By mid-afternoon, the group arrived at Raven gate, where notably absent were the crowding and chaos of Deventh’s and Ardmy’s previous visit. An orderly queue was now formed to collect tolls, whereas they’d last seen the place overrun with crowds of caterwauling merchants packed so tightly they couldn’t breathe. Despite its size, the line moved quickly enough, and a bit of idle chatter was enough to keep them occupied as they inched toward the passage.

As they neared the gate, an argument flared up, akin to that of last time. A young man, whose short scarlet cloak and matching hose indicated him as a messenger to the king, pointed to the seal on a rolled parchment with such force that it bent inward. The guard he confronted was none other than Khurek.

“Any ol’ swindler can waddle on up to the gate in a red cloak,” said Khurek, “No papers, no exemption.”

“I’ve shown you my emblem and the king’s seal,” said the messenger, his face drawn with incredulity. “No papers are required. Where is your superior? Is he aware of your gross incompetency that besets you with the boldness to deny passage to a royal messenger?”

“Khurek,” a voice called out from a door opening at the foot of the tower. Captain Tiroirs sauntered over to the scene, an arm swinging at his side. He glanced between Khurek and the messenger, then slapped his palm against his sword’s pommel, rocking on his heels. “First you trouble the guild associates, and now you’ve decided to take on the king’s couriers. My apologies, good messenger, what seems to be the issue?”

“I’ve an urgent missive from King Nelphus to the earl of Ravengarde,” the young man said. “Per regulation and circumstance, I am exempt from the toll, captain, but your subordinate begs to differ. Understand, captain, that I can and will make mention of this event in my report to the king.”

“Ah, yes, Khurek can be quite the stickler,” said Tiroirs with a nervous waver. “With the commotion as of late, our defenses are heightened, but I am sure, given the magnitude of your own responsibilities, you are fully unconcerned with such matters. You may pass. But please, good messenger, do be careful, for there has been an anomalous quantity of uradrak sightings in the wetlands.”

“Thank you, captain. I will be duly vigilant,” said the messenger. Behind a glib smile, his teeth scantly caged a restive impropriety – a suggestion that he keep his subordinates in check. “Good day to you.”

“Ardren’s might, your boldness knows no limits,” Tiroirs said to Khurek, a sigh releasing his tension as the messenger passed through the gate. From a satchel at his side, he produced a sealed parchment of his own. “Not to worry – I do recognize that certain incumbencies of guarding toll gates may not be suited for everyone.”

The orc read the letter from Tiroirs, and with each line his face contorted more and more.

“Reassignment… City guard… Kho’gul,” he said, his jaw falling slack. He stood and turned away to hide his frown from the crowd, letting the parchment roll back up on its own. “Well, then. Order’s an order, right. But I’m gonna miss workin’ with ya, captain.”

“Likewise, my friend, but I am certain you’ll succeed,” said Tiroirs. “Your diligence is admirable – though perhaps better suited to intracity patrols. I’m most confident you’ll get along fine with Lieutenant Goby. Now, go and get your things. You’re hereby relieved of your post.”

“Lieutenant Goby…” Khurek trailed off, his face flushed with a dreamy smile as he swayed upright and saluted Tiroirs. “It’s been an honor, captain. Maybe one day I’ll see you in Kho’gul.”

“We’ll have a pint.”

Khurek gave one last nod before walking away, head high and shoulders squared with a newfound optimism. Tiroirs turned his attention to the growing line of people waiting to pass and gestured to the Valorforge party, of which Anna and Deventh stepped forward.

“Good afternoon,” Anna greeted the captain as she reached for her coin pouch. “I’d like to pay the fee for myself and my six guild members.”

“Of course, kind lady,” said Tiroirs, pointing to each horse and its respective burden as he surveyed the group, “Ten silver.” Anna handed him their dues, but before they moved out, Deventh inquired about the creatures Tiroirs mentioned to the messenger.

“First a man-pig, and now drake-bears,” he said. “Seems you’ve been a busy man. Any areas we should avoid making camp?”

“Ah, I knew you looked familiar,” said Tiroirs, peering toward the back of the group and waving to Ardmy and Julien, “Of the many faces I see every day, only one brass mask has brought me the head of a dourling – and quite a tale to go along with it. I’m sure, given your capabilities, you’d find an uradrak to be a minor annoyance, but if you can’t be bothered then I’d advise you to avoid camping altogether. They can be anywhere in those deeper forests.”

“We’ll manage,” said Anna. “Now, let’s not keep everyone held up any longer.” Motioning to the group, she urged her mount forward, and alongside Deventh she took the first steps into Ravengarde.

There, the busy highway wound through lush meadows, overlooking a drenched floodplain which teemed with soft rush and reeds. The Nelmis River, fed by the falls of the Grimcrest mountains, raced alongside the road in smooth meanders with willows brushing above. Dark blue swallowtails drifted by, feasting on nectar from a blanket of deep-colored wildflowers as gray moths nearly the size of housecats bumbled through blooming shrubs.

“Wow,” said Jessa, touching a hand to her cheek as a crisp, damp breeze brushed against it, laden with the sweetness of hyacinths and honeysuckle. “I can’t believe I’ve never been to Ravengarde.”

“Oh?” asked Anna. “I thought for sure you’d have properties to manage out here.”

Jessa shook her head. Her hand moved away from her cheek, returning to the reins. By the length of the pause before she spoke, in which the voices of travelers, the rattling of cargo, and rolling of wagon wheels enveloped the group, it became clear that she hadn’t been thinking about her father and previous occupation. Nor did she want to.

“No… Lord Debastien isn’t known for his fair bargains. He’s not just stingy, he sets his prices high because he knows no one will pay. Concentrating his wealth in Ravengarde solidifies his influence here – and he prefers to keep it that way. Or so my father says. I don’t think he’s very fond of him.”

Anna nodded, deciding not to pry any further. She must have noticed the flatness of her tone. Jessa traced the horizon to the path ahead, where the flat meadows continued as far as one could see, dappled with birch and red maple coppices. It was difficult for her melancholic thoughts to thrive with such a view sprawled out before her. Among friends, no less.

The crowds thinned gradually as traffic dispersed at the branching byways to villages and sprawling farms where the fertile land nourished barley and greens to feed people across all of Nelthemar. A sheet of clouds moved in as the wooded patches grew in density and frequency. They continued on, taking advantage of every last second of daylight until spokes of sunset poked through a dense, leafy canopy. The time had come to set up camp, and so they followed a trail of patted-down dirt to a wooden bridge.

After stopping to fill their waterskins and let the horses drink, they crossed the river and moved a safe distance out from the road. They soon happened upon a small grove beneath a sweeping view of a golden sky, the clouds now magenta bellied and lethargic, and it was there they decided to rest for the night. Everyone took to their own tasks to prepare for the evening ahead; Deventh and Julien set out to find wood while Anna and Jessa stayed back to collect and arrange rocks for the fire. Ardmy tended the horses, making sure they were groomed, fed, and unburdened. Lydie and Tatsidi remained unoccupied with any contribution aside from one of their typical squabbles.

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“Are you not the one who decided to skip breakfast today?” asked Tatsidi, funneling his frustration into fluffing his bedroll. “When you say you are fine, do you not foresee the full duration for which you will need to remain fine? And now, unequipped to hunt, you demand that we chase rabbits as the sun is setting when we have adequate sustenance for those of us who came prepared?”

“Well when ya put it that way, ya make me sound like an arsehole.”

“Good. Then perhaps you may consider that you are being one,” Tatsidi said, plucking a stray puff of powder down from his whiskers.

“I’ll consider muddling my boots around in wet donkey shite and then kicking your two front teeth in like a pair of whorehouse doors when the guard’s lookin’ for your father. Gimme your bow.” Lydie stomped over to where his belongings were set out on the ground, but Tatsidi held out his arm to stop her.

“Give you my bow?” He scoffed. “When your hands may spark aflame at any moment and reduce it to ash? With your impressive record of breaking and misplacing things which belong to others? And you demand this in the same breath you spent spouting these crude, crude things at my expense. You baffle me with this nonsense – give you my bow.”

A grunt of frustration flared Lydie’s nostrils, rushed hot blood to her forehead. She felt a surge of tingling warmth gushing through her radial artery – the same that preceded every incident in which her hands would spark and smoke. Swallowing hard, she quelled her boiling ire to a simmer.

“Can ya just let me borrow it?” she appealed with a soft sincerity, her body going slack. “I swear I won’t do anything stupid. I’ll take care of it like my own. Promise.”

“Like your own? The one that is nowhere in sight?”

Silence fell between them. A gentle breeze tousled Lydie’s hair, a shadow cast upon her contorting face as the clouds darkened overhead. A while passed, a battle with the lump in her throat which she managed to swallow.

“Oi. That’s low, even for you. What, did you want me to run back into my room that night and choke on smoke to save it? ’Cause I did. Would’ve taken burns all over my body if it meant I didn’t have to give it up – but it was already gone, like everything and everyone else. Ash and charcoal by the time I found it. Only regret is leaving it behind in the first place.”

Tatsidi lowered his ears. He said nothing, reaching down to grab his bow and quiver, then passed them over to her.

“Very well. Take care of it like your own.”

“Was that so fookin’ hard?” Lydie snatched the bow out of his hands. The sudden snappy movement and the sharpness returning to her voice took him aback. Hopeful for an apology, she lingered, but when she received none, she slung the quiver over her back and trotted away. It was not worth demanding what wouldn’t be sincere.

Treading through piles of twigs and leaves, she crossed through a section of underbrush. All the while, she stewed in Tatsidi’s thoughtless words, words that gripped her and burrowed into her skin like talons. But night was falling fast, and she had to work quickly, so she let her discomfort propel rather than impede her. Light on her feet and determined to return to camp before dark, she happened upon another, smaller clearing and clambered up the incline of an outcrop within it. At the summit, she parted the bushes and gazed out to the shadowed line of underbrush.

Something moved in the bushes – she tracked it with her eyes as it stirred up loose leaves in its path into the open. Soon emerged a pheasant, intent on making its way to roost, but not without stopping to peruse among the debris for loose berries and insects.

A bird’s just as good, thought Lydie in compromise with her earlier intent to hunt a rabbit. Taking extra care not to rouse the animal’s attention, she slowed her movements, made sure each one was purposeful. She picked up Tatsidi’s bow and nocked an arrow. Drawing back the string, she took aim while the bird was preoccupied.

“Thanks, Tatsidi, ya furry ballsack,” she said, loosing the arrow. It whistled over the bird’s head, then planted itself in the ground. The pheasant jumped with a flap of its wings and scuttled back into the bushes. Lydie stared at the arrow shaft protruding from the ground, clamping her teeth over her bottom lip.

“Fu—ugh!” she groaned, wiping the dirt and sweat of her palms on her trousers as she ran through her mind with a million reasons why she’d have made a successful shot under any other circumstances.

String’s frayed. Draw’s too heavy. Limbs are too long. Bird’s a bastard. Tatsidi’s a bastard. I need a drink.

And still, through the thick of her ironclad excuses, it was only getting darker. In the twilight, she now had to squint to see any movement, not that there was any to be seen. Perhaps the time had come to give up, to return to camp.

But Lydie was not ready to return. In fact, she was only getting angrier the more futile everything began to seem, more anxious as it became harder to douse the fire growing within the pit of her stomach. She scanned once more along the edge of the brush, but all was still, except for a mild breeze tousling the leaves.

Gonna kill that bastard of a bird.

Lydie scampered down to level ground, looped around the corner of the outcrop. Her eyes adjusted to the shadows beneath the treetops as she made her way into the brush. Creeping through the vegetation, she came across more movement, the rustling of a creature trying to distance itself from her. It stopped for a moment, a long, feathered tail popping up just long enough for her to recognize the bird before it continued on its way. There he is. Lydie gripped the bow tighter, locking each finger around it as she ducked low to stalk her prey.

She followed the pheasant to a copse shaded by a massive oak tree and some maples surrounding it. The area was clear of shrubs, and in their place was a huge, sturdy nest of twigs supported by rocks. Its diameter, Lydie estimated, must have been at least ten feet.

Don’t suppose that’s a nest for a wee bird like that. As for what creature could have possibly lived there, she hoped to finish her hunt and get out well before it came back. The pheasant had once again stopped to poke between twigs for food. She had a clear shot of it now – if she could manage to avoid breaking her deadly silence.

Steadying her anger-shaken hands, she moved her arms with precisive fluidity without agitating the surrounding bushes. She raised Tatsidi’s bow, retrieved another arrow. As she focused in on her target and drew back her arrow, her vision tunneled to precision. Her ears filled with the chirps of crickets, the croaks of frogs. Warm breath from her nose grazed her upper lip.

If I miss this one, I’m a bloody bastard, too.

With a deep breath and a tight blink, she imagined her anger radiating from her hand wrapped around the bow’s grip, traveling up the limbs and through the string, pooling into the arrow itself. And when it was all drained from her body, leaving her light as a feather, again she loosed her shot.

Thump.

The arrowhead pierced the neck of the bird. It tumbled, lifeless in an instant, to the ground. Lydie held her breath, stood slowly from her crouched position. A pure, childlike grin brightened her face. Excitement surged into her arms, and she threw them in the air, letting out a victorious howl. Nearly toppling over with hurried steps, she stumbled toward her prize to collect it.

But as she reached into her bag to retrieve a piece of cloth, the ground rumbled behind her. Bush branches snapped, leaves tore off. Her celebration must have alerted the nest’s owner of her intrusion. There was still time, though – she snaked out a cloth from her bag and formed it into a sling, checking over her shoulder for the progress of whatever-it-was. Lydie’s heart started racing as she scooped up the carcass into the sling. She jumped up onto her feet, swiveling her head about to near dizziness to find a way out.

North, she reminded herself, then sprung in that direction. The overgrowth was much more troublesome to traverse, but she made it a fair distance from the nest. Wading through bushes well above her knees, she pressed on as fast as she could, but soon realized that the rumbling hadn’t stopped. The rustling hadn’t grown more distant. Whatever this creature was, it was chasing her, gaining on her. She was still in its territory – or perhaps it was hungry.

She ran faster, heart pounding in her ears, breaths quick and shallow. The brush tore her clothes and scraped her legs. Peering over her shoulder, she caught sight of a beastly shape, a spot of moonlight reflecting off a head of turquoise scales and traveling down a spine arrayed with spikes. As she turned her head around, her ankle caught on a forked stem, knocking her flat.

With a strong tug, she freed her ankle, reaching for her dropped belongings as she tried to push herself upright. The ground shook and thundered. The beast neared. She rolled aside to move herself out of its path, but the creature was nimble on its thick paws and managed the shift without trouble. As it charged toward her, its draconic head and bear-like body were revealed – an uradrak.

As Lydie finally caught her footing, legs stinging with cuts and adrenaline coursing through her, she unleashed a cry for help, so forceful she thought her head might burst.