The blur in the distance dragged himself onto the beaver mound and spent a long time sputtering and coughing up lake water. Charlot spoke a few arcane words, and the mud dried out and broke off his robe, then steam rose from him until he was perfectly dry. He arched his eyebrows at the strange sensation of Flaccaro feeling cold, but already he could feel the relic’s heat returning.

“Apologies, magnificent one. I was profligate with your power,” Charlot murmured, and the staff hummed against his palm in agreement.

Korak snuffled around on the other side of the dam, looking downstream for the legionnaire he’d knocked off the dam.

Likely drowned, Charlot reasoned. The bear’s paw had caved in the black iron breastplate like it was made of tin and likely broke every one of the legionnaire’s ribs. With his heavy armor in the rushing water…impossible to survive. It was growing dark as well. Charlot knew he would be nearly blind once the dusk came.

Blast that the mound was so far away! He could see nothing!

“You there! Sylas! Come out, the Wyrth are dead!”

Charlot squinted, but he could see no movement. “Are you hurt?” he cried, but again, there was nothing. Charlot wondered if it was even Sylas, and he cried out in Wyrth and Yarlee and in Khem.

For a moment, he wondered if the distant form was the last legionnaire. Korak was on the opposite shore, sniffing pointedly in the direction of the mound, and Charlot guessed it wasn’t a legionnaire, else the bear would be swimming toward him to do battle.

“Stars fall. Such power,” a low rumbling growl came from his side, and he saw the wolf’s muzzle swirling with shadows. A black crystalline mask formed over the canine face and red glowing eyes blinked open in place of the wolf’s. They had many irises, rings within rings. The eyes of a sïthur. It was no mere timber wolf standing beside Charlot. The animal was possessed by a demon named Lak.

Charlot detected a note of reproach in Lack’s comment. “One of my few flaws. I occasionally lack restraint when dispensing with the Wyrth. Especially legionnaires.”

“Few?” snorted Lak, and weirdly, the wolf snorted along with her. Through the black crystal mask which was named the Asyndagrim, the sïthur controlled the wolf’s every move.

“Is the boy still on the mound? Is he the one we seek? It’s too far I cannot see.”

The possessed wolf ran around the side of the lake and returned to Charlot.

“It’s a boy, but it’s not Sylas. This one’s fatter. Shall I capture him?“ There was a note of hunger in her voice that Charlot did not miss. He mulled over it for a moment. It would certainly be easier than trying to get answers from a frightened child. But surely the boy had suffered enough for one day. He had no idea what the mask would do to a human, but he suspected it was anything but pleasant.

“You shall not. Vanish, shade!”

Lak obeyed at once, her pact with the arcanist was stronger than her desires. The shadows spilled away, and the mask faded from sight, but she was still there, riding the wolf and seeing through his eyes. The Asyndagrim was a dire artifact, indeed.

The roar of the water crashing through the breach grew quieter until it was a mere trickle. The beaver lake had drained to the lowest point of the dam. Charlot judged the lake was still knee-deep surrounding the mound.

Charlot glanced up, noting the growing shadows. They’d already spent more time than they could afford here. He ought to simply ride away, but he wanted answers.

“BOY! I know you can hear me. I won’t hurt you. Show yourself! I don’t want to have to get wet again after saving your hide,” Charlot announced, his voice booming back at them from the trees. A moment later, he spied motion on mound. How frustrating to not be able to see! He would have to get closer.

“Korak! Come here!” Charlot demanded, pointing at the ground, and the bear lowered his head and plodded through the mud to stand before Charlot, unwilling to meet the magician’s eyes. He left footprints in the soft mud deep wide enough to bury casks in.

“Oh, yes! I haven’t forgotten how you disobeyed me, you contumacious clod! I don’t care if there are four legionnaires or an entire cohort! When I say halt, you halt!”

The bear made a groan of apology and laid down, setting his chin against ground. Charlot looked pointedly away, and the bear rolled his green eyes back to Charlot and his stubby tail wagged expectantly. It was hard to stay mad at him.

“All right, you are forgiven. But only because you may have saved this young man’s life,” Charlot said.

“BOY! Wade over here! Don’t make me come and get you.”

“I can’t!” the boy cried. There was panic in his voice, at once Charlot knew it was not Sylas. The unknown boy was cold and afraid, and there were three dead men along the shore. He was probably afraid of sharing their fate.

“Why not?” Charlot called back.

“I’m lame!” the boy cried. He lofted something indistinct. Charlot could only infer it was a cane.

“Damn it all. Stay there, lad! I’ll come to you. We won’t harm you,” Charlot called back.

He muttered the cantrip a second time to dry out the sodden pelts tied to Korak’s back. He was pleased they had not been swept away in the torrent. Even a makeshift saddle was far better than none. Steam rose from the silverpaw’s broad back, and when the bear’s top half was dry, Charlot climbed up and urged the bear toward the beaver mound.

The bear plodded into the lake, sinking deeply with each step and, for a moment, Charlot was forced to consider just how difficult it might be to free the bear were he to become stuck. Yet, Korak plowed forward, and they reached the mound, where the boy trembled with cold and fear.

“Down again, friend” Charlot ordered, and Korak dipped low while water streamed off his sides, to allow the wizard to dismount. Korak cared not a whit about being wet. He seemed far more interested in sniffing at the boy’s pack, in great huffs that were as loud as a bellows.

“Please, don’t eat me!” the boy begged. He spoke a very rustic Norta. He was a portly little boy with dark hair plastered against his head that had obviously been cut with the aid of a bowl.

“I mean you no harm. Remain still,” Charlot ordered, and he pointed a finger at the shivering boy and repeated the cantrip. The boy’s eyes grew wider and wider as wisps of steam drifted up from him, and he was perfectly still, not even drawing breath. At last, he seemed dry.

“You may move again,” Charlot said, holding up a palm. At once the boy’s hands shot to his arms and began patting his legs, making sure he hadn’t been cooked.

“How…how did you do that? Are you one of the Stars?”

“Pffft. No. It’s a simple trick. The stars do not walk the Arc any longer. I am a wizard.”

“Can you teach it to me?” The boy asked, and Charlot only shook his head. One backward apprentice was more than enough.

“How did you kill them?” the boy asked, staring at the fallen warriors lying in the mud.

“The same way I dried out your clothes. It’s all heat, just a matter of degrees,” Charlot said. Against his back, Flaccaro buzzed with disapproval. The staff did not like Charlot taking credit for its work, but the magician ignored it.

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“What is your name?” Charlot demanded.

“W-willard, sir.”

“Willard?” Charlot raised his eyebrows.

“Yes, Willard the Sluggard they call me, on account of my bad leg.” Willard was apparently a quick wit, if a bad liar.

“Does he seem like a Willard to you Korak?” Charlot asked, but the bear had eyes only for the backpack. He snuffled as if he could inhale it.

Charlot fixed the boy with his stare, waiting for him to crack, but the boy said nothing.

“Why lie?” the master arcanist finally asked.

“Well, uhm, begging your pardon, sir, but you’re not meant to tell a wizard your name, are you? Can’t they do things with it?”

“With your true name, certainly. By all means, exercise caution, but gaze upon yon dead men and know that if I wished you harm, I certainly don’t need your name for it. Too little trust can be just as dangerous as too much.”

“I’m Henriq, sir,” the boy admitted, and Charlot nodded in reply. It rang true.

“Well, young Henriq, what’s in your pack that’s got Korak here so agitated?” Charlot asked.

“Honey. Please! Take it! Take it all!”

Korak leaned in with interest, and Charlot shot him a look. “I have no wish to pilfer your honey, young man. How did you come to be in this predicament? Did they chase you far?”

“Not far. I’m lame. I swam out here hoping they wouldn’t follow, but they chopped up the dam. They were just waiting for the lake to drain to get me!”

“They broke the dam… why didn’t those idiots simply take off their armor and wade out? ”

“I don’t know, sir,” the boy said.

“Why were you underwater when I arrived?”

“I was uh…um…” The boy’s face grew red. “Well, they were going to get me. I couldn’t get away. I was trying to end it before they could chop me up. But I couldn’t do it.”

“Ah. A difficult way to go. The body rebels. But we’re a way from town. Do you live in Billibee? What are you doing out here if you’re lame?”

“I do, sir. I take this road every month, to bring my aunt empty pots and bring one of honey in return. My father says it’ll make my leg stronger.”

“Let’s see this leg. Roll up your trousers.”

The boy did so with some difficulty. His knee had swollen to twice its normal size. Charlot winced just looking at it.

“I’ll wager that won’t hold weight for a couple weeks. Have you always been lame?”

“No, I fell from a tree two years ago, and that leg was caught in the crook of a branch. I dangled there for nearly half a day.”

The boy seemed to have gotten over being afraid. Charlot had forgotten how resilient children could be.

“Two years and still injured. How soon after the fall were you walking again?”

“As soon as I could. My father said it would stiffen up forever if I didn’t get it working again.”

“I assume your father is not a healer?”

“No, sir, he’s a potter.”

Charlot shook his head. The boy’s fool father had surely made things worse.

“Did the, um…did the Stars send you, sir? I prayed for salvation.”

“Ha! No, I simply happened to be traveling this way. I hope you didn’t promise the stars anything for this rescue.”

“I um…swore I’d go to temple and become a priest”

Charlot shook his head and sighed.

“Well, recant this instant. The Arc is choked with a great overabundance of useless clergy. Imagine the waste of it all! A life spent muttering cants that do nothing to gods that do not listen. Collecting money you do not deserve from people who cannot afford it, spending your days squabbling over improfound minutiae of utter disimportance!”

The boy blinked. He had understood perhaps half of Charlot’s screed.

“Are you a demon, then?” Henriq asked, looking alarmed at what sounded much like blasphemy.

“No! Merely a magician. I am Adon, the sage,” Charlot lied, for he did not want word getting around that the Crimson Citadel was vacant. Fools would certainly come seeking his treasures and be slain by his defenses, and then he’d have to clean them up after.

“My thanks to you, Sir Adon. Surely I would have died.”

“It’s nothing at all. Had you not been on the trail, I should have come across them myself, and the result would have been exactly the same. I do not suffer Wyrth.”

The boy blinked. Korak was pointedly snuffling in the direction of the pack. Even over the smell of mud and wet bear, Charlot could smell the flowery scent of honey.

“How did you tame a sliverpaw? Is that your wolf, too?” the boy asked, pointing to Lak, who watched them from the shore.

“The bear was tame when I found him. His name is Korak. The wolf follows me as well. Do they call these bears silverpaw or sliverpaw in this region?” Charlot asked.

“Ehm…silverpaw. I get my words jumbled sometimes,” the boy admitted.

Charlot nodded. He had a keen ear for any sort of impediment to speech. They were deadly in his profession. Immediately, he dismissed the boy as a potential apprentice. There was a note of regret. He was a keen, brave child, but the Art was utterly unforgiving. Again, he glanced at the sky. It was well into dusk now. When night fell, he would be completely blind.

The boy had opened the pack, and the bear’s tail wagged in anticipation. The inside of the pack was a mess of sticky straw and shards of broken pottery.

“Truly, he can have it. It’s ruined anyway,” the boy said.

“You’ll make a friend for life. There’s no greater glutton upon the lake. Let’s get the shards out so he doesn’t choke on them, I suppose.”

The boy picked the broken pieces of pot out of the pack, and then licked his sticky fingers and presented the pack to Korak. The bear’s long purple-black tongue shot out again and again until every bit of straw and honey had been devoured. Even Charlot dabbed a finger against one of the blue shards of shattered ceramic and had a taste. His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise.

“Red clover and lavender. Superb. And this pot, you didn’t get this clay from the Reyane. It’s nearly white”

“Father takes a cart to the Ghostwood. There’s a hot springs there where he gets the white clay.”

Charlot nodded, wondering if he ought to explore the Ghostwood at some point. Where there were hot springs, there were often gems and gold. “I should have saved some honey for the wolf,” the boy said.

Lak watched them from the shore.

“I fear the sweetness of the world is lost on that one,” Charlot mused, and then his eyes moved to the three bodies on the shore, and he resolved to try and find the last body before they left. I suppose the bones were against you today.”

“Do you mean I’m cursed?” Henriq asked, his face screwing up with sudden concern.

“Doubtful. Curses don’t stick right to children, they’re too amorphous.”

“What’s amorphous?”

“Formless, malleable…prone to change. I just mean luck was against you today. Do you not know how Wyrth pick a path when they’re out raiding?”

The boy shook his head.

“They carry knucklebones with them and roll them so that the demon they worship may tug at their reins. They care not how far astray it leads them, so long as they find skulls to bring back to the volcano. It’s why they’re forever showing up in unexpected places. Not even they know where they are bound or why. It makes the sorrow they cause all the worse because there’s no sense to it.” The old wizard’s voice was suddenly heavy with bitterness.

“I am in your debt, sir,” the boy said solemnly.

Charlot appraised the boy with great care. He was a solid lad, careless surely, but not stupid.

“You can discharge that debt quickly. I am seeking a boy, not much older than you but taller and slighter, with a blaze of white hair. His eyes are two different colors, one blue and one green. These men were chasing him, but I suppose he gave them the slip. Have you seen him?”

“Yes! He ran right by me! The dogs, they’re still chasing him. They tried to take a bite out of me! Another legionnaire is after him as well!”

Charlot’s mouth dropped open. What great folly he hadn’t asked at once!

“Blast it. The day’s nearly gone. I can’t leave you here, either. The wolves will have you. Do you have friends or family north of here?”

“Yes, sir. I’m only now coming from my aunt’s place. It’s a league and a half to the north. She’s a mean one, but if you tell her about the legionnaires, I can’t see her turning you away,” Henriq said, though there was a look on his face that said he thought she might.

“Can you stand?” Charlot asked.

Henriq tried, but he found he could not, even with his cane.

“It won’t hold me,” he said miserably. “I ran too hard on it.”

“Have you ever seen a healer?”

“Just some penny priests, sir. They prayed over it, but it didn’t help. Later, we found they had stolen a chicken and two bottles of wine.”

“Ha! Sounds about right. You’re lucky they didn’t make things worse with some fake cure. No bigger pack of frauds in all the lake. Well, I suppose you shall have to ride.”

“Ride?” the boy said, looking up at Korak, who licked his chops, trying to get every last bit of honey. The master arcanist nodded.

Charlot helped the boy up and, clumsily, they maneuvered Henriq to sit on Korak’s back. Charlot handed the wide-eyed boy his cane, and then mounted in front of him so the boy could hold on to his robe as he could not grip with his legs.

“Go, Korak!” Charlot commanded, and the bear was eager to oblige.

Korak crashed through the drained lake and bounded through the swollen stream back to the path. Henriq clutched Charlot’s robe, but the excitement of riding a bear overrode the pain in his leg.

“He went north!” Henriq cried, and Charlot sent the silverpaw coursing forward as night closed around them.