“...they gather lost and grieving sore

a fractured band that battle bore...”

Leiro Nvwnle Dynde XIV:IV

2:1:2:3/5, III:IX

Thanks to strong winds and kind seas, The Desert Rose reached Allana’s major port city two days ahead of schedule. The fertile Red Delta and surrounding plains farmed most of the Known World’s produce, and Kigal stocked enough for three months at a fraction of Kanata’s costs. Docked along a channel dug into the port’s silty facade, the captain and Anelle lounged in the afternoon sun, prepared to sail with the morning tide.

Larin sat patching canvas nearby, twining threads of torn sails back together in exchange for one more night on board. The staggering price of the city’s stables left them with few options. Until she and Jorn found a farm to lease from one of the Rishi’s landowning families, they’d sleep north of town along the banks of the River Ka.

Floating in the channel behind the ship, Haisrir’s black dragon snoozed in the spring sunlight, dozens of admirers gawking at the rare and noble beast. After a lifetime of silence, Jorn learned the dragon’s name had been Khae centuries ago, before a pair of wraiths captured him and warped his mind. The remorseful dragon recalled all his years of servitude, ended at last by a fatal blow to Haisrir’s skull. Compelled by life debt to repay Jorn for his freedom, Khae had followed their ship across the gulf.

One bold child splashed at his expansive side, and he awoke to the buzzing of a faerie, who zipped over and pulled the boy from the water’s edge. Bustling through the streets, people of all kinds rubbed elbows with wealthy Rishins in their fineries, and tree elves labored everywhere, hauling, herding, and loading cargo. Despite his paltry Allanic, Jorn milled through the commotion to seek work as a ranch hand.

“Ahoy!” A bookish plains elf waved from the wharf, disrupting Anelle’s idle chatter. “Why is this dragon with you?”

“What shall we tell this one?” smirked the captain.

“Tell him we charter,” Anelle snickered, nudging Kigal for the rail.

“We’re just selling passage!” he shouted. “Anywhere you’d like to go?”

“Well, yes!” After a stiff appraisal of the crowd, the elf flagged him down to the docks. “What about... the Glades of Despair?”

The dramatics more suspicious than the elf’s odd destination, Kigal beckoned for Anelle to join them. “It’s two weeks there and four back, with no ports where we’re headed. That’s a lot of cooking, my dear.”

Scoffing, she sized up the slender elf. “You don’t eat that much, do you?”

“Actually, there are six of us,” the youth apologized, “and three of our mounts – two gryphons and a pegasus from the Sutek.”

“Oh, a Dua Dara, you say?” With a sly grin, Kigal tugged his first mate back a ways and pointed out, “I only have six beds in the hold, you know. You’d have to share the captain’s quarters with me.”

“Mother forbid we get a little alone time,” chided Anelle. “Or I could get Larin to grow a few spare beds before she goes. The pair of them need beds tonight anyway.”

“You’re no fun at all!”

“We don’t have any stables,” she warned the elf across her captain’s merry sulking. “Your mounts can stay on deck, but in weather they’d sleep in the hold with you.”

“So long as you take us there!” Exultant after a day of flat refusals, Fal’on thrust out his hand. “Name your price.”

“...defeated thane by heartstring hanged

in living wake unto the fanged...”

Leiro Nvwnle Dynde XIV:IV

2:1:2:3/5, III:IX

As the fading twilight cloaked itself in moonless night, the twin mindwarps awoke deep within Sierlyn to a long-awaited scent in the air. Drifting up on the warm south wind, the sweet stench of Haisrir’s dark magic flooded their attuned senses.

“I do believe I smell fate, brother,” rasped one shade, slithering out from the fresh carcass of a lady elf. Her milky eyes bulged in the shadows, and the wraith polished a crust of blood from her cheek, wanton fingers preening her tousled hair.

A woman’s bloated corpse oozed forth the other ethereal creature, which bunched onto its haunches and rose upright. “What better eve for that Haisrir’s arrival,” it hissed, straightening the gold mail clasped around the cadaver’s neck. “Perhaps our baron hasn’t failed us after all.”

Robes draped across slight shoulders, they settled their hoods with sharp, skeletal hands. “Indeed. The master should be greatly pleased this night.” They joined in delighted screeches, slipping from their dungeon sanctuary and downwind for the river’s mouth.

Sound asleep at the end of the scent trail, Haisrir’s dragon bobbed beside a redwood vessel. The silent mindwarps deepened the beast’s slumber and skirted along the channel for the ship, drawn by the stink of magic to the group of mortals trading stories on deck. With a grimace at the foul sea below them, the wraiths swept up the gangplank, enchanting every sleeping creature on board.

Under the starry sky, Kingard’s five companions enjoyed their first night on The Desert Rose, while Jorn and Larin celebrated their last. The speaker started at a wyvern ranch in the morning, and Kigal insisted on a memorable send-off for the lucky foreigner. Posing as adventurers after the legendary A’lara, the six new passengers spoke little of their journey, but a few shared their previous travels with the eager young settlers.

Back turned on the lot of them, Kingard gazed over the dark water while the siblings bantered and the child laughed, Vithril regaling them with the wondrous folktales of her people. The insistent ache of solitude reared in his throat, and the elf tuned out the sounds of camaraderie behind him. He’d witnessed enduring sorrows, sat vigil over countless deathbeds, and felt too many fragile hands slacken as generations slipped through his eternal fingers. Leja, what must you think of me, leading your trustful heirs to their deaths? Yet he couldn’t bring himself to defile their mirth with his confession.

A damp, rattling breath jolted Kingard to his feet, sword and dagger ringing in his hands. “Fall together!” Their ranks closed, and the gaunt shadows crested the gangplank, flickering toward them. “Don’t listen when they speak!” The other beasts motionless in their slumber, Tiena launched from the deck and hovered over the water in a panic, braying for her bonded rider.

“Don’t watch their hands or look them in the eye!” Kingard shouted over her clamor. “Hum if you have to drown them out!” Spells red on his brow, the elf cast protection over his companions, though he doubted it would last long. With the past three centuries to decrypt his magic’s pattern, the wraiths surely could unravel him by now.

“Kingard,” one grated, its words Allanic but as sibilant as Fal’on recalled. “Is that any way to greet an old friend?”

“You’re no friend of mine, Colkh’rak,” spat the elf, his dagger arm outstretched to shield his comrades. Ghosting closer, the specter twisted its long fingers through the air in strange, beautiful gestures. “Don’t watch their hands!”

“Oh, there’s no harm in it,” the shade dismissed with a wave, flowing back into its eerie dance. “Hello, beauty – we remember you.”

Rattled, Sharis glanced up and it captured her gaze, hands twirling in her direction. As she watched the elaborate display, she realized it had no power over her mind. Clearly too strong for these wraiths to manipulate, the lady elf brushed past Kingard to end their charade, ashamed she’d ever dreaded such pathetic creatures.

His sword arm knocked her backward, and she regained herself with a few wet coughs, valor bleeding back into that gruesome web of hands. “You’ll find no victim here,” blustered the shaken elf, his spells more useless than he’d feared.

Hissing in amusement, they ignored his bluff. “How did you come upon our Haisrir’s dragon?” They glided in wide arcs, herding their prey for the after-rail. “You’re a long way from home, aren’t you boy?” one accused, thrusting a finger at the runaway stablehand.

The wraith’s screechy Allanic lost on him, Jorn searched for signs of magic in its rhythmic movements but found nothing. Though he could easily snap the flimsy specters in half, Larin clasped his arm and ordered, “Stay with me.” He obliged her with a nod.

“What do you want?” Outraged by their intrusion, Kigal snarled at the shades, their contortions absurd to a mage of his caliber.

Slipping closer to negotiate, the mindwarp pleaded, “All we want is our Haisrir back, captain.”

“Your Haisrir is dead!” declared Anelle. “N-now leave us in peace.”

“Oh, is it dead?” the shadow pressed, drifting past Kigal’s lax guard to snatch Anelle up by the throat.

“You fool!” Kingard shoved the mage aside, but the group scattered into easy targets. Kicking at the wraith’s formless folds, Anelle rasped against its icy grip, peals of chilling laughter mocking her captain’s horror.

The other shade caught Larin by the hair. “And isn’t this Haisrir’s wayward bitch?”

“Our dear baron’s renegade fifth,” confirmed its brother, twisting behind Anelle and backing for the gangplank. “Bring her as well.”

Jorn tackled the rail-thin specter dragging Larin, and the creature screeched, thrashing free and flinging them both across the deck. Clutching itself in pain, it flickered to its brother’s side and howled, “That brat’s got the touch!”

“Idiot Haisrir!” shrieked the first. “It never noticed?”

“Don’t let them leave the ship!” Kingard dashed forward to block their escape. “They’ll transport once–”

A warped blade flashed from its robes, and the wraith pressed it to Anelle’s cheek to hold the elf at bay. The thin kris glinted in the moonless night, translucent where caked blood had flaked off its crystalline surface. Slipping behind the shade, Sharis crept up to slit its throat but it whirled on her, casting Anelle aside to catch the incoming dagger through a bloodless palm.

For a petrified instant, Sharis beheld the visage beneath its shadowed hood, slit pupils gleaming yellow above a lipless maw. Fal’on’s shout rang in her ears, but the abomination pulled her down the gangplank before her shock could atrophy.

“Sharis!” Kingard’s anguish joined her brother’s cries, and the two rushed for the wharf as that ghostly blade found her throat.

“Do wait for us, Kingard,” the mindwarp gloated, yanking the dagger from its hand and tossing it to the harrowed elves. “I assure you, we will be back.” The night swirled into shrieking cold, and Sharis erupted through a roiling darkness that sucked the pit from her stomach. With a deafening crack, they burst into a vast courtyard, and the imperial palace loomed black overhead as she crumpled, heaving for breath in its shadows.

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