honoring Leverith too. Zander wore nothing but a locket, and Lorelei had been stunning in the sunlight, her yellow hair shining as they embraced in the Bear River. She had smelled of flowery fragrance, river, and sweat as they splashed away to a secluded islet.

But even as they had lain together, Zander hadn’t felt purified. Despite countless tributes to Leverith with more women than he could remember, the Divine of Love had yet to answer his prayers. He sighed and fingered the locket around his neck, hoping that one more tribute might guide him to Leverith’s answer, to the Sunrise.

Alfread’s voice snapped him from his thoughts. “What’s the plan, Zander?”

Zander tore into his chicken with renewed focus. “We ride at first light, follow the River Road north until we find the wolves. Then we kill them in the name of Archlord Wayn Bearbreaker and King Adameon Ruby.”

Kenneth leaned in with a serious expression. “Ye forgot Meladon, Sir Edward Bladestorm, yer mom, the Love Queen, the unicorns on the moon, and the wench I bedded last night.” He placed his hands together and looked up at the ceiling. “Bless ye, Leverith.”

Alfread countered smoothly, “Bless Ovidon for possessing however many iotas she charged you.”

Zander’s smile faded. Joking was one thing, but not about his mother. Kenneth should have known that better than anyone.

Sensing danger, Kenneth jumped up. “DISMISSED!” he shouted, bolting for the door. Zander shook his head, following him out. Alfread was close behind, narrowly avoiding a collision with Dinah as she bent over in his path, complaining of an itch on her lower back. Alfread politely informed her of an herb that could help with that and Zander emerged into the sunlight chuckling.

“I’ll see ye at first light,” Kenneth promised.

“I’m sure you will be punctual,” Zander said, knowing he would be late.

Kenneth bounded off toward Old Iron, where he lived with his sisters on Sir Edward’s estate. Zander couldn’t watch him nearing the old bridge without thinking about how Kenneth’s mother had leapt to her death from the pinnacle when he was a toddler. Zander turned in the opposite direction toward home, eager to abandon those thoughts.

As they walked home, Zander told Alfread about his conversation with Sir Edward. Alfread listened intently, as he always did, able to remember every word.

“I don’t think there is any such thing as good and evil,” Alfread said in his usual pedantic way. “King Wilhelm Ruby had his reasons to act like a tyrant, even if they didn’t justify his actions. Linus Peacemaker—the Great Wizard,” he added, though Zander didn’t need reminding, “killed hundreds before he forged the Great Peace. Only the children’s stories have perfectly altruistic heroes and purely evil villains. Humans are more complex. We are dusk and dawn behind a gray overcast sky. We may shine light or summon the night when the clouds pass by.”

“You read that in a book,” Zander teased.

“Not yet,” Alfread replied with a smirk, clearly ready to launch into a lecture or more of his divinedamned rhymes.

Zander shoved him before he could start. Alfread, steady on his feet despite the mead, pushed him back, still grinning. “Our minds are a greater weapon than your sword or my bow. You should read more.”

They traded insults as they neared Sir Evan’s manor, laughing by the time they arrived.

The manor was a sturdy log house with a main chamber, loft, and two wings. Mirielda’s clinic and library occupied the south wing, while Alfread’s family slept in the north. Zander slept in the loft with Sir Evan’s old armor and various other things that hardly saw use. Outside, a garden known throughout Bear’s Crossing grew herbs that Mirielda used for healing and contraception. The forest beyond the fields was where Zander and Alfread hunted during the winter.

They found Sir Evan and Mirielda in the barn, milking cows. Alfread had inherited his father’s height and love of stories, but his university-educated mother’s beauty and intelligence. To Zander, they were the perfect couple, their love strong and timeless like Old Iron. He touched his locket, praying to Leverith that he, too, would find such a love one day.

“Crack any skulls?” Sir Evan asked, grinning as he milked a cow.

Mirielda scolded him. “Evan!”

“No skulls today, though maybe a nose,” Alfread quipped.

Sir Evan beamed at him. “That’s my boy!”

Mirielda’s glare was like the sun; warm and beautiful but if you looked too long you would get burnt. “You’re lying.”

“I smashed Kenneth’s nose with my shield.”

Sir Evan cheered, but Mirielda shook her head. “You can’t lie to your mother, Alfread son of Evan. I cleaned your arse when you were a babe—I recognize the scent of your shit.”

Alfread tried to keep his composure, but he was cracking like an egg beneath his mother’s iron interrogation.

“Lying to you is futile, love,” Sir Evan said. “We’d have better success trying to trick the wise crone in the Trolltongue stories.”

Mirielda turned her piercing gaze onto her husband. “A villainous, hideous, cunning crone? Is that what you think of me?”

Evan looked at Zander and spoke as if Mirielda was out of earshot. “I’m doomed, men. Lie, and she knows. Tell the truth, and I’ll be sleeping in the stables with Workhorse all summer.”

Alfread and Zander laughed heartily as a mule sounded off from his stable. Mirielda sighed. “You’re lucky I can tell you are lying, Evan.”

“No,” Evan said. “I’m lucky that you are brighter than the stars. You are more beautiful today than the day we met, Miri.”

Mirielda placed her hand on Sir Evan’s adoring face. “You’re telling the truth—or at least what your mind thinks is truth. Poor thing.”

“I am a thing?” Evan countered.

She leaned closer to him until their noses were touching. “I can envision no other words that come any closer to an adequate description of you, Evan of Astoria.”

Evan pulled Mirielda into his arms, kissing her cheeks. Zander gripped his locket, dreaming of the day he would find the Sunrise.

When his parents continued to embrace, Alfread cleared his throat. “We have news.” Sir Evan broke off the kisses and turned toward his son, while concern clouded Mirielda’s beautiful face. Every mother dreaded their son’s eighteenth birthday—the day of involuntary conscription—but many knew that their children would volunteer before that. “We have been tasked with a quest by Sir Edward Bladestorm.”

Sir Evan smiled. “Gidi’s Greatsword! What quest?”

“We’re hunting a wolf pack ravaging the farmlands upriver.”

Mirielda exhaled. She knew they could handle wolves.

Sir Evan nodded. “Important work. No farming today—you’re warriors of the Peacewatch now!”

Zander felt a rush of pride, hearing that for the first time.

“Now off with you.” Evan grinned. “Miri and I have unfinished business.” He squeezed an udder, milk splattered into the bucket and Evan looked suggestively at his wife.

Mirielda rolled her eyes. “You’re encroaching on my territory.”

“Better come reclaim it then.”

Alfread fled the barn, sprinting away as fast as he could, chased by laughter. Wherever he inherited his chastity, it wasn’t from his parents.

Zander and Alfread spent the afternoon preparing for the journey. They crossed Old Iron at dusk to borrow mounts from Sir Edward. Zander claimed the silvery-white destrier, Paladin, while Alfread selected a red palfrey and left a gray one for Kenneth.

As the sun set, they returned across the bridge. Barges docked along the river, and weary workers made their way home or to the taverns. Zander turned Paladin away from the road leading to the manor once they reached the western bank.

“Lorelei and Dinah?” Alfread asked.

Zander smirked. “Leverith is stronger than our minds or weapons. You should offer tribute to her. Come with me—Leverith knows Dinah would rather spend the night with you than me.”

Alfread looked up at the stars and shook his head. “That’s not the way my tale goes, dear friend.” He gave Zander a half-hearted smile before riding homeward.

Beneath the shadow of Old Iron, Zander paid tribute to Divine Leverith, praying for her answer. Soon, the sun would rise, and the long, lonely night would end.