Early the next morning, before the others had woken up, Arsa followed Acadian down to the lobby. He had gone to the Inn last night to speak with his senior, but he was already snoring by the time he arrived.

The downstairs of the Inn was empty except for the two elves and a woman behind the front desk (likely the Innkeeper’s wife). Acadian picked up a cup from a rickety cart holding tea and coffee and poured himself a morning drink. He sat in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, which still contained the smoldering embers of last night’s fire. He knew Arsa was behind him, but he said nothing to acknowledge him.

Arsa sat in the chair opposite Acadian and stared for a while, his knee bouncing up and down quickly. He crossed his fingers and laid his chin on them. Acadian brought the cup to his lips and let forth a long, loud sip of his coffee.

Mid-gulp, Arsa blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

Acadian raised an eyebrow but still didn’t look at the boy. Arsa gripped his knees and leaned forward, waiting for any kind of response. “Please say something,” he said.

“You crossed a line,” the elf coughed, looking at Arsa for the first time in a day.

“I know, and I feel terrible. I was angry.”

Acadian leaned back, “I’ve been plenty angry, havin’ seen what I’ve seen. Ya know? But anger gets folks killed. Keep it on the inside.”

Arsa nodded shyly. They both sat in the quiet for a while before Arsa mustered a bit more courage.

“Do you think you’d ever be able to see things differently?” he asked.

“No,” Acadian replied quickly. “We got lucky that one was old and senile. The only good dragon is a dead one.”

Arsa turned and leaned forward across the arm of the chair, “What if there are good dragons? Dragons that just want to be left alone, or ones that are kind - or would be if they were treated kindly.”

“Why do you care so much about this? I’m tryin’ to protect you,” Acadian shook his head.

Arsa’s eyes went glassy and he swallowed hard, “Because they are living beings. Nothing that lives is made in the likeness of evil. They are shaped to be so. Not so uncommonly by people like us who refuse to let them be good.”

Acadian said nothing else, but his scowl had faded. He stared into the embers, stern but not sore. His lips pursed slightly. Arsa relaxed and fell back into his chair, taking a deep breath. He whispered a soft sorry, and Acadian shook his head, brushing it off.

A voice called from the cushioned window seat behind them, “Glad to see you two speaking again.” It was Circe.

They both turned in surprise.

“How long have you been here?” Acadian asked. She just smiled, raising a cup of tea to her lips before walking up the stairs.

~

When everyone had woken up, they all convened outside the Inn. Frank had to help Flynn get into his armor and down the stairs, as he had spent the night feeling sick and groaning in emotional confessions. Outside, he was covering his face with his hands to block out the sunlight that was assaulting his weak eyes.

When Gostor saw this, he ran up from behind and gave Flynn a swift kick in the shins. After the initial shock, he found his headache to have faded slightly (though, that could have been because there was now a twinge of pain elsewhere).

They made their way across the damp and dewy courtyards of Krandaelyn and into the freshly opened Church of Hiarus. Several of the resident holy people were sitting in the pews with their heads bowed, reciting their morning affirmations and prayers. The party had begun to be recognized by the regulars in the building, and so didn’t call much attention as they walked in.

Heading straight to the back offices, Acadian knocked on Rosalynd’s door. It opened quickly, the Priestess sitting straight-backed with severe eyes, as though she had been waiting there for some time.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Blessed morning, friends,” she said with an intense smile. Flynn stood in the back, heart racing and leaning onto Frank.

Acadian nodded respectfully, “Are we gettin’ paid now?” Rosalynd opened a drawer in her desk and pulled out the book, setting it squarely before her.

“You are very hasty to receive payment here in the house of Hiarus,” she said. “Let us speak for a moment, please.” She waved her hand and the door closed behind them.

She smiled and tilted her head, “The book is most certainly authentic. You have done very well in retrieving what I asked of you. However, I have a few questions as to where exactly it was hidden - and the dragon that was hiding it.”

Arsa’s mouth became dry and he glanced quickly at Acadian before looking at the ground. Acadian cleared his throat, “Dalneau Mountains. Hidden tomb inside a cave. No dragon.”

Arsa looked up at him, amazed and thankful.

“Oh?” Rosalynd stood, picked up the book, and circled the desk to stand face-to-face with Acadian. “Well, that doesn’t bode well at all, then. See, these Spellbooks are extremely valuable. Their spells are worth quite a lot, especially in the hands of mages who can use them. Most of them are protected by a variety of enchantments. Like this one was.”

“Was?” Acadian cocked his head.

“Oh, yes. The protective enchantment is gone. I had figured perhaps the dragon that was guarding it may have damaged it in what I thought would have been quite the squabble to obtain this prize. The spells inside are almost entirely erased. One page is quite loose, almost as though it had been ripped. A simple divination ritual revealed the enchantment was enacted within the last day of the book being placed in my possession. Which would, of course, indicate that either you attempted to steal this magic for yourselves or you are lying to me about the presence of a dragon in the Dalneau Mountains.”

She was speaking so fast and pointedly that Acadian stumbled back a step. He glanced over his shoulder at Flynn, his jaw clenched hard and his eyes unnervingly steady. He began to stutter, his mind racing for a response.

“It was the dragon,” Flynn burst out.

Immediately, Frank shoved him in the ribs, “He’s hungover.”

Rosalynd’s feigned smile faded and her eyes grew darker and more sinister. She pushed through the crowded room until she was looking dead in Flynn’s bloodshot eyes.

“There is no recording of a dragon’s nest in the Dalneau. Where is it? What else did it have?”

Flynn glanced around nervously at the others, who were staring at him in a spectrum of disapproving looks. He was stumbling over his words as she moved closer and closer. It was then that a loud thud hit the window.

They all turned to see a black raven falling weakly from the glass and into the bushes below. Rosalynd moved around behind her desk once more to look outside.

Thud.

Another bird.

Thud. Thud.

More.

Suddenly, a barrage of ravens slammed their bodies against the window. The shock forced Rosalynd back against the chair as the glass was quickly covered in dark feathers. Acadian turned and began forcefully rushing everyone out of the room, slamming the door behind them.

“What the hell, Flynn?” Frank said as they ran out of the church.

“I’m sorry! I just wanted one of the spells to take back home. They shouldn’t have it all to themselves.”

Their conversation was cut short when they emerged from the church and out into the town square. A crowd had gathered to witness what appeared to be a small cyclone of black-feathered birds swarming the area. The loud cacophony of squawks and caws echoed as their bodies slammed against the surrounding buildings.

The group had to duck to avoid getting hit by the flock, Flynn raising his shield over the others the best he could to protect them. After a while, the birds dispersed from their funnel and sat quietly on the rims of houses and the overhangs of merchant stalls. In the place where the cyclone had been was a woman.

She was rather short and appeared human. A small crop of brown hair held tightly to her skull. Down her back was a long cape of large black feathers. When she turned around, her skin was sickly pale, as though she hadn’t seen the sun in years. Black gloves hid her hands and a non-descript maiden’s dress rested beneath her cloak.

Her eyes were a bright yellow, almost golden color. Her dilated round pupils darted around like a bird of prey hunting for a meal. She curled her lips into a tight, thin grin.

“There you are,” she said, her voice high and breathy. She was looking at Gostor. “I believe you have something that doesn’t belong to you.”

Out of his shirt, the letter began to tug outwards like it was attached to a string. He gripped it tightly and turned his body, scowling at her. He spit on the ground, “Mine.”

She giggled, “Is that so? Oh, please. Don’t let this get messy.”

Whispers from the sidewalks were rumbling, the townsfolk watching on in fear and amazement. Acadian, Arsa, and Flynn reached for their weapons. The woman clicked her tongue and quickly snapped her head around like an owl.

Out of the crowd, the tattooed Red Baron sauntered toward her. He was grinning widely, revealing a mouth full of crooked teeth.

“C’mon, little lady. There’s no need to get all magical. Let’s resolve this nicely, yeah?” He began to move his arm as though he were going to grab her shoulder.

Faster than they could all realize, her arm shot out of her cloak and grabbed the man by the forearm. She stared deeply into his eyes, craning her neck forward. He began to yelp as her grip grew tighter. With a sickening cracking sound, his arm snapped to one side. A dark sigil manifested in the air around her hand and a shadowy energy was thrust forward, sending him back into one of the market stands. The crowd began to scream and flee from the square as she turned to face the group once more.

“Messy,” she said, “it shall get.”