It was a dream as worn and familiar as a favorite pair of boots. The ruined watchtower stood on a crooked finger of land jutting into the Riyune Rift. Its stones were crumbling and overgrown with arrowhead ivy, ten thousand emerald broadheads rustled in the late morning breeze.

A hundred years ago, the white pines of the Syparef Forest had extended past this tower, which was built to keep watch over the Hymeneal Falls in case the Wyrth tried to ford them. But now, the Riyune ran too swiftly to attempt a crossing, and there was a mining village far in the western hills, where once there had only been wilderness.

The Syparef had been logged and cleared, and now the cloak of woodlands the tower once wore at its back was gone, replaced with potato fields and pastures. It was a winding hike of two leagues to climb the increasingly rickety stair to sit atop the tower, and though the view was gorgeous, few made the trek.

Mainly, Charlot came here to be alone, and Rhian came here to pester Charlot. Today was the day he’d surprised her with the turquoise rings.

The band slid onto Rhian’s finger, and her golden brown eyes were upon him, shining with mirth. He knew she did not expect much. The creations he’d shared with her before were mere trifles in comparison to the moon rings. There were seven magicians in the Cymaring Cabal, and each of them thought Charlot was the weakest. But they were wrong.

With a smile of anticipation, he held the hand where he wore her ring’s twin. She watched him closely, and he savored every instant of her scrutiny. A year for this! More than a hundred shattered bands, a thousand ideas tried and rejected.

“I feel a little lightheaded,” Rhian said, and he nodded, trying not to grin. “You had better not be planning to take advantage of me,” she warned. It was only a joke, but there was tension in her voice. She had taken an enormous risk putting on the ring.

“All of you should feel light,” Charlot replied, smiling despite the thundering in his chest. He could still not quite believe she’d accepted his offer.

An instant later, she lifted off the ground. He watched her rise over his head and pirouette in the air, her skirts whirling around like a parasol. His cheeks grew red, and he looked away as he always did. In a moment, she would chide him for being bashful, and he would fly up to join her. He would take her by the hand, and they would fly over the river, perfectly free.

How he loved this moment! Of all his memories, of all of his dreams, this was surely the jewel. He had dreamed this dream ten thousand times, and it had never lost its shine.

Stolen novel; please report.

So, when something that did not belong intruded, Charlot noticed at once. A shadow without source was cast upon one of the crenelated blocks on the tower’s edge, the outline of a raptor. Charlot scrutinized the anomaly. Within his dreams, he was not old and his eyes were not weak. He pierced the glamor and stared at the dark green eyes of the gyrfalcon and the mark upon her breast. The whole dreamscape rumbled with his anger.

Rhian disappeared first, the beautiful woman in the air became insubstantial as mist. The blue of the autumn sky fell into a total blackness. The air was alive with tension, and his fury growled from all directions, a sourceless thunder.

The gyrfalcon’s feathers rose in alarm. The watchtower beneath their feet melted into a pool of gray, the land surrounding them became a dead mire. The gyrfalcon tried to take flight, but no matter how she beat her wings, she could not move relative to Charlot. She tried to twist away from his searing gaze, but no matter where she turned, he was before her, vast and terrible.

“Who dares to trespass upon my dreams?” Charlot demanded, and the words roared as if they could split the sky apart. The falcon blinked quickly, trying to escape the dream, but Charlot would not release her.

She opened her mouth and screamed. The air distorted around her, forming into a crushing fist, but then Charlot was jolted from his dream by a sudden movement.

The whole party had been leaned against Korak’s ample side, and they were all awoken as the bear rose to his feet with a contrabassoon growl in his throat.

Questions flew at Charlot in three different languages, and he ignored them, peering into the darkness. That gyrfalcon was out there! If only he could see! If only he’d brought the turquoise ring when he’d set out. Hadn’t his fingers danced over it when this all began? Had it been a premonition?

Charlot could not see Korak and the dogs, but he could hear the bear’s heavy steps as they patrolled the camp. He knew they would find nothing.

“T’was merely a bird. Flaccaro, illuminate,” Charlot commanded, and the staff gave light beneath the canopy of the Sycahee tree. After a time, Korak trundled back to settle against the tree once more.

“Nothing is out there. It sounded like a falcon,” Lak offered.

“A gyrfalcon,” Charlot said, staring at the black crystal mask. Recognition flashed in the sïthur’s eyes. The mask turned toward the children for just an instant, and back to Charlot, and the arcanist nodded. The war dog’s sides swelled as Lak took a deep breath. She knew what he suspected.

Soon, the children were asleep again, resting against the silverpaw’s side and Siyabros tucked his nose in and curled up against the bear’s flank. Lak resumed her spot, but her red eyes were open, staring at the canopy above them.

“Fade,” Charlot ordered Flaccaro. The light dwindled as he resumed his place by the others. He leaned against the bear and shut his eyes, but he was certain there would be no more sleep tonight.