Kelian shape-shifted back into elf form.

“Amazing,” whispered Ardos, who seemed genuinely astonished. “I’ve only ever met four other druids in my life which, mind you, is not a short time.”

“It’s a form of magic passed down through blood,” Kelian said. “Only elves and exceedingly rare. It can skip four or five generations, which makes it seem random.”

“How did you learn you could do it?” Ink asked. “If you didn’t know any other druids who could teach you?” Any animosity in the group was forgotten in light of the display of magic, but Eldren remained on guard. He’d already been blindsided during too many moments in this world, letting himself be distracted by the awe of things.

“First transformation is a bit of a surprise,” Kelian said. “Usually as a young one, you get scared or surprised and transform into something small, like a mouse or a spider.”

As Ink was nodding at Kelian's response, Eldren had an idea. It seemed unlikely to him that someone would reveal their powers so willingly and there might be an opportunity here to work with the druid, if they could trust him a little bit.

“Kelian,” Eldren said slowly. “We might be able to help each other, if you're interested.”

Kelian’s face lit up. “If you’re willing to help me get Oswald back, I’d be hugely in your debt. Anything. I mean it."

“You’re headed southeast? If we help you, will you let us hitch a ride to Dredgeport. With your cart and your, er— you—pulling it, we could save some serious time.”

“And, we’d want some of yer supplies ter share on the way,” Baltran added.

Good call, Baltran, he thought.

“Of course, of course!” Kelian said. “This is fantastic. To be honest with you, I didn’t know how I would get him back. And now, I’ve got a band of real-life journeying heroes to help Oswald!”

“Don’t count any otters yet,” Ink said. “We need some details. What happened and how did these lizard-creatures take him?

“Last night, I was asleep and they crept into my camp. Oswald usually sleeps curled by the fire. They grabbed him and when he squealed, I woke up and tried to transform and fight to help him. But there were too many of them—”

“How many?” Eldren asked. He noticed for the first time that Kelian was standing awkwardly on his left leg as if he were injured.

“Twelve or so in the party that grabbed him. My guess would be thirty or forty in a full camp.”

“Have you seen their camp?” Ink said.

“No, but monikaths usually travel in raiding parties about that size,” Kelian said. “They’ll be well provisioned and hole up somewhere as a base while they attack surrounding areas and haul any treasure they find back to their camp.”

“They raid villages?” Eldren asked.

“No, they raid other monster dens or nests, sometimes old dungeons or caverns.”

“Ink, do you know if there’s anything like that around here?” Eldren asked. It was a long shot but so far, Ink’s maps had been their saving grace.

“Let me check.” As she walked back over to the boulder where she had hidden and pulled several small leather tubes from her pack. She returned and unrolled several maps that were very ornately drawn on very brittle and yellowed parchment.

“Wow, these are amazing,” Kelian exclaimed. “Did you draw these?”

“No, they’re older than any of us,” Ink said. “Except maybe the turtle. They’re on loan from the cartographer’s guild. Ah! Here we are.”

She pointed to a small squiggle that indicated the cliffside. A wavy line that Eldren assumed represented the road passed through the squiggle.

“What’s this coordinate?” She traced the location of the squiggle vertically and horizontally toward the margins of the map where a golden line was marked with intricate, rune-like symbols. She pulled out a small leather-bound book and began turning the pages.

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“What’s that?” Eldren asked, out of curiosity.

“Old maps need ledgers,” Ink explained. “They focused on the artistry of the map drawing and didn’t want to crowd the picture with labels and notes. So each map has a corresponding ledger where there’s an entire journal log of the cartographer’s travels through the region, indexed by coordinates.”

“Clever,” he said.

“Okay,” Ink said, landing on a page and skimming the fading but legible handwriting. “It looks like Televan — that’s the guy who made this map— found an old lair in some sort of cave system up the pass a bit further up on a ledge in the cliffside. Based on how long we had to walk into the pass to reach you, Kelian, I’d say we’re probably twenty or thirty minutes from the spot. No clue how we’ll get up to the cave system though.”

“We can figure that out,” Eldren said. “Let’s shake on it and go get Oswald.” He held out his hand and Kelian took it and shook it. “Everyone prep your gear, we’ll leave just before sunset and try to get the jump on them.” He grabbed his backpack and pulled out the crystal ball, which vibrated and flashed new text.

New Quest

- Rescue Oswald the otter from the monikath raiders (0/1)

“Yer going to have us climb the cliff in the dark?” Baltran said, polishing his revolvers.

“Hopefully, we won’t need to climb the cliff,” Eldren said, as he returned his crystal ball to the bag. “Kelian, you said they ambushed you at night, right? We’re going to try and return the favor. What kinds of animals can you become?” Eldren asked, smiling.

* * *

They rested at Kelvin’s camp, eating and preparing their weapons for dusk. As the sun began to set they set out and, once again, Ink’s maps came through. As the sun was just about to drop behind the cliffs and plunge the pass into shadow, they came to an area where the cliff side became extremely steep and nearly vertical, high above them. Eldren could make out a ledge running along it, wide enough for two individuals to walk side-by-side.

“Okay, here is good,” Eldren said, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “Baltran, get a fire started like we’re making camp. Ink, do some foraging like you normally would. Nothing suspicious or out of the ordinary. Avoid glancing up at the cliffs in case they’re scouting us.”

Eldren squatted down and picked up the otter frolicking near his feet, with a slight limp on its left leg. The druid had explained that he couldn’t speak in his beast form, but they had run through the plan several times before he had shape-shifted.

There had been a lengthy discussion among the group about what form Kelian should assume as bait. They settled on another otter, using the logic that since the monikaths had abducted one otter to eat, they would presumably be interested in a second.

Eldren set Kelian down on a large rock and began to prepare his bedroll, keeping the appearance of making camp. Ink returned from foraging and, as darkness crept in, they cooked over the fire — bacon and potatoes from Kelians supplies— and settled into the silence of the pass.

Eldren was on edge, pretending to be relaxing outdoors while anticipating a fight with a tribe of lizard monsters. Conversation was sparse and he fought to avoid constantly looking over at Kelian, who was curled up in the open atop the rock.

What if they take him quietly? Eldren wondered. Or kill him with an arrow or something where he doesn’t make a sound?

As the fire crackled, the hours felt like days. Stars wheeled overhead but still, no sound or disturbance came other than the rustle of leaves in the chill breeze that blew through the pass.

A shout pierced the night air, like the wail of an injured animal. Eldren’s eyes shot open. The fire was burning but low. Had he fallen asleep? For how long?

“Son of a whorespawn cretin beast-loving devil,” Baltran howled and swore, the source of the sound that had woken Eldren up.

“Something shot me!” The dwarf pulled an arrow out from his muscled thigh.

“From where?” Ink threw back her hood and shot up.

Had they all fallen asleep?

Eldren whipped his head around to the large rock. Kelian was still there, a few meters away from camp, but quickly scampered down. The otter looked up at Eldren who shook his head, signaling that he shouldn’t transform back yet. There was no need to give up the whole ruse yet.

“Where did the arrow come from?” Eldren repeated Ink’s question.

“I dunno,” grumbled Baltran. “It’s not deep.” He grimaced and snapped the haft and flung it on the ground.

“Can you walk?” Ink said. “Any poison lines, like veins?”

“I’ll be fine,” Baltran said, pulling himself up to stand. His hands snapped to his side and spun his revolvers out of their holsters.

“Circle up and let’s check the perimeter,” Ink said, nodding. “Stay within a few meters of each other.”

Eldren reached into his hoodie pocket where he had stashed the Eyepiece of the Strategist. The spectacles revealed fine green movement lines, like a magnetic field, around options, that shifted and changed based on patterns of motion. He planned to use them like night vision to find the raiding party of monikaths. He put them on.

Nothing.

There were faint green movement field lines in the branches of the handful of trees nearby, but nothing else.

Are these things standing perfectly still? His mind raced through the possibilities. He had expected to be able to see their movement through the darkness with the glasses. He could see his friends’ movement fields, even when they were just breathing, faint but present. Why can’t I see them?

He, Baltran, and Ink moved forward, methodically sweeping the brush and looking for movement. Kelian tagged along behind them and Eldren could tell, even in otter form, that he was nervous. They cleared across the other side of the road and still found nothing.

Suddenly, chaos erupted from behind them, back at camp. He could hear several angry, raspy, hissing voices speaking a language Eldren didn’t understand and shouting in a language he did. Even in the dark, he felt the color drain from his face as he turned to Ink and Baltran.

Shit.

Ardos.