“Don’t move!” the voice behind him instructed.

Eldren’s heart raced as he considered what to do. The Staff of the Novice was leaning against the cart, just out of arms reach. He could try to cast a spell but that seemed extremely risky given he had no idea who — or what— was talking to him and what weapons or abilities they might have.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Eldren said, fighting to keep his voice calm. “If you let me turn around, I’d like to talk.”

“No — no, don’t move, I said!”

The voice reminded him of his students’ voices — high-pitched and a tad raspy, like a teenager.

“My staff is over there,” Eldren said, nodding. “I don’t have any other weapons. You can search me if you’d like, to prove it.”

“Were you going to steal my trunk?” The voice sounded accusatory.

“What— er—no,” Eldren said, sounding unconvincing even to himself. He considered casting Snake Oil but his thoughts were interrupted by the quiet thunk of a body collapsing onto soft earth. After a moment of silence, he turned around.

“What in the blazes of Avanum is a kid doing out here by himself?” Ink asked, stepping out from behind a boulder, holding her crossbow. Eldren could now see that the voice behind him indeed belonged to a teenager. The body of a young boy, maybe sixteen or seventeen, with bright green hair and brown leather traveling clothes, was crumpled on the ground with a small purple feathered crossbow bolt protruding from his arm.

“Don’t worry, he’s just asleep,” Ink said. She walked up to the body and yanked her tranquilizer dart from the boy’s arm and tucked it back into the narrow loop on her belt. “Balty, help me with this.”

Baltra came out from behind his boulder grumbling but agreed to help Ink prop the sleeping boy against the wooden wheel of the cart. Eldren noticed that the boy’s ears were pointed, with slits and decorative earrings. He was an elf.

“Let’s tie him up,” Eldren said. “Gently. And then when he wakes we can get some answers about who he is and what he’s doing. He has several trunks of supplies — including some strange dried traveling provisions. I’d rather not just steal from the lad if he’s not a threat.”

“Eldren, we could be miles away before he wakes up. That dose should have him sleeping for several hours, at his weight. Let’s just take the supplies and get a move on.”

“Aye,” Baltran said. “We don’t need ter drag an elf boy around with us. Plus, yer never know who is a fervent supporter of the church. Could be he’d turn us in, first chance he gets.”

Eldren considered their arguments, which were both true. His gut, however, told him that the boy wasn’t a threat and may even be of some help if he had enough supply to help them reach Dredgeport. They may even be able to avoid stopping in any towns the rest of the way, which would drastically reduce their odds of encountering any gray cloaks.

“Is it normal for an elf to be in Bakavia?” Eldren asked. He couldn’t remember seeing many so far between Nottengrad Keep, Yarko Village, and Valenka’s Reach.

“No,” Ardos replied. The tortoise was eyeing the sleeping boy. “Elves usually remain in the southern deserts and, on occasion, the Wyldwood for ritual events like the solstices.”

“They also usually travel in caravans,” Ink added. “Lone elves are practically unheard. At least, I’ve never heard of it.” Ardos nodded in agreement.

“Well, then it seems quite strange, doesn’t it?” Eldren asked. “Maybe he has information we can use. Maybe he came from the east and passed the war front. If he can tell us where the Bakavian army is or the Coven armies, we might be able to adjust our route, right?”

Ink frowned, but Eldren could tell that she was considering the merit of what he was saying. Baltran shrugged.

“Fine,” Ink said. “You’re right — he might have information to help us reach Dredgeport without running smack into the war. But once he spits out what he knows, we leave. And in the meantime, we’re taking inventory.” She walked over to the cart and began rummaging through the three trunks and burlap sacks in the back. Baltran took out his pipe and Eldren settled in against one of the boulders for a nap, waiting for the boy to wake up.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

* * *

By the time the boy awoke, Eldren could vaguely tell through the gray clouds that the sun had peaked and was beginning its descent. A low groan came from the body, which Ink had tied to the wagon wheel, and the elf began to stir.

“What—what happened?”

The party collected themselves and approached their prisoner.

“We shot yer with a sleepin’ dart,” Baltran said. “But you’ll get a taste of Fang here next if you don’t start answering our questions.” He spun the barrel of the metal revolver.

“Too much,” Eldren whispered. “We’re not going to kill you,” he said, turning to the boy.

“Why not?” The elf looked up at him and Eldren could see now that he had deep violet eyes behind the beautiful emerald hair that hung down and partially obscured his face.

“Because we’re not monsters or brigands,” Eldren said. “We’re just normal travelers.”

“Normal travelers, who ambush people with sleeping darts?” he asked indignantly.

“Mostly normal,” Eldren said. “We thought you might be an enemy trying to ambush us, so we tried to get the jump instead with our numbers.”

“Smart,” the elf replied. “Who are you?”

“We’re asking the questions here,” Ink interjected. “Who are you?”

The elf looked up at her. Eldren tried to read the expression on the youthful face, but the boy concealed any hint of his emotions well.

“I am Kelian of the Desert Steppes,” he replied. “Son of Kelfir and Azaraline.”

“And what, Kelian, are yer doing so far away from the Desert Steppes, alone in Bakavia?” Baltran asked. He was still holding Fang but had lowered it to his side.

“Classifying and cataloging.”

“What?” Eldren asked.

“Classifying and cataloging — I’m a phylologist.”

Eldren thought he misheard the boy. Psychologists and physiologists he knew in his world.

“What’s a phylo—phylogolist?” he asked.

“Phylologist,” Kelian said. “I classify creatures, monsters, and beasts into their proper phyla. I’m always looking for new ones and studying to be the best phylologist in Aldimea.” He puffed his chest up slightly.

“So— you are like a biologist?” Eldren asked.

“What’s a biologist?” Kelian replied, confused.

“Nevermind. You study animals and plants?”

“I study monsters,” the elf said. “Creatures that evolved separately from humans, elves, dwarves, and gnomes after planar collision cycles completed. Well — that’s the prevailing theory in Kal Daste’s academies. But I think that they are related to us. Distantly, of course.”

At any other moment, Cam would have appreciated a scientific discussion about evolution and the origins of life. Eldren, however, needed to get to Dredgeport to keep learning magic

“So, you’re here on some sort of research mission?” he asked.

“Yep,” Kelian said. “There’s a tribe of gastalta up in the highlands here.”

Eldren resisted his urge to ask what a gastalta was.

“What direction did you come from?” he asked instead. “Did you come from the east and see the war front?” He tried not to sound too hopeful.

“No, I was heading east myself. At least, I was until a group of monikaths took Oswald early this morning,” Kelian replied. He suddenly sounded a little frantic, like someone remembering an appointment they had made after already missing it. “Do you think you could untie me?”

“Not yet,” Eldren said. “Who is Oswald?”

“My traveling companion.”

“You’re with another elf?”

“No, no. Oswald is a Sundelian river otter. He’s my pet.”

“And—sorry—what took him?” Eldren asked. Every time he thought he was getting a better grasp on this world, new details reminded him how little he knew.

“The monikaths—lizard people,” Kelian repeated. “Listen — you seem like decent people and I believe that you aren’t bandits here to kill me. You’re asking way more questions than bandits normally do. But I do need you to untie me and let me go. I was planning Oswald’s rescue before you interrupted me.”

“Monikaths don’t come this far inland,” Baltran said. “They stick ter the waterways, near their villages in the bogs.” Ink gave him a look and Baltran added, “The ringmaster knew where most o’ the monikath villages so we could keep clear during our travels, ‘specially during hatching season.” He sounded skeptical about Kelvin’s story.

Eldren wanted a few more answers.

“How do you pull your cart? Did the lizard—monikaths—take your horse, too?”

“No, I don’t have a horse,” the elf replied. “Please — I need to get after Oswald before they kill him.”

“How do you pull this?” Eldren asked pointedly. They may be able to negotiate the cart and whatever pulled it for the elf’s freedom. He was disappointed and felt bad, but it seemed that Kelian didn’t have any helpful information or skills for their journey.

“Well — if you untie my hands I can show you.”

Ink glanced at Eldren who considered for a moment and then nodded. She pulled out her dagger and cut the circlets of rope binding his wrists to the spokes of the cart’s wheel.

“What do you mean by ‘show me’?” Eldren asked curiously.

Then, without any words, Kelian made a series of subtle and delicate hand gestures. His body began to — wiggle? Suddenly, the distinct form of his arms and legs and muscles began to shift and soften, as if he was dissolving. Eldren jumped back and raised his staff, ready to cast a spell. Baltran and Ink had done the same, raising revolvers and knives and preparing for a fight.

No fight came as Kelian’s form twisted, extending and growing. Although the transformation had taken just a few seconds, Eldren felt like he had just watched true magic in slow motion. Standing in the elf’s place next to the cart was a large, brown ox with green tufts of hair, like a small mane.

Kelian was a druid.