The bowl of porridge, with its dried fruit and spices, sat steaming at the end of the table.

Saga looked out the window, but this window faced away from the street and wouldn’t tell her anything. “He’s supposed to be here. He said he was coming tonight.”

“He probably got held up again,” her father said, swallowing. The bird leg in his hand was already almost down to the bone. “You know he’s a busy man, he has an entire school to run.”

“You’re the Craftking, Papa, but you made it to dinner.” Saga stood and headed for the entry chamber. “I’m going to go find him.”

“Saga, wait…” Her mother tried to object, but Saga was already out the door before she could finish.

The night was chilly from the leftovers of the recently departed winter. She pulled her traveling coat closed and did up the buttons. Dapper tapped away at her hat, complaining about the cold, and she opened up one of her chest pockets for him. He wasted no time crawling down and snuggling in, happily chittering his thanks. Smiling, she began to walk through the Shapers’ Forge towards the Academy.

As she turned a corner to head in the right direction, she heard a familiar sound. Clang. Clang. Clang. Someone was still working. She followed the sound and found a young woman at one of the regular forges. Her horns, looking almost like liquid metal captured in time, gave her away as a mercury drake, likely a first generation by the size. “Betha? You’re still working?”

Betha looked up, brushing strands of her dark hair that had escaped her braid from her face and smiling at her. “Evening, Saga! Yeah, I’m working on something for a client, had an early dinner and I got bored so I thought I’d get some hours in. What brings you out so late?”

Saga frowned. “I’m waiting for my grandfather. I thought you’d be tired after helping Epic earlier, he looked dead on his feet.”

“Epic? He was here earlier, over at one of the Redlight forges, but I didn’t help him with anything.” She paused, and Saga wasn’t quite able to tell if the red on her cheeks was from the heat or from something else. “Well, not work, anyway. We took a break together.” She grinned. “Sorry, I’m sure you don’t want to hear that sort of talk about your brother.”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just, he said you helped him with an enchantment earlier. It was a strong one, too.”

Betha furrowed her brow. “That’s odd. No, we spent some time together but I haven’t done any enchanting lately. I’m sure I’d be in bed by now if I had.”

“I must have misunderstood him, then.” Saga wasn’t convinced, but she had other things to worry about. “Well, be safe out here. You know Papa doesn’t like it when smiths work alone after dark. It’s-”

“-not proper workplace safety,” Betha finished, laughing. “I know, I know. I’ll be fine, I’m almost done here and I’ll head home after.”

“Alright. Take care, Betha.”

“You too, tell your family I said hello!”

“Will do.” Saga smiled and turned away, only to immediately spot a familiar cloaked figure approaching from down the street. As he passed into the light of the forges, her grandfather smiled apologetically. “I hope you weren’t coming to fetch me, little one.”

“I absolutely was, but only for your safety.” Saga’s smile turned into a mischievous grin. “Miss Lessa made you porridge, she’d be cross with you if it went to waste. I’d dare say I’ve saved your life.”

“Then it’s a good thing you ran off that ruffian who was accosting me.” Grandpapa winked at her, and they walked arm in arm the short distance back to the house. “Was that girl a friend of yours?”

“A pleasant acquaintance, though she’s apparently a friend of Epic’s.”

“I see.” He looked back at Betha before she disappeared from view. “Another drake…”

Saga looked up at him, confused. “Grandpapa?”

“Sorry, it’s nothing. Just lost in thought.” He smiled at her, and they finally reached the door. “A couple of generations ago, drakes were rare. You could go days or even weeks without seeing one. Seems they’re popping up everywhere these last few decades...”

Saga shrugged, not thinking much of it, and went inside. “So a while back more dragons began having children with humans, and as the population grew, so did spontaneous drake births.” It wasn't unheard of for a drake to be born without a dragon in their recent ancestry. No one was sure exactly why it happened, and they weren't normally as magically gifted as drakes descended directly from dragons, but her grandfather was right; their numbers had been growing. It wasn't uncommon to see two or three teenagers in each classroom with horns, when a short while ago it was uncommon to see even one.

“Of course.” Grandpapa nodded, following her in and closed the door behind them. “Now then, it’s time for dinner. I do believe I smell cinnamon?” He called, already smiling.

“You’re lucky it’s still warm!” Miss Lessa called from the dining room, a mixture of annoyance and amusement in her voice. “If it had gotten cold I’d have made you eat it anyway!”

Grandpapa shared a hug with the woman as they entered the dining room, then took his seat. “And I’d have enjoyed every bite, Lessa. Thank you.”

Miss Lessa sniffed, glanced around the table to make sure everyone was set, and departed with a small smile. Saga was happy to see that her meal was still warm, having been gone only for ten minutes or so.

“What held you up?” Mama asked, having somehow already finished her food. Saga noted her father wasn’t far behind.

“He was accosted by a ruffian,” she chimed in. She gave her mother a winning smile. “He was trying to steal Grandpapa’s magnificent hat.”

Mama’s tone was dry. “I’m sure.”

“I’m sorry, my dear. I was held up at the Academy. Something about Saga’s trial tomorrow, actually.”

“Did Master Dorrin try to delay my trial again?” Saga frowned, concerned.

Grandpapa chuckled between spoonfuls of porridge. “No, no, nothing like that. He’s just concerned about the trip. Logistics, mostly. He wanted to ride with a caravan but we don’t have any heading that way, so you’ll be walking there unless you can catch a ride with an independent trader.”

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This didn’t surprise or bother Saga. Horses were available, but with bandits around they were generally only safe for use with large caravans or armed groups. Stealing or poaching horses was a favorite pastime of the bandits, and it was better not to present a target. Saga had once asked why people don’t take horses anyway to outrun any attackers, and Master Dorrin had explained that most organized criminal groups had tricks and traps for dealing with that.

The thing that did bother her was the Master’s apparent concern. This was meant to just be checking in on a late shipment. If something had actually happened to Dove’s Landing, news would have spread, right? This was likely just a negotiation tactic to get a better price on their wood.

“Don’t worry, even by foot the trip should only take four or five days. A week at most.” Her grandfather had apparently mistaken the frown on her face as a reaction to the walk.

She shook her head. “You’re right, sorry. I was just thinking.” She looked over to Arty, who’d been eating quietly next to her. “When does your caravan leave?”

“I was told to meet the caravan at Beacon’s Gate at dawn.” He finished his plate and pushed it away from him, then pulled out the contract her father had penciled for him. “I’m going to go over this with Master Carver and try to finish up the shield before then.”

“Just make sure you get some actual sleep before you leave. You won’t be able to test the shield if you’re passed out in the back of a cart.” She nudged him with her elbow and smiled. “I’ll meet you at the gate before you leave, okay?”

He nodded and smiled back. “Alright. See you then.” He looked over at her father, who’d finally finished his plate. “Shall we, sir?”

Papa nodded his agreement and the two departed for the sitting room where they continued to converse, their voices a low murmur.

Mama watched them go and looked at Saga and Grandpapa. “Papa, what’s going on?”

“I’m sorry?” He looked at her, startled by her question.

“Most Bards go on their trials solo. The entire point is to make sure they’re ready to travel alone and perform their duties. Having Master Dorrin holding her hand the entire way is going to undermine that, don’t you think? Not to mention how hard he always is on her when she trains with him.” Her gaze was hard, and Saga knew her mother’s mind was as sharp as the blades she made. “I believe that he’s not trying to undermine her, but there’s still a reason he’s going.”

Grandpapa looked down at his bowl, roughly half full, then sighed and pushed it away. “You’re right.”

Saga’s interest was immediately piqued. She knew there was something odd about the trial, but she assumed it was Master Dorrin picking on her again. “Grandpapa? What’s really going on at Dove’s Landing?”

Tale looked back and forth between his daughter and granddaughter, his gaze level. “Nothing, as far as we know. That part of your trial you can take at face value.”

“That part?”

He nodded. “It’s…there have been some odd reports of bandit activity in that region. Not near the village, but further to the east.”

Saga leaned back in her chair and snorted, earning a sharp look from her mother. “What’s so odd about bandits? After the plague, they’re everywhere, and even before then they weren’t exactly rare.”

“Right. If it was just bandits it would be a non-issue, though we’d likely still send you with a partner for safety, just in case. No, these look like bandit attacks at first glance, but…” he closed his eyes, choosing his words carefully, then held up three fingers, counting them off.

“First, the settlements that are attacked have had no survivors. Not even women and children. Plenty of bodies, and it’s clear that violence is at hand, but not a single survivor in any village. The bodies show signs of…being beaten and bitten, and not by animals.

“Second, the bandits haven’t been found. That alone isn’t particularly worrying, many of them are good at hiding, but this has been going on for quite some time, and Balorn’s hunters have yet to be able to find any hidden camps. It’s almost as if the bandits themselves have disappeared.

“Third, and finally, the settlements are just far enough apart that it’s unlikely they were all attacked by the same bandit group. The culprit is either very mobile, or there’s more than one group that can pull the vanishing act.”

He lowered his hands and stared at Saga, his eyes giving away nothing. After a moment, she realized he was waiting for her reaction. She shot a glance at her mother, who looked shocked. “You’re sending her to investigate these attacks?”

Grandpapa shook his head, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “No, no. Like I said, Saga’s trial you can take at face value. Her job is to check in on Dove’s Landing, find out why their shipments have stopped, and fix it if she can, or report back. Master Dorrin is accompanying her there, but he’ll continue east from there to investigate himself while Saga returns home.”

Saga furrowed her brow. “Why is a Bard investigating bandit attacks? Why not send some Guards, or let Balorn handle it themselves?” She understood why her grandfather would have this information, as his position had him in charge of both the Bards and Guards, but Master Dorrin was a blade dancer. Skilled in bladework, sure, but hardly an Investigator or hunter.

Grandpapa shrugged and pulled his bowl back to him. Saga guessed from the look on his face when he took a bite, it had gone cold, but he continued to eat anyway. “He has some additional training that makes him well suited to this task. He spent his younger days as an adventurer, after all.”

“Should you be telling us this?” Saga frowned.

“Not at all.” He winked at her, then continued soberly. “You’ll likely learn about it from Master Dorrin during the trip, and I trust my beloved daughter to be discreet.”

Mama sighed, then looked at her Saga. “I trust your grandfather wouldn’t knowingly send you into danger, Saga. Just go with Master Dorrin, deal with Dove’s Landing, and come home safe.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes seemed to be pleading, filled with worry. “Please.”

Saga looked back and forth at her silent grandfather and concerned mother, then slowly nodded. “Yes, Mama. I’m not going to try to be a hero over some wood, don’t worry.”

The older woman looked relieved, but Saga’s mind was racing as she quickly finished her plate. Something big was happening, though she wasn’t sure how she knew. Master Dorrin was a good with a sword, but they wouldn’t send him to track down some phantom bandits, unless…

Her mind drifted to her old favorite legend, Adressa the Wind Dancer. That story had filled her with dreams of heroism as a child, and those dreams had persisted into her early adulthood. There were also tales and legends of other notable heroes from this very city, all centered around the Keepers’ Academy. These heroes were called Keepers in the stories told to young children.

“If it’s alright with you both,” she said, finally, “I’d like to have Lessa fix my braid and then head to bed.”

Grandpapa and Mama both stood and hugged her as she left, the former with promises of seeing her off in the morning. She poked her head into the seating room to say goodnight to her father and Arty as well, hugging both, then went upstairs to her room.

Miss Lessa, being the mind reader she was, was already waiting in her room by her nightstand. She’d brought out the large mirror that was meant to be affixed to it, though Saga had asked her to remove it from the room soon after the accident. Now she only used it when Miss Lessa was doing her hair, so she could give her input on the style.

“Alright, Saga, are you doing the tail or the braid?”

She briefly considered herself in the mirror while she pondered the question. She favored her mother in appearance, tall with golden blonde hair and a sharp jawline. Her golden horns just barely poked through the hair framing the sides of her face, gently curving several inches back from just above and in front of her ears. The only thing she’d gotten from her father was his olive green eyes, though the healing she’d received after the accident that had given her the scar over her right eye had also turned the iris a pale grey color. The scar itself had grown fine with age, a slightly jagged diagonal line of pink running from just above the outside edge of her eyebrow to just to the right of her nose.

As she looked at that grey eye, she felt it begin to itch, and familiar red flames began to lick at the edge of her vision. She gave her head a little shake and closed her eyes, forcing the vision of fire from her mind. She’d grown used to this, always having to be ready to shove the flames away.

“The braid, please, just a little thinner so the clip fits properly. I don’t want to be fussing with loose hair on the trip. Could you leave the front a little looser than before? They still poke through a little.” She never needed to explain to Miss Lessa why she wanted to hide her horns; the older woman was well aware of her desires in that regard.

“Of course.” The older woman got to work, untangling the old braid, brushing out the hair, and beginning work on the new braid. While she worked, Saga lost herself in thought.

I’m sorry, Mama.