The Master called them in before sunrise. That was unusual, but not unheard of. His wife was not an early riser, and with her constant complaints whenever she got up it was no wonder Oseman wanted to start them on their job before then, or he would have had to wait until early evening. It was, as they all expected, about the master’s unruly son. He stood with his backs to them, staring out of one of the high windows in one of the high domed rooms of his small palace.

“I’m going to get him married, and then send him south,” Oseman grumbled as soon as he was done explaining the current situation. “But you have to get him back first. Where’s Mirmon, just to wonder?”

“Ah,” Anor was quick as usual, thinking on his feet. “He was eating backwards this morning so we thought to let him recover for a bit.” Only after he said thatr he realized this lie was probably coming back to hurt them later, as he had no idea what was really going on with that blasted elf again.

“Married?” the gnome asked, as much out of surprise as to divert the topic from their missing friend. “I was not aware there has been a bride-in-the-waiting.”

“Not until last night.” Oseman actually chuckled. “I basically bought one. Him getting married and produce a son before he gets himself incapable of it is the only solution unless I want to accept one of his possibly many bastards out there. Now, I am sending you to retrieve him because I can rely on you. Officially, you will be performing at the wedding jubilee of one of my associates so there will be no questions about you traveling. This also means you’ll have to travel the normal way. As it is not the Time of Glares yet, you will start this afternoon, put in a stop at one of the outlying villages to perform as a courtesy for your stay and then follow the usual travel pattern. You should arrive in the evening the day after, or early morning the next. As long as you do not get into trouble. Someone will be expecting you in Relorn, you’ll know them when you see them.”

The bard was already thinking ahead without listening. They would have to find Mirmon quickly while still preparing for the journey. That was an acute problem, but the other thing he had just realized, probably being the only one to do so, was how the master had said he relied on them. On them! Anor was very sure this meant that they were the only of his retrieval teams to have the illegal mark. If there even were any teams, and it was just not an extra incentive not to talk to anyone else.

At about the same time, their missing friend woke up, disoriented, almost falling off the stuffed chair he had fallen asleep in. It took a moment for him to remember where he was and why, and he could not help falling out of chair and pillows in his suddenly renewed panic. He tried to put everything back in place in a hurry, as futile as he felt it was.

Very few magic lights were on in the night, although why a library would go by a day and night cycle, Mirmon had no idea. It made him feel safer sneaking towards the exit to the restricted area. The large foyer leading to the separate studying areas was the only place with an outside window with no curtains, so he could see it was still very early. He was still trying to figure out a solution for his dilemma when he noticed movement to his right.

The half-elf froze and for a moment dared not to breathe. Then he inched his head around little by little. He was staring at his own reflection. It took a few more heartbeats to realize what he was looking at, and then to notice where the reflection came from. It was the magic mirror the visiting mage had remarked upon earlier that night. Somehow the velvet cover usually preventing anyone from looking at the glass was lying at the foot of the mirror. In the vague light from an almost moonless night, he was barely able to make out his own form. Without realizing what he was doing, he stepped closer. There were so many stories about magic mirrors, but with the master’s wife being a mirror mage, he was in a much better position to judge the amount of truth in those tales. Unfortunately, most of them, especially the more worrisome ones, had a lot of truth in it.

Mirmon was sure the “she” the mage had asked about was his master’s wife. To his somewhat limited knowledge, there was no other mirror mage nearby or they would have heard early morning complaints about it. Most known, capable mages, wizards or even witches were awfully territorial. He could not see anything special about the mirror – his image was, luckily, not doing anything it was not supposed to do. He did have a strong feeling of something being off though. He stroke some funny poses, and the mirror repeated everything just as it was supposed to. Yet, mirrors were known as communication devices, portals and even prisons of things no one wanted out. The custodian would not have left the mirror uncovered. Which meant the visitor had done it. And that, in turn, must mean something evil was being cooked up. A plot to steal library treasures, maybe. Or an invasion of foreign troops. Maybe a portal to another world altogether would open and…

Shaking his head, Mirmon muttered to himself. There was hardly a day that no one told him his imagination was running away with him. The first thought he had was most likely, he told himself. The library had many things to steal, although the really important pieces were in an even more secure area. The solution was easy enough. Grabbing the cloth, Mirmon felt sorry about not being able to tell anyone about his – if not heroic, then timely – intervention. It was not as easy for one smaller person to cover the mirror up again, but he had a spell for that. A half invisible hand appeared and picked up the other end of the cover, and with a bit of a stretch, the velvet was back where it belonged. The magic hand fizzled out a moment too soon, and Mirmon let go of his end in surprise as to not tear everything down by accident. He moved a bit uncontrolled and felt a sharp pain on the back of his right hand. Looking at it as he stepped back, he saw a cut which was not bleeding much. Like a paper cut.

Blinking in confusion, he checked for a source of the cut. The old mirror frame, which could really use a replacement, was not free of splinters, but he could not make out any blood anywhere. He failed to notice the edge of the mirror not being perfectly fitted, nor the drop of blood now vanishing into the glass.

Shaking himself loose, he stepped backwards, checking the cloth once more, then turning to the exit to the main library. After a few steps, he suddenly realized what had been off about the mirror. It had shown only his person, and nothing else! Not the window, the room, or even a floor. With a sudden panic, he started running and went right through the door and onwards. To his surprise, no alarm went off, just the door banged shut again and locked itself again. The magic, he remembered now, was designed to keep people out, not in.

Barely getting any breath, he went to one of the reading room windows with the same kind of security. They did not open all the way, but he was small enough to sneak through and drop down into what was luckily a normal bed of flowers, nothing with thorns or some such. He thanked the gods, all the gods he could remember, for small mercies, and ran off towards home. He would have to tell the mirror mage, he decided. She would, unlike the master, not be upset about his escapades. With an obvious interest in the mirror, he might even get a reward.

As he turned the corner towards his home, he bumped full force into Ylva Anor and Evina. Ylva toppled over, Evina had no problems staying on her feet. “Funny,” she said. “We were just about looking for you.”

“I had a bit of an adventure,” the half-elf started, but he was rudely interrupted by the disheveled bard.

“You need to get packing, Master’s sending us to rescue his stupid son.”

“Us? But…”

“No buts.” Evina turned him towards the entrance gate. “We are leaving after the midday heat, and even with being gone for just about a week, if all goes well, there are many things to consider.”

Mirmon did as asked, his mind spinning even more. Four words had him worried. “If all goes well,” he repeated under his breath. People really needed to stop saying that. Everyone knew you’d jinx your luck with comments of such nature. For the moment, he forgot all about the mirror. Being a really disorganized person, it would take a while to find everything he needed, indeed.

Tenelli was tired. She hat hardly slept all night. Again and again, nightmares had troubled her. A new experience as she was not prone to such dreams. Mostly, it had been her running through the park, looking for Ylva and running from… something. In her hands were different things; sometimes the purse she had retrieved, sometimes a bag, a bundle of clothes, at one point a half-burned log. Then usually, she crashed into a sometimes faceless, sometimes mask wearing person, looking at them as if they were underwater and the surface moving in the wind. The whole dream had the wrong type of green – not as in the park during day, but more of a half-night feel with the olive colors of the master’s camel herders. Half-night came closest to how she felt about it. There were no stars, no setting sun, but it was not day either. Again and again, her thoughts came back to those dreams as she packed what she would need for the journey.

“Must be the magic used on me,” she told herself, fighting with one of those robes people made her wear. She knew enough about magic to be sure there was no more charm on her, after the high lady had helped her. But she was still very much unnerved. No one had ever done something like this to her. At least, she did not think so. The master had not cared much about it when they told him. Oseman had a had a simple enough explanation – the thief had acted on behalf of someone else, who had wanted to make sure whatever they had ordered to be stolen was not going back with Tenelli. Somehow, though, Tenelli did not believe that was the real explanation.

“Are you almost done? I could use your help.” Jaswen poked her head in. “We have to pack some of our equipment for the performance in the village, and as cover.”

“Sure, I’m done.” Tenelli was very organized. “I can do that alone, actually, if you still need to pack?”

“Thanks!” The way Jaswen beamed, it was clear she had hoped for such an answer. Tenelli preferred to pack equipment alone or with Aventin. Anyone else drove her mad with their way of mixing things up.

The tent for their equipment was empty this time of day. Before anyone could attempt to offer their so-called help. Tenelli hurried to pack everything needed for the knife show, the bard’s jugglings, the permanent illusions working as a backdrop and several other things. Conveniently, she forgot to pack what would have been needed for the werecat show. She hated it; being compared to a werecat was no better than being compared to any other type of cat.

She was almost done when she heard someone coughing behind her. The scent of tobacco, weapon oil and oiled leather told her it was the swordsmaster. “Not today, sorry,” she said before he could say anything. “We are leaving, no time for lessons.”

“That’s not why I am here.” Maskin stepped up with a chuckle. “I have something for you. But I was trying to sneak up on you.” He clearly sounded disappointed in his own skill.

“You did fine on the sneaking part,” Tenelli admitted. “I wasn’t paying attention and made way too much noise to hear you. But you stink of so many things. A camel at the other end of the city would be able to notice you.”

“That’s true.” Grinning widely, he took a dagger with an ivory handle decorated with colorful glass beads out of a bag in his vest. “This is for you. “

“For me? Why?” Taking it carefully, Tenelli stared at Maskin and the gift in turn.

“Because today is your 14th birthday. I only know this because I was told to know when that dayx came and then to give this to you. By a woman I was once… ah… friendly with.” Maskin turned a little red in the face for a reason Tenelli could not understand. “I think she only searched me out so she could give me this with instructions.”

“That’s very weird. What is her name? How would she know…?” Tenelli had never known her exact age.

“I don’t know. Magic. Prophecy. Whatever. I tried to tell you, or someone else, before today but I could not. Something made me forget about it any time I tried. Today I felt this compulsion to get it and knew it was the day.” Maskin seemed to glow now and shrink into himself, which, given his build, was quite a funny sight.

Blinking rapidly, Tenelli used her own meager magic talent to scan the dagger, as the bard had shown her. There was magic, but not in any of the colors resonating with danger. It was light, almost colorless. More, she could not see. “Thanks, I guess.” She stared at the swordsmaster. “But please, next time, warn people before giving them something magical if you aren’t sure it is harmless.”

“Yes, you are right, it is just…” If possible, he was even more red in the face now. “I don’t know. I am sorry. Glorious birthday and many good years.” Almost stuttering, Maskin barely got the words out and then almost ran from the tent.

“Curioser and curioser,” Tenelli said, then put the dagger into one of her many sheaths for such weapons – she was hardly ever without at least 10 – and finished packing. She would ask help with identifying this later.

In another tent, Evina was half listening to the mother she shared a tent with, occasionally answering “yes, mama,” “I know mother” and similar phrases when, as usual, she was told about all the things she had to pay attention to on the trip, including what to clean up when creating or hiding a body. Even when you were raised to be a self-sufficient assassin, your mother was obviously still filling your ear with what-ifs and what-nots. Mother even went as far as checking her packings, including secret compartments and assorted tools of the trade.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

“Mama, I am not a child anymore,” Evina finally said, with a fond smile. “And it is just a short trip.”

“To free the master’s son!” Mother shook her head. “Things never go as planned. You need to be prepared for everything and anything.”

“Yes, mother,” Evina repeated. “I’ll be fine, together with the others. Andwithout them, if needed.”

“That’s my girl.” Mother patted her cheek and smiled as widely as her daughter. “I have something for you.”

“Why? It is not my birthday.” Mother was not in the habit of giving out things for free.

“No, but I have decided your training is mostly done, and since you may be away to other places more often, knowing our master, it is high time you got these.” Reaching under her robes, Mother pulled out a set of very thin, silverish bracelets. They almost looked like thread. “Give me your arms.” When her daughter did, she put one around each wrist, and Evina noticed they were slightly different. The one on the left had a more woven look while the one on the right seemed to be one plain band. “Before you ask, these are the identifying items of the assassin’s guild and our assassin family.”

Evina was still about to ask, mainly how come she had never seen them on her mother or why anyone would want to openly wear such things when she felt some short, sharp pain and noticed the bracelets melting into her skin. Then it itched for a moment, and while no traces were left on her wrists, she could still see their magical outline. There were symbols and signs around them she could not identify. And her mother, she could see now, had the very same magical outline. No, a little different, the symbols did not match exactly. “That’s amazing. Does that mean you will stop lecturing me now?”

“Never. Mother’s prerogative.” Mother took her hand and then hugged her. “You can now get help from our people all over the world. It will show your standing, your completed jobs…” Mother went on explaining, with Evina carefully paying attention. For the first time, the young dwarf felt grown up. The day could not get any better!

“This is so unfair.” Stowing her things into the saddle bags and onto the holding platforms on the camel, Bibhi was positively pouting. “Season is almost over, but I would have had two fights, stioll, and both of them with good chances!”

Nashab shrugged while taking care of his own mount. “I would have had one more fight. But that was an unlikely win, in any case.”

“You are already famous. I still need to make a name!” Inspecting the camel, she nodded. “I’m done!”

“Me, too.” Nashab turned to his fellow gladiator and grinned. “And you know, you already made a good start in the arena. Think of it like this – being unavailable every now and then, on a job for the master, makes you more desirable for other fighters, especially those who have no other duties. They will feel jealous more likely than not and want to fight with you.”

Bibhi climbed onto the camel with a look of routine which was not entirely deserved. It was not that often she had to use this method of travel. She very much preferred carriages of any type. Or hoses, as they were more easily controllable and less painful to fall off of. “If you think so, Nashab. I guess I just don’t like to be ripped out of my routine. I’m not that adventurous. Not like you. The master could have left me here just this once!”

“Like me? And no, the master won’t separate us, something about the mark giving us a bonus if we keep together, remember?” The albino also climbed up, and looking ahead, they could see all their friends already on their animals. There was also a caravan master who nominally was supposed to oversee the slaves. De facto, it was them who would have to watch her, as the older woman was a hopeless addict to several substances and more likely to fall off her camel or get otherwise lost than to remember where they were going to. It was the master’s way to follow the law and send an overseer with his troupe without hampering them.

As they followed the others, their camels swaying in their steps like waves in the rivers, Nashab picked up the conversation. “I’m not that much of an adventurer. Give me enough fights, a bit of travel and the occasional new moon side job and I am more than fine. Actually, I do not really need the latter.” His bright laughter made some heads turn as they left the compound. “For everything else, the stories the bards tell are enough, really.”

“Yes, well.” Bibhi’s legs cramped around the camel’s back for a few hundred meters before she was able to balance the new movements. She didn’t like riding, it took away from her the autonomy of movement and readiness. “I wonder how much of an adventure this work will be.”

“The map of the jail we need to break the fool out of is simple, not too many guards normally. Sounds like an easy job.”

A camel ahead of them, Mirmon was grinding his teeth. They did it again! “Normally,” and “easy job.” He was sure that by now, the whole thing was jinxed beyond salvation, but who was ever asking him? In his mind, he was beginning to go through the new spells, at the same time thinking of ways to run if need be.

At the front of their caravan, Dyonmur guided his camel through the city streets with the routine of a long standing caravan master. It had been indeed a work he had done often before, in place of the woman riding right behind him. She was snoring loudly, fixed securely between the bumps of her camel to prevent her from falling off. The gnome didn’t like the drunkard at all, but was good at pretending otherwise, which was why she didn’t try to take over control.

As usual, while they were still in the city, he pretended to himself to be a rich merchant leading his people out to a new adventure to acquire the rarest products. But as soon as the last houses vanished, he shook off those thought with a chuckle. He had no real desire to be in any responsible position. The life of a performing slave suited him just fine, and he had already begun preparing for emergencies like their master dying, in which case they’d have to run before anyone would notice the marks they carried. Unsure how it really worked – there were rumors such magic would simply find the new legal owner – they had all discussed it and decided it would be best to run first before anyone would notice their continued existence. Which was another reason for him to be happy to be caravan leader. He would know how to lead them out of the city if such a time ever came. Many of the emergency supplies for such a case were even now stored on his camel, in ways his troupe members would not be able to imagine. Without a gnome, he thought, most groups like this one would just be lost. His right hand patted the small brown bag under his white shirt. It was either well hidden, usually with an invisibility trick, in his tent, or accompanied him everywhere.

There were symbols on the bag if he concentrated on it. Not always the same ones, and he was not sure what most of them were there for. But the unassuming bag had several functions, although only two were available to him. The first, when he was able to invoke the blue symbols, made it function like a bag of endless water. Very useful in a desert, and the main reason his friends kept wondering about how little water they used on journeys. Dyonmur simple filled empty bags and barrels up in secret.

The other function was like that of a magic storage bag, with the weird difference that, despite it being so small, it was able to store more than the largest magic bags he had yet heard of. It also did not do what most of those bags did, he could not simply want a specific thing and get it. Things came back out in the opposite order he put them in, as in the last thing out first and so on. Which was not quite comfortable or helpful in emergencies but then, there were few things in life one could consider perfect. He had to get the grey symbols to use it as such.

He would not tell anyone about this bag unless his life depended on it. Part of the reason for this was his inability to remember how he got it. There were vague memories of fire or explosions in the distance, another gnome and the instruction to keep it secret. It might all be a dream as vague as it was. But that was fine, his instinct – and he always trusted his instinct – told him it was all well.

The only one of their number truly uncomfortable on a camel was Afha. The elf sat stiff as a stick, keeping her eyes fixed on her mount’s ears, but that did not help much. Her body could not deal with the camel’s motion. All the medicine they had tried did little but prevent actual vomiting. Her head was already beginning to ache and she felt so sick to her stomach she wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for hours. Unfortunately, while tied in almost as well as the nominal caravan master, she would not be able to sleep on the beast’s back. It was not that elves did not sleep, as many people assumed. Her people needed a lot less sleep, which contributed to the illusion. Also, elves could usually sleep almost everywhere in every position if they wanted to. Even standing up, or walking a well-known road. Also, elves could control their dreams for the most part. Except for visions.

Unfortunately, it needed a bit of training to get the ability to sleep everywhere, and Afha had not had much of it. A little bit from Ylva, but after an incident where he had tried to guide her sleep, they had given up on it. Sitting up would normally not have been a problem. Sitting on a swaying camel, it was just not doable. Afha had tried to cast a sleeping spell on herself once and found out that she did not deal well with the side effects of doing that. Something, she had learned, a lot of magic users experienced, even with some healing magic. It was a strange thing, something she would eventually try to get the basics of.

Or not, given her position in life. Closing her eyes for a moment, she tried to imagine herself in another place, but whatever place she thought of was swaying along with the camel, and it killed the barely sustainable imagination. With the city vanishing behind them, it got worse as the camels walked faster. Then an idea hit her. She needed to teach Mirmon how to cast sleep so he could throw it on her! Why had she not thought of this before? Really, the most obvious solutions escaped her sometimes.

“How are you holding up?” Tenelli landed behind her, having effortlessly jumped from her own ride.

“It’s bad. I wish the sleep potions the cook makes would help me but…” The elf’s face reddened slightly as she remembered her crazy reaction at that attempt. It had made her manic and kind of dangerous, and all the camels had fled to the other end of the compound.

“Well, yes, I have an idea. I brought something to read you to sleep with.” Tenelli placed herself behind the other bump of the camel and coughed. Afha heard her unrolling a scroll. “It worked for me during my lessons. It is called ‘The Revised history of the Realms’ and is really the most boring way to write about any topic. Really, maybe it is really a sleeping aid!”

Afha chuckled. “I feel like camel dung, so you might as well try. But history usually interests me.”

“Not this one. Just try to pay attention, I dare you! I might fall asleep along with you.” She coughed dramatically. “In ancient times, very few records were kept, and what was kept was disordered and often fractured. In this volume, we will teach and discuss in detail our rich and diverse history, from the first forming of tribes to the big advanced empires of the current era. We will begin with the basics of terms you will have to know…”

A few minutes later, Tenelli was happy to hear snoring sounds. The dry and unimaginative writing had made her tired as well. Way to make an interesting topic unbearable. Rolling the magic infused scroll up again, there was suddenly some sort of tingling in her hands. The girl felt dizzy, but then it was over and she blamed it on the heat. As she was leaping back to her camel, it suddenly hit her that she now knew all of the contents of the long book, not word by word but all the important information, better than from any books she had actually read. Was that the real magic hidden in the scroll, beyond storing the book on one page? If so, how had she triggered it?

The sudden interruption in her thoughts made her miss her own mount, and for a moment she felt like she was running in the air. As that was not a magic she could command, she fell down instead, barely avoiding going face first into the sand.

“What are you doing?” Jaswin looked down at her, reigning her mount in. “Are you going for new stunts for your camel act?”

“Kind of,” Tenelli lied. She ran a few steps without sinking into the sand and somersaulted back up onto her camel. “But it seems a caravan isn’t the right place to do that. But I hardly ever have the time to try out new things with Mellie.” She patted the camel, who grunted in response. Melli and her were a good team in the show, the animals not being the brightest was actually an asset as all she had to do was run in circles as directed.

“Just ask Oseman, he’ll likely agree to giving you the time.” Jaswin rode a bit closer and stared ahead. “I’m not looking forwards to a village performance.”

“Me neither.” The audience in a tent, having paid for watching, was usually well behaved and could appreciate all the work going into the skills displayed. With small audiences, watching at the invite of the only inn, made one feel misused as a minor bard. Someone always had a cynical comment, people were shouting for something else to be shown or any other sort of trouble. Plus, people tended to get drunk or otherwise high and disturbed the acts. They had been told by other traveling performers that it was different in places far off the trade routes. Those settlements had such a lack of entertainment, they appreciated even small story tellers not worth of the title of bard.

“So…” Jaswin tried to direct the the discussion somewhere else. “Do you think Nashab likes me?”

“What?” Tenelli turned herself backwards on Melli so she could see her friend better. “Are you interested in him? I didn’t notice!”

Jaswin turned a slight shade of pink. “Yes, I think… I mean, he is older than I am, and my brother makes fun of it because of us both being mixed race.”

“Oh.” It had not occurred to Tenelli this might be seen as an issue. To her, all the monkey-like races were somewhat interchangeable. She bit her tongue to prevent herself from blurting it out loud. “No idea if he, uh, like-likes you, really. But then, what’s not to like about you? And he isn’t that much older. Two years, is it not? Oh that reminds me! I found out today I am two years younger than you!”

“What? How? Who?”

Tenelli was about to recount everything, but then decided to change the story a little. Somehow she had the feeling it wasn’t meant to be told. So she changed the swords master to “someone” who came to tell her, made it sound more like a diviner who had had a vision. This was nothing so unusual. The dagger, she did not mention at all. She was a far cry from their bard as far as telling stories went, but she was not half bad, either. “So,” she closed. “I finally know how old I am. I am really happy about that. Now, if only I could know my birthday.”

“Yes, that would be good, but, nothing wrong with us to celebrate ours together, still, is there?” They had done this since they had first met as toddlers.

“No, of course not. But, back to you and Nashab…” The rest of the way to the village was spent discussing such things as young girls of all races liked to discuss.

“Do you think she likes me?” Unloading the equipment they would needed for their show before they even got into the village in to refresh and eat, The albino looked over to where Tenelli, Jaswin and Aventin stood, already marking the circle for their performance. Aventin was seemingly unhappy with the way his act was supposed to be facing; he could not have an audience behind the target for his knives. There was always a danger he was off with a few throws, it was just too dangerous. Tenelli and Jaswin and him were discussing with hands and feet, and in the felinoid’s case, tail, how they could change the set up around.

Dyonmur could not stop himself from giggling. The way the two of them were dancing around each other was too amusing. Neither him nor Ylva had seen it fit to help them along. Maybe that was a bit cruel, but young love, so the saying went, had to find its own way. “Ask her,” he commented.

“It is not funny!” Lifting the bag with the carpets they used to cushion the acrobat’s area with over his shoulder, the gladiator almost stumbled because he kept looking at his love interest. “Have you not heard what she says about me?”

“Wait yeah!” Striking a thinker’s pose, the gnome stared at nothing for a moment, then snapped his fingers. “Yes, I remember now! They were discussing your last training session and how you stumbled over the turkey trying to escape the cook. They were all up in giggles.”

“Oh, you are impossible.” Nashab lightly slapped the gnome’s head, dislodging the pretentious turban he was wearing. “I’ll get back at you.”

“Oh, that is so very much likely, seeing how females do not interest me at all.” Righting the insulted headwear, the factotum grabbed only a small box as he followed the albino.

“I can get back at you about males, too! Just you wait.” He dropped the carpets at the edge of the circle.

Before the banter could go any further, a call came from the inn. “Your rooms and baths are ready, food in an hour.” They were, of course, called from the servant’s entrance and placed in the back hall with other servants or slaves.

“Coming,” all but the bard shouted back. A moment later all but the bard entered the building.

Ylvar brushed a strand of his unruly brown hair out of his eyes and went to the bag of carpets. He unfolded it, putting all but one of them in the circle. A smaller one, blue and yellow in design, he kept and hid under his robes. Two, maybe three people would fit on it. Oseman had given it to him and forbidden to talk to anyone else about it. Flying carpets were rare around here since the Cataclysm of Storms a decade back, and this specific one had been stolen in one of their new moon rides a while ago. Which is why it had been hidden between the other, differently bespelled ones. A troupe carrying carpets with magic to dampen any acrobat’s fall was not suspicious, and the magic was similar enough one had to have to check very specifically to see a flying carpet between them. Very clever of the master. But the bard did not like having secrets from his friends. He got the why – when there was any danger for them to be caught after the rescue, he was to abscond with the unruly son. Oseman would manage to locate and retrieve everyone else later, thanks to the marks.

He dropped the carpet under his bed, placed a do-not-notice-me magic over it and went to take a bath. Maybe the carpet could help with getting the target home faster in any case, chase or no chase. He knew the master’s son, and the sooner they would be rid of him the better it would be. But then, the carpet was only to be used in an emergency, as it might be noticed.

A wet sponge hit him in the face as he entered the spacious bath. They were the only people around this time of the week, the next caravans to stay outside the city would not arrive until the end of tenday. Tenelli, of course. “You are late, old man,” she laughed. “Come on in and tell a story.” And so he did, dropping his clothes where he stood. Nakedness was not an issue in their culture once one was under a roof. Just under the sun, one had to be covered up by law of the sun god. The elf was sure that the sun god did not care a bit, and it was just a way to prevent people from overheating and getting sunburned. But thus, Tenelli was made to wear clothing even when her fur was protecting her.

An hour later, they were eating good food and another hour later, they started their performance. To their surprise, everything went without a glitch. It was a good start. Only Mirmon was stil sure doom was about to come their way.