Deep into the afternoon of the fourth day after the compass changed direction, they finally came across a wide river, where they decided to make camp before following it west to either the next town or the coast, whichever came first. From there, they’d cross, preferably at a bridge, and follow the compass north to the next shrine.

Jack set up a sand filter in the most worn of their waterskins, then began boiling the filtered river water, aiming to refill the rest of their numerous skins. He didn’t mention it, but he was sure they’d have run dry along the way if not for his share going to the others. The grasslands had been significantly more arid than the hilly forests, and the river was a welcome sight.

While Jack managed their supplies and set out the beginnings of dinner, Layla, Erin, and Rory did some scouting to ensure both the river and the surrounding area were free of monsters and lurking bandits. Once they were sure it was relatively safe, the four agreed to a quick swim and a not-so-quick bath. The water was a cool balm against the oppressive tropical heat, and they lounged away the day until night began to fall.

Which is why they were caught with their pants down, both literally and figuratively, when a large flat-bottomed barge rounded the river bend and drifted toward their camp.

“Hallo to the shore!” a voice called from the barge.

The owner of that voice was a mountain of a man, with shoulders nearly as broad as Rory and Layla standing side by side. He stood at the rear of the raft, holding the primitive tiller, shirtless in the fading sun. As the barge drew closer, they could see that he was a middle-aged human, with striking ebony skin and streaks of bright silver in his cropped black hair and shaped beard. The darkness of his skin was contrasted by sleek, flowing silver tattoos that shined in the setting sun and trailed across his shoulders, chest, back, and down his arms.

“Hello to the water!” Rory shouted back. He threw a glance over his shoulder, where Jack had submerged himself to the nose, and Layla had immediately donned her mirage appearance.

When the barge reached about fifty feet from the shore, the giant at the tiller swept his gaze over the camp.

The big man grinned and called again, “I see you have a cook fire afoot. Perhaps you are headed downriver? I would trade a ride for food that is not biscuits and dried fish!”

“Not worried we’re bandits who’ll rob your goods?” Rory’s voice carried a hint of teasing.

“Four hunters confident enough to bathe in the Hohenstrom with a pile of Vargr pelts next to their fire? Nothing on my boat would be worthy prey to slayers such as yourself. Only provisions for the return from the Front” he laughed.

“You make the trip to the Northern Front by yourself?” Rory had floated downriver, engaging the man while he moored the barge. While he distracted the stranger, Jack silently emerged from the water and retrieved the grey cloak from his bag.

“Ha! No, my young friend. I have a team of polers that travel upriver with me, but those skivers stayed on at Girnwold to drink their earnings and laze about. They’ll make their way back to Mistelein by the time I’m ready to make the journey back to the fort,” he replied.

“Unless my companions dissent, I don’t see any reason why we couldn’t share our meal. I hope you have a fondness for vargr?” Rory gave the boatman a dazzling smile and the man immediately returned the grin.

“It would not be the first time I have eaten the beast. They are plentiful, but a bit...,” he stopped, mouth open, with his hands twisted amidst the rope he had been tying off to anchor the boat to shore.

Rory’s face was puzzled for a moment, then he followed the big man’s gaze over his shoulder, where Layla had emerged from the water, buck-ass naked. Rory could admit, her mirage looked like a centerfold model, and the real thing was even more appealing, if a little alien, but he still didn’t get the slack-jawed effect she produced.

He rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers at the boatman, who shook himself and rapidly looked away from the shore, giving Rory some intensely vigorous eye contact, “Ah, ahrmm... “ he cleared his throat, then repeated the action. “Your companion… is... “

“Yeah, she’s shameless,” Rory rolled his eyes again.

“She is quite brazen,” the big man maintained his laser-like eye contact.

“Yeah, she’s a regular Bond girl, and a little bint,” he scowled.

“Ha!” the big man barked, then took a deep breath and sighed. “Were I younger, and less wed...”

“I know the feeling,” Rory grunted, eying the giant for a moment before schooling his expression again.

The big man seemed puzzled for a moment, the O of surprise flickering and passing almost instantly, before he unleashed a guffaw and a few barks of laughter.

“It is a pity you are bonded then, for my nephew loves refined men, and my sister despairs for him finding a man of quality among the surrounding villages,” the dark giant’s eye twinkled as he teased Rory, whose face turned an interesting shade of mahogany in the fading light.

“Sooooo… what are we talking about,” Layla bounced up to the two, finally fully clothed. “Oh my shit, are you… blushing? Is that blushing?” She wheeled on the big man, practically vibrating with excitement “What did you say to him?! I have to know!”

Rory groaned, his face in his hands.

“For the performance I witnessed a moment ago, I would tell you nearly anything, she whose skin is as bright as the summer sun,” the big man bowed, hands to the side.

Layla gave him a provocative grin and moved closer, literally licking her lips at the perceived invitation, but the towering stranger took a step back, with raised hands and a pained expression.

“Though your attentions warm my old heart, alas, I am bonded to another and cannot betray my oaths,” he smiled good-naturedly.

“Well, I can appreciate a man who loves his woman beyond all common sense,” she winked at the newcomer and shot a glance back at Jack where he tended the campfire. “So, why is he blushing?”

“I offered to introduce him to my nephew were he not wed,” he replied.

“Oh, nah. That shit’s hopeless. He’s ass over teakettle for a boy back home,” she grinned.

Rory scowled and turned to walk away, but Erin finally joined them and slung her arms around her smaller companions, pulling them tight.

Erin: So, not a bandit?

Rory: He wants to trade dinner for a ride downriver on his boat.

Jack: Sold.

Jack: Yes.

Jack: Say yes.

Layla: Whoa there, Tex.

Layla: Wait, wait, wait…

Layla: Hold... your… horses.

She abruptly broke into a tirade of cackling, leaving the giant stranger puzzled.

Layla: I always wanted to say that.

Jack: You’ve said it before.

Erin: You’ve said it before.

Rory: You’ve said it before.

Rory and Erin turned to look at Jack near the camp with stunned expressions, where they saw he wore a similar shocked face under the grey hood. The three of them fell out, joining Layla in their seemingly senseless laughter.

“I think I have missed something amusing?” the big man scratched his beard.

“What’s your name, tall, dark, and handsome?” Layla recovered first.

“I am Toben Giltenhardt. I am delighted the branches of our Fate have intertwined,” he made a gesture from his heart to his throat, then in a small circle, ending with a flourish of his fingers.

“What was that?” Jack’s voice echoed from the camp. He had gotten to his feet.

The big man craned his head, looking over the others to get his first glimpse at Jack. The cloaked figure was backlit by the fire, a shadow of grey and black, ominously pulsing with power.

“Simply an old gesture. I meant no offense,” the man seemed to sense the roiling mana that had emerged from Jack’s form.

“No, tell me what it is,” Jack had moved closer, and the four could see his shadows had begun to move under the cloak.

“It is a sign of an ancient faith, from before the empire came,” the man seemed to shrink away from Jack, suddenly less imposing than his size would suggest.

Jack’s cloak fell back from his pale face, dark mana burning in his eyes. Shadow and power swirled around him, and the voice that came when his lips opened next was blended with something far older.

“Stand before me, seeker,” he invoked.

“... a night priest,” Toben whispered, falling to his knees.

“Darkness asks not that you kneel, but that you stand,” Jack’s voice was swollen with power, echoing across the camp.

The giant struggled to his feet, unshed tears in his eyes.

“We thought the priests of Night had been wiped away,” he whispered again, taking a fumbling step toward the cloaked figure.

“The Night is all things that Can Be, and Will Be Again,” the eddies of Jack’s power had reached the others, enveloping them like cool night air, pushing away the waning heat of the day. “Stand, and receive the gift of your Faith.”

Toben lurched forward, standing in front of Jack. The smaller man placed his hand on the giant’s sternum, where his tattoos came alive with glowing silver mana, rearranging themselves to accommodate a new sigil, a curling representation of a great tree. Mana swirled in a cyclone of pressure and power, throwing leaves and grass away from the camp and nearly extinguishing the campfire.

Jack’s legs collapsed under him, nearly falling to the ground before the big man caught him and crushed him in a bear hug, tears streaming down his dark face and glittering across his still-glowing tattoos.

“Blessings on you, night priest. May twilight ever reveal your path,” the big man whispered.

The final dregs of power thundered one last time within Jack, his eyes flaring with a pulse of shadow, “Ilani’s light be with you.”

His vision faded, falling into shadow once again.