My mind is at peace with what I have done, but my heart is in pieces at the sight of my wife. Our treasure is gone, no one knows where it has been taken, and she is inconsolable. I cannot blame her for this, because I too spent the last few nights weeping into my pillow. I blame myself as much as she does, but it won’t matter for long. Soon her eyes will be devoid of all light and her voice will not carry the cadence I once loved. Another victim of my actions. She is not the first, and surely she will not be the last.

I will leave her here tomorrow, with her mother, and sail for Blackspire. I must be cautious. If my former partner learns that I intend to go behind his back, his followers will come with swift reprisal. Master Lucien and the Conclave hold no love for me now, but only they can help me undo this. If I’d listened to the Conclave, listened to reason, none of this would have happened.

Dated 10th of 5th Moon, Year 981 of the 100th Millennium, from a journal found in the Ruins of Castle Reid.

As the bells of evening prayer rang out over the markets of Aljana, the crowds began to disperse. Those who could not make it home in time would retreat into alcoves set aside by the city for such a time. Market stalls began to close for the night, because even gold could not compel the sarrasad to ignore the Burning White Star Above.

While the sarrasad went about their business, and foreign merchants returned to their temporary accommodations, there was a hunt on. A trio of street urchins raced down a vacant ally, leaving sandals behind in a panicked heat of adrenaline and fear, a pair of green skinned orcs hot on their trail.

Sallah led the pack, his tiny body like an arrow that darted around piles of refuse and trash, while Raafi took up the middle. At the rear, taking the role of buffer between the younger boys and the orcs was Callum.

“Cal, help!” Sallah screamed, his thin, bony chest heaving with each stride. “I don’t… know…!”

“Scatter!” Callum shouted, pushing Raafi forward as they approached the end of the ally.

Breaking out into the main street, Sallah took a hard right, while Raafi took the left, and Callum ran across to another alley. Splitting up was their best option, now that the streets were emptying out, save for the stragglers trying to make it home for prayer.

One of the orcs indicated Raafi to his companion and shouted. “Ignore that one! The wizard wants the Northboy and the lil’ shit in the diaper! One of em’s got it!”

These guys were big and smart. They were right, because one of them did have the bag, and it wasn’t Callum. The orcs were better urban trackers than he’d anticipated, and had found them in no time. With no thought given to handing the bag off, they had been forced to flee, and as a result, Sallah still carried the bag in his waist wrap.

Whatever it was, it was valuable, and he would have to find Sallah to secure it before the orcs turned him inside out.

Determined to end the hunt and find his prize, Callum turned at the end of the alley and put his hands up, focusing on his necklace.

Just one orc was chasing him, the pair having split up. This orc was short, stocky, with black hair. He reached for Callum, ready to grab and throttle him, but the boy spoke first.

“Stai!” Callum’s voice came out like a crack of a whip, his thoughts moving from his necklace, through his hands and to the legs of the orc.

The orc jerked forward suddenly, as if his legs no longer wanted to support him. The man’s eyes went wide and he stumbled, falling to the ground with a cry. Callum bolted, running across the Squat Orc’s back as he tried in vain to get his legs to cooperate.

Coming out to the empty street, Callum looked about to ensure no other orcs were waiting to snatch him, and he tore off in the direction Sallah had gone. It was no understatement to say that Callum was worried. Sallah was new at this, and severely malnourished. He wouldn’t last against an orc, or a housecat for that matter, but he was small, and knew his way around.

Callum ran through the Southern Quarter, through alleys and side streets, ignoring the stares of the people he’d passed. He scoured the streets for an hour, stopped in an alcove to catch his breath, then ran for another, searching fruitlessly for any sign of Sallah or the orcs.

The sun began to sink further beyond the walls of Aljana. The Western sky had taken on an orange hue as it served as the backdrop of the setting sun, and the East was a deep purple. At the center of this time of transition, glowing in the evening light, was the Crown of Stars.

The evening prayer was a strange time for the Northern boy. All of the sarrasad, his fellow humans, were hidden away. It was lonely, to be an outsider among his own species, but at night, it was even stranger as the nonhumans emerged from their homes to carry out their evening business. As Callum ran through the streets, looking for any sign of Sallah or the orcs, hebetites and hou emerged from their tenement homes and hovels to set up cook fires for their evening meals.

The hou were further in appearance from humans than elves and dwarves, but closer by spades than the hebetites. Covered head to toe in fur ranging in color from black to white to orange, the Yaolan Shan natives resembled the monkeys and apes one could see in the zoo at the Lutsalma District, with long limbs, rounded muzzles and deep inset eyes. They paid the child no heed as they went about their business. The hou were, by their nature, gentle, but there were exceptions.

Callum’s run was interrupted when he was struck in the side by a hou child about his age, and the two went tumbling into the dirt, wrestling, kicking and punching at each other. Callum was at a disadvantage, as the boy who had tackled him had longer arms, and got Callum in a headlock, hooting laughter in his ear.

“Too slow Pale Man-Boy!” the hou boy whooped.

“Let go Bianpao!” Callum wheezed, pulling back the monkey boy’s arm just enough to take a mouthful, biting hard. Bianpao screeched and yanked his arm free, pushing himself off of Callum and backing away, baring sharp incisors of his own.

“No fair!” he said. He was still learning the local language, having been a recent addition to the community of refugees in the Southern Quarter. Bianpao was long of body, with orange fur, light skin around his face, and hazel eyes, and he wore simple but comfortable garments.

Bianpao was friendly with Callum and his friends, a bit rough in play but eager, and he had a knack for picking pockets himself without magical aid. He lived in the tenements of the Southern Quarter with his mother and sisters, having come to Aljana after his father died in the wars in Yaolan Shan.

“No fair to bite Bianpao Pale Boy!” Bianpao said.

Callum got to his feet and began looking about to reorient himself..

“Did you see any orcs run by?” he asked quickly, looking around. “They were chasing Sallah!”

“I see green!” Bianpao said, dancing from foot to foot happily. “They chase little Skinny Boy, he scream! I think he steal something good, good, good from green!”

“Good good,” Callum acknowledged, earning a clap from Bianpao. They were standing in front of the small building where several families of hou resided communally.

“They no catch him, I think,” Bianpao said, scratching his belly. “He fast, little. Hard to grab. You want soup, Boy? MAMA!”

Bianpao was kind, but he struggled to remember western names, so vague descriptions were his go to identifiers. His mama, similarly colored and dressed, came out of their hovel with a heavy iron wok, and set it on the ground to begin building her cook fire.

She spotted Callum and hissed, waving him off and shouting in her native language, which was abrupt yet melodic, in a way. It was clear, however, that she didn’t want one of the local urchins around for dinner.

Bianpao, indignant and childish, shouted back at his mother, raising his arms in the air as they argued in Hou. Callum watched, feeling rather helpless, and albeit jealous as Bianpao’s mama admonished him, stamping up and jabbing him in the chest in what seemed like a thorough lecturing. Bianpao pouted, his lower lip sticking out, and he turned to speak to Callum, avoiding his gaze.

“Sorry Boy,” Bianpao muttered, kicking the dirt. “Mama say not enough for friend.”

Bianpao’s mama grunted in satisfaction, and went back inside to retrieve her firewood.

Callum smiled slightly, and shook his head. “It’s okay. I gotta go find Sallah. If I don’t, those orcs’ll grind him up and make bread out of him.”

Bianpao’s eyes went wide, and he stepped from side to side in excitement. “Bianpao come too! Bianpao save skinny boy from bread!”

Callum smiled. Bianpao had been friendly from day one of his arrival in the Southern Quarter. A source of inexhaustible energy and laughter, he was one of the few nonhumans who would give him the time of day.

“It’s getting dark,” Callum said. “And those orcs aren’t nice. If they catch us they’ll grind us up too.”

Bianpao paused in his dancing and leaned in towards Callum, his eyes wide with curiosity. “What Boy steal?”

“I don’t even know yet,” Callum replied, shaking his head in exasperation. “We picked a sack off a wizard and Sallah has it.”

“W-wi-wi-zard,” Bianpao struggled with the word in his mouth, blinking as he tried to work out a translation for it in Hou. “Like… like…?”

The hou stared at Callum holding his hands out for an explanation.

“Like, a magic person,” Callum said, waving his hands to mime a spell. Bianpao hooted and clapped his hands in elation.

“Like firework!” he shouted, grinning. “Bianpao want to see magic!”

“Maybe you will,” Callum said, scratching his neck nervously. “Let’s find Sallah first, before your mom comes back.”

Bianpao nodded, and the pair ran off into the street to find their little missing friend. The sight of the odd pair turned some heads, because it was uncommon to see anyone of different races interacting in Aljana, especially here in the slums of the Southern Quarter. It didn’t concern Callum, and Bianpao didn’t fully understand the tension of the city. But it was there, in the eyes of passersby.

Callum and Bianpao slowed to a stop as the streets slowly began to refill with activity again. Saqr guards were the only humans that came out at night, and patrols were everywhere. A group of four guardsmen passed by them, having finished their prayers for the night. Callum watched them pass, wondering if he might concoct some story about orcs kidnapping children and eating them.

“Cal!” a voice hissed in a nearby alley, and Callum spun to see Raafi hiding behind a refuse bin in a nearby alcove. Callum tapped Bianpao, who was still looking about for orcs, and the two ducked in to where Raafi hid.

“You got away,” Callum asked, resting on his knee. “Have you seen Sallah?”

“No,” Raafi replied, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He looked disheveled, and glared at Bianpao. “Why did you bring the monkey?”

Bianpao hissed at the comment. “Not a monkey! Bianpao boy! Like you Stupid Boy!”

“Shut up,” Callum barked, and the two of them went quiet. “He wants to help, so let him.”

“Okay, fine,” Raafi muttered. He kept an eye on Bianpao, his expression betraying obvious distaste at the presence of the nonhuman. “Sallah would have run home. There're some sewers down that way he might have hid in.”

“Mother is still in Muthalia until tomorrow, right?” Callum asked, furrowing his brow in thought.

“Yeah,” Raafi replied, his voice taking on an uneasy tone.

“Good,” Callum said. “If we lose Sallah and she finds out, we’re better off dead.”

“Scary,” Bianpao intoned, and he peeked over the edge of the refuse bin.

“Yeah,” Callum said. His expression was darkly serious, and the thought of what would happen if something should happen to Sallah made his stomach clench with anxiety. “Scary.”

“Boy!” Bianpao whispered loudly, slapping Callum repeatedly on the shoulder and cheek as he stared wide-eyed into the street. “Green! Green!”

Callum grunted in frustration and shoved Bianpao to the ground to peek over the bin, and he saw two orcs walking by. One of them was the Squat Orc that had been chasing him, the spell having worn off. The other was the captain who had been staring him down earlier, with the topknot and the scars across his lips.

Callum looked around in the alcove for something he could use to conceal himself, but the space was empty save for the refuse bin. Swearing, he reached inside of it, digging around until he found an old cloth sack full of rotten food scraps and garbage.

“What doing Boy?” Bianpao asked, watching Callum empty out the sack with a puzzled expression. “You hungry?”

“‘Hide in plain sight,’” Callum recited, shaking out the bag and tearing it open, draping it over himself like a grimy, smelly cloak. “‘They’ll never see you coming.’”

“What?” Bianpou said, looking at Raafi for an interpretation, but the sarrasad boy ignored him.

“I got it from a book,” Callum said. “I’ll read it to you sometime. Dress up, Raafi.”

“Okay, okay,” Raafi replied.

Taking Callum’s lead, Raafi took off his cap and let out his hair. He pulled up his long shirt, tucking it into his short pants. Bianpao, eager not to be left out of the fun, snatched Raafi’s cap and put it on, giggling to himself.

Looking over their group , Callum nodded in satisfaction and threw the sack around his face to cover it. He gagged from the smell and pulled it back off. After a few deep breaths and swallowing hard, Callum put the cloth back on. He walked out to follow the orcs, and listen to their conversation.

“Ur’grum said he saw the diaper brat near the gardens,” said the captain. “Ran him down hard and he’s holed up in there somewhere. I got the men blocking off the exits. I want you to join them and search the place. Flush him out.”

“Ain’t that simple,” the squat orc that Callum had encountered said. “The Northboy’s a wizard Dur-uk! The others might be too!”

Dur-uk stopped, spinning on the squat orc, and he grabbed his companion by the collar. Passersby and civilians walked around them uneasily with sideways glances. Callum moved off to the side of the road and positioned himself against the door of a house. Raafi and Bianpao joined him, and they leaned in as if they were sharing a hushed secret.

“The fuck you mean he’s a wizard?” he snarled. “Ain’t no wizards in this town except for Willow!”

“H-he froze me legs!” the squat orc shouted, pulling back against his commander’s grip. “He paralyzed me cap’n I swear it! He cast a spell on me and bolted!”

Dur-uk shoved his subordinate away and turned to run down the road, towards the gardens. The squat orc ran off after him, and Callum watched them go, his breath caught in his throat and his stomach twisted in knots.

“He saw you using magic?!” Raafi spit at him, shoving Callum’s shoulder. “Why did you do that?!”

“I don’t know,” Callum wheezed, clutching at the necklace under his shirt and holding it tightly. He pulled the sack from his mouth and struggled to take a deep breath, his face going pale, his hands clammy. “I… I didn’t think about it, I just wanted to find Sallah.”

“They’ll kill him!” Raafi reminded him with another shove, distress clear on the boy’s face. “If Mother finds out you used magic again she’s going to kill you too!”

Callum ignored the shoves, his eyes quickly scanning the ground for something, anything that could help him here. He was struggling not to hyperventilate as the voice of Mother ripped through his memory, when he’d hidden his necklace from her. The pain and hunger he’d endured from her punishment.

“You were my favorite, Callum.” He recalled her voice, low and smooth like heavy silk. “How I loved you, that you were my favorite. Now, you have stolen books from my rooms. I teach you to steal for me, not from me. Never again.”

Then, the crack of leather against his skin. Never again.

His eyes opened, and he saw a hebetite woman walking home, carrying a bundle of sticks on her hunched back. He grabbed Raafi by the shoulder and spoke to him, watching the snake woman walk by.

“I have an idea,” he said. “Give me a coin!”

“What? No, these are mine!” Raafi protested, and Callum punched him in the shoulder. “Ow!”

“Give me a coin!” Callum demanded. Raafi reached into his shorts, where he’d hidden the bags of coins they’d stolen from the dwarf, and pulled out a copper coin. Callum snatched it, running up to the old hebetite to buy a stick.

Aljana was the Oasis City, a jewel among the sands of the East, and a beacon of life and prosperity known the world over. Even in the Quarters, the outermost rings of the city where the common folk lived, the poorest man could bask in the glory of the city’s numerous gardens.

Great, walled fixtures of greenery and plant life, with walkways of paved stone and massive fountains of clean, drinkable water, the gardens were maintained by the Shah’s corps of botanists and city engineers for the enjoyment of the public, no matter their race or creed. At night, however, the gardens were closed, so that they might not be misused or vandalized. Guardsmen patrolled them sparingly, but the orcs had done well to bribe them off for tonight while they were on their hunt.

Callum watched from around the corner of a nearby house as one of the orcs paced back and forth in front of the southern gate, illuminated only by the moon. This particular garden was walled off, with four gates on each side, and surrounded by houses across each street.

There was a whistle, which Callum knew was the ready signal. Callum reached into his shirt and pulled out his necklace. It was a small wood carving of a bear, with beady black eyes, and a black cord strung through it. Callum had carried this totem since he was a baby. He knew not where it came from, just that it was always with him, even when he’d thought he’d lost it.

Callum tied the cord around the end of the stick he’d purchased from the old hebetite woman, and pulled the “hood” of his makeshift cloak over his head. It smelled like rotten fruit and chicken, but it made him look like a wizard. At least, he thought it did.

Callum approached the orc, using the branch as a walking stick, the little bear totem waving to and fro with each step he took. The orc took immediate notice of the boy, and placed his meaty hand on the hilt of his sword. He looked Callum up and down.

“So you’re that wizard-boy Krum was goin’ on about?” he said. Callum stopped some ten meters from the orc, and glared at him from beneath his hood. “Nice getup. You dig that outta the trash then?”

“You need to leave,” Callum said in his most threatening voice, brandishing the branch. “Or you’ll regret it, greenskin!”

The orc unsheathed his sword with a wry smile, looking down on the boy as if to intimidate him. Callum stood his ground, raising his staff, and took a deep breath. Before the orc could take a step, a brick smashed against the back of his skull with an audible crunch. The brick snapped on impact, two pieces falling to the ground, followed by the orc. He lay there, face down, snoring into the pavement.

Bianpao stood on top of the gate, hopping up and down, giggling from behind his hands.

“Good job,” Callum said while Bianpao scrambled down the wall. The furry boy was boisterous, but an excellent climber.

Raafi came running from his own hiding spot, and stood over the orc with a look of shock and awe.

“You killed him!” he whisper-shouted at Bianpao.

“He did not,” Callum argued, kicking the orc, who gave a snort. “He’s snoring!”

“Yeah!” Bianpao said defensively, slapping the orc on the head. The large man jerked, and snorted loudly. “Bianpao gentle, make him go sleep!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Raafi said, throwing his arms up in the air. “We’re dead anyway! Can I just go home?”

“No,” Callum said, walking through the gate at a brisk pace. “We’re almost done.”

As they entered the garden, the boys were met with a powerful smell of flowering trees and fresh water, so much so that it overwhelmed the senses for a moment. Callum was grateful that for a few seconds, he was spared the reek of his cloak. He pushed the thought aside as he ducked into a display of tropical shrubbery, followed by Bianpao and Raafi.

Stepping quietly through the dense flora of the garden, they followed the wall until they reached the western gate. There were two orcs here, watching the street outside. Behind them, inside the garden, was a multi-tiered fountain that gushed out water from its peak and into the massive circular pool below. The pool was populated by lily pads, reeds and other plants.

Across from Callum and his friends was a dense patch of trees. He could hear more orcs crashing about inside as they hunted for Sallah.

“Where could he be?” Raafi whimpered, biting his knuckle.

Callum gave a start as, from around the edge of the fountain, a figure emerged. It was Sallah, his hair shining with sweat, his face haggard and his entire body looking far more frail than it had that afternoon. He was utterly exhausted, and Callum swallowed with shame.

He’d impulsively dragged Sallah down into the market, gotten him to steal from the wizard. Forced him into a multi-hour chase by orcs that were older, stronger, and severely bigger than the poor child. Callum bit his lip and took a step out of the bushes, but froze in place. Raafi gasped audibly, and Bianpao was uncharacteristically silent.

Sallah leaned against the edge of the fountain and scooped handful after handful of water to his mouth, paying no heed to Dur-uk, who watched him from over his shoulder. The orc waited for Sallah to take his fill before he spoke.

“You’re a hard one to catch, kid,” Dur-uk said, causing Sallah to jump and flounder against the edge of the fountain. “Calm down son, I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Just gimme the key.”

Sallah backed away from the orc. “I-I don’t have it!”

Dur-uk stepped towards Sallah with an outstretched hand.

“So your friend has it then,” the orc said. “Tell me where the boy who knows magic is.”

“N-no,” Sallah replied, swallowing. His voice was weak and raspy from the running he’d endured. “I did have it. I threw it a-away.”

“Then you’ll have to come with me,” Dur-uk said, scowling. “Willow’ll want a talk with you.”

“You aren’t taking him anywhere,” Callum said, stepping out from the bushes. Sallah turned quickly to see Callum, and a grin split the small boy’s face. Behind the young Northboy, Raafi and Bianpao emerged from the bushes, attempting to look intimidating.

“It’s you,” Dur-uk growled.

Before Callum could deliver a witty response, Dur-uk stuck his finger and his thumb behind his tusks and whistled. Heavy boots echoed in the night as half a dozen orcs converged on their location.

“Grab Sallah!” Callum yelled, raising his stick. He stared hard at the little bear totem, focusing only on it, pouring all of himself into the little wood carving.

Dur-uk lunged at Sallah, grabbing him by the forearm.

“Eyes!” Callum shouted.

Sallah covered his eyes with his free hand, as did Bianpao and Raafi. Callum stamped the butt of his branch into the ground and shouted a spell:

“Blit de Lumina!”

There was a sound like shattering glass, and the gardens were as bright as day for but a second. Dur-uk and the other orcs that had arrived on the scene all covered their eyes in incapacitating pain and blindness. Bianpao, Raafi and Sallah were all spared, and the hou lunged at Dur-uk, biting him hard on the hand with razor sharp fangs.

The orc roared and released Sallah, and Raafi picked him up as if he weighed nothing, and ran for the gate without another word.

“Boy!” Bianpao shouted, looking to Callum, who dropped his stick, and fell backwards onto the pavement, his chest heaving as he collected himself from the immense effort it took to generate that flash of light.

Callum waved him off, panting. “Run! Go, run!”

The orcs were recovering, and Bianpao hesitated before running in the same direction as Sallah. Two of the orcs took off after him, stumbling to keep their balance as their vision was restored.

“Get them!” Dur-uk shouted at the four stragglers, and three of them followed their two companions into the city.

The Squat Orc who had encountered Callum before pointed at him.

“Grab him before he gets off any more!” he shouted, lunching for Callum.

Callum reacted, grabbing his branch and waving it towards the orc, using the same spell that he’d used before.

“Stai!”

The spell, weak and unstable compared to the ones before, tripped up the orc, but he regained his feet, grabbing for Callum and catching the cloth sack cloak he wore. Callum rolled out of the way, abandoning the trash bag and stumbling to his feet and away from the orcs.

Dur-uk was fast, the orc’s eyes alight with rage as he set upon Callum with his sword raised. Callum pushed more of himself into the little bear, and thrust the staff forward towards the orc.

“Apasati!” he shouted, and Dur-uk let out a cry of shock and anger while he was launched off of his feet and away from Callum, his sword leaving his grip and clattering across the stone walk.

Callum turned to run from the orcs, but the Squat Orc threw something at Callum, catching him in the back of the leg and forcing him to the ground. He kept a grip on the branch and rolled to face the orc, holding the stick in both hands defensively. His face was glistening with sweat and his chest was heaving painfully as he pushed more into the bear. As the Squat Orc rushed Callum, grabbing the stick in hand, snapping it in two with the force of his grab, Callum shouted his next spell.

“Flacari!”

From the curves, lines and contours of the little bear totem, smoke began to rise, then a gout of flame spread in the air between Callum and the Squat Orc. It caught the man in the face, searing heat taking the breath from Callum’s lungs.

The orc’s hair went alight with flames, and he shut his eyes, screaming in pain and shock as his flesh was seared. He fell off of Callum and scrambled away as quickly as his hands and legs would take him. The flames were spreading from his head, to his arms and he ran straight into the waters of the fountain, dousing himself as the hiss of steam permeated the air.

Callum grabbed the now loose bear totem and wrapped the cord around his hand. Dur-uk had regained his feet, and his weapon, and was slowly approaching Callum with his sword held in a defensive posture.

“Who taught you this?” the orc demanded. Callum backed away from him, holding the bear out in a similarly defensive posture. “Where’d you get a fancy little focus like that, young one?”

Callum didn’t answer. His arms were shaking and he was having trouble maintaining his breath. He felt as tired as Sallah had looked, but he continued to pool his resources into the little bear, preparing to cast another spell when the time was right.

“You’re tired,” Dur-uk said. “You got some fancy spellwork there, but it's weak. You got no stamina for it. Come with me and I’ll introduce you to a real wizard.”

“No,” Callum replied shakily. “I gotta… I gotta get Sallah.”

“We ain’t gonna hurt your friends,” Dur-uk insisted, slowly walking towards Callum now, taking it one step at a time. He released his defensive posture and held his sword out to the side, extending a hand. “We just want the key you stole, and then you can go home. No problem.”

Callum took another step back, raising the bear up higher. “I don’t believe you. You’re a grown up. All you do is hurt people.”

Dur-uk paused, and laughed. His scars twisted with his smile.

“You ain’t wrong about that one, kid.”

The orc jerked forward and ducked low, charging forward. Callum reacted.

“Stai!”

Dur-uk’s legs went rigid, but instead of tripping and falling, he kept his back straight and fell forward, catching himself on his free hand and rolling forward. He swept his frozen left leg out, trying to kick Callum’s legs out from under him, but Callum juked backwards, and Dur-uk returned to his feet.

Callum looked to his left and saw a rock laying among the grass, not so big he couldn’t lift it himself, and he brandished the totem at it.

“Arunca!” he said, whipping his hand forward in the direction of Dur-uk and the rock flew from its earthly position and at the orc. Dur-uk barely raised his arm in time to protect his face as it smashed into him. The orc stumbled, his legs still lacking some of their feeling, giving Callum another opening.

“Leviteze!” he cried, his voice cracking with effort as Dur-uk was lifted off of the ground by a foot, his arms pinwheeling in the air as he struggled to right himself. Callum thrust his hands forward with another incantation and Dur-uk was launched into the trees. “Apasati!”

As the trees and shrubs cracked and broke under the weight of the flying orc, and the big man roared in pain and fury, Callum gathered everything he had left into the bear, taking three long, regulated breaths as he charged his final spell.

“Flacari!”

A pathetic burble of fire spat from the bear and onto the ground in front of Callum, and he wavered on his feet. He took a step to the side and caught his balance before shoving the bear forward, crying the spell out one more time.

“Flacari!”

There was a loud pop as the spell burst in front of Callum, scorching his arms and lighting his shirt. He tried to cry out but smoke from the backfired spell filled his lungs. Callum hacked and coughed, dropping the bear. He stumbled back and fell onto the ground, rolling in an attempt to put out his burning clothes.

After the fire had been thoroughly suffocated, Callum lay on the pavement, rolling back and forth while he struggled to expel the smoke from his lungs and regain his breath.

Dur-uk limped his way out of the trees, and to Callum’s side. He leaned down and picked up the bear totem, rolling it around in his thick, calloused fingers. Callum, unable to speak, stared up at him in a mix of indignance and fear, and the orc chuckled.

Dur-uk reached down, grabbing Callum by the arm. He heaved the boy onto his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

“Let’s go kid,” he said. “You’ve got some goddamn explaining to do.”

End of Chapter 3