Acadian led the group about an hour further into the forest, heading north. Agaas’s riddle led him to believe the book, and therefore the dragon, were nested somewhere in the Danheim Mountains - between the Cities of Ailaydan and Hirondale. The ride was quiet, Flynn and Frank refusing to look at one another. Both of their arms were crossed, and Frank’s lips were tightly pursed as he faced in the direction they were leaving. Arsa appreciated the quiet but would have much rather have had Flynn’s insistent chatter over the thick tension that seemed to weigh down the already small cart. Gostor was looking at the amulet he still had around his neck. He watched the moonlight glint off the topaz as it shone through the trees overhead.

At one point, Circe gently kicked Frank’s leg, bringing his eyes shifting across the cart to her.

You shouldn’t have bowed, he heard in his head. His brows narrowed and his head seemed to twitch, as if asking how she was speaking to him. And they shouldn’t have encouraged you to, either.

I hated it, he thought, hoping she would hear it.

She lowered her eyelids and glanced at Flynn, He doesn’t seem to mind relinquishing integrity should a tyrant demand it. Not the quality of a knight I’d follow.

Frank smiled, happy to have Circe’s affirmation. He nodded to thank her, to which her lips tightened and she looked away.

They eventually set out their camping supplies at a small clearing in the forest, a short way before the abandoned village of Konne. It was believed a plague there drove all its citizens away and scared any new settlers from selecting the location as their new home. Acadian placed some stones in a circle toward the center of the clearing and said softly, “Crenem.”

At once, a burst of small flames gathered at the firewood and quickly began to crawl into a suitable heat source. All but Circe and Gostor had their own camping equipment, leaving the two without accommodations. Circe simply waved her hand and spoke the Planirey spell, calling upon the nearby foliage to weave into a soft bed at her command. She offered to do the same for Gostor but he declined, finding a rather large, yet very pointy, rock to lay across.

The group was still silent, unsure of what to say after the altercation between Flynn and Frank. Even Gostor seemed to be bothered by the quiet. He then remembered what he kept beneath his armor and shoved his hand inside his chestpiece to retrieve it. The others watched as he presented a letter and handed it to Arsa, who was the nearest to his rock. He took it with confusion and hesitation spread across his face.

With one finger, he untethered the purple seal from the envelope. Each of them felt a rush of energy leave the parchment, pushing back the branches of the surrounding trees. The tongues of the fire stretched away, moving their elongated shadows in a ghostly way. Acadian furrowed a concerned brow at Arsa.

“What was that?” he grunted.

Cicre held fierce a scowl that could only be described as unamused, “A curse, no doubt. Does that make your second interaction with that which should not be interacted with today?”

Frank smelled the air, “That wasn’t a curse. It was certainly magic, but not a curse.”

“He’s right,” Flynn’s eyes were golden like they were while tracking the witch. He seemed a bit pained to agree with the sorcerer. “No curse.”

When all had settled, Arsa pulled out the tucked-away paper and unfolded it. On it was a neatly written letter in black ink. He read it aloud:

“Agaas,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that my ravens have not disturbed your land. I am writing to you with the greatest of news. Our Dark Matron intends to act soon. The last of the brood have made their way to us, and we anxiously await Mother’s commands. My sisters and I grow restless as we hunger for the blood of Hydraan, but I am faithful that Mother’s plans are greater than our mortal wars. She knows what must be done. The Archmagus shan’t stand against our Coven, lest they fall before her coming kingdom. I write this to you in hopes of assuring you of your place in Mother’s plans. You will not be forgotten when we arrive on your shores. Trust that Mother’s magic can return you to us.

May the Coven of Glass never shatter,

E”

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

One by one, every head turned from Arsa to Gostor. He stared back at them before checking behind him to ensure nothing was creeping up in the dark. He took a reassuring breath when he realized there was nothing there.

“Where did you get this?” Arsa asked.

“Tower,” he grunted. “On table. In top.”

“A coven in Hydraan?” Flynn inquired, mostly to himself. “There hasn’t been a recorded coven since before the war.” He was standing now.

Circe looked up at him, “Not yet, there isn’t. It says they’ve not arrived, and I’d venture that’s still the case as the letter was unopened. They are either on their way or they are about to be.”

Acadian cut in, “Either way it isn’t our problem. I say we hand over that letter when we collect our reward for the book. Let Sister Rosalynd take it with her to Ailaydan.”

Gostor grunted with apparent offense in his eyes, “My letter.” He got to his feet and tried to wrestle it out of Arsa’s hands. Knowing a tug of war with the dwarf would tear it, Arsa released his grip.

They agreed to allow Gostor to hold onto the letter, at least until they could devise a plan to get it from him. With nothing left to say on the matter, and a plethora of questions plaguing their minds, they began to sleep in shifts.

In the morning, they continued their journey toward the Dalneau Mountains. Just as soon as they exited the treeline of the Danheim, they found themselves in a long, hilly expanse that stretched between two mountain ranges. To the west was their destination. To the east was the Bretnia Hills. A beaten path split several miles back near Konne to guide travelers along either range. The mountains were similar in scale and shape but were made of vastly different terrain.

The eastern hills were grey and rocky, a brown dusty forming a thick morning fog around the sharpened peaks. The Dalneau, however, was lush and green with trees that prickled the entire expanse. The foliage along the face was so thick, it appeared a dark navy at certain points of shadow. Jagged peaks and valleys rose and fell for miles, creating an almost wave-like appearance from down below.

Making good use of the daylight available to them, they quickly traveled across the plains to reach the western road. The weather was breezy and temperate, the hot sun mingling with the cool wind to create a more pleasant experience than the humidity of their more southern travels. Fluffy white clouds drifted across the bright blue sky like a family of ducks swimming across a pond.

Flynn was back to his singing, garnering a mix of reactions from those who despised the quiet of yesterday but held the shrill tones of their companion with equal contempt. Arsa kept one hand in his bag at all times, gently holding the Amethyst egg still so it would not rattle so much during the ride.

As they made their way along the base of the mountain, Acadian spoke up, “Now, this dragon is a Concealer. They’re awful good at hidin’. This is usually ‘cause of their magic. There are the Schemers, o’course, but they’re hard to find on account of their physical camouflage. A Concealer is gonna be near impossible to spot without magic. Any of y’all got any tricks you wanna try out, now’s the time.”

A couple of eyes moved to Flynn, but he raised his hands in protest, “I can only find dark spirits. Dragons are out of my depth.” Arsa had no ideas, and neither did Frank. Gostor was sitting cross-legged playing with the amethyst gems he stole like they were children’s toys, apparently roleplaying an intense argument - perhaps the one from the day prior.

When they had sat in silence for a moment, Circe sighed and stood from her seat. She cracked her neck to either side, her head dipping to an angle the others were shocked to witness, a small gasp even escaping Frank. Her eyes started to glow a bright green and whispers enshrouded her voice, “Begura… Avi.”

At once, her body began to snap, her limbs twisting and mangling into impossible shapes. Her spine twisted round and her forearms broke at an angle. Her green eyes rolled back in her head and her jaw hung open, swinging loosely. From her open mouth, a high-pitched whistling of wind flew out. Acadian had harshly pulled the cart to a halt and the others rose to their feet. Gostor even dropped his gemstones and pulled out his handaxes.

Frank approached to try and help her but refrained from touching her for fear of making things worse. Before long, the cracking of bones and the mangling of Circe’s form ceased. Where the woman once stood, a raven - as black as her hair - looked up at its fellow travelers, all with faces twisted with horror. The bird squawked, making them all jump with fright. It then flapped its wings and took to the sky.

Circe was not a fan of changing her shape. It did not feel quite as painful as it looked, but it was still uncomfortable. Some druidic mages had a more natural transition into beasts, but this was not a talent she had always had and was only recently being explored. Each time she changed, she longed for a time she could have studied the art at school.

She flew up into the trees that adorned the mountain. She flitted from tree to tree, spotting rivers and valleys, but nothing that might have been marked by a dragon. At one point, she came across a clan of griffons traveling through the woods, their golden feathers gleaming and reflecting the sunlight like crystals. With no luck, she emerged from the leafy tops of the trees to fly higher.

Even as a raven, the cold air irked her the higher she flew, and the wind grew harsher with every new elevation. Her eyes, still green despite her avian form, darted from hill to valley, searching frantically for anything of note. She saw nothing but trees. Wherever the dragon was, surely it had the sense to not nest where any old shape changer could see it.

And then she saw it.

Peering out of the slightest dip in elevation from a gathering of trees was the tip of a sandy-colored spire. She fluttered toward it, diving into the leaves as she approached. Perching on a branch, she gazed at the marvel before her.

Sat deep within a deliberately created cylindrical hold in the earth was a massive spire carved from an ivory-colored stone. The towering facade sparkled under each beam of light that forced its way through the canopy overhead. Intricate carvings of unicorns, centaurs, griffons, phoenixes, and dragons danced across the exterior. Giant columns flanked the front entrance, supporting a domed roof that ended in the point that emerged from the trees.

A bit pretentious, she twittered before flapping her wings to gather her allies.