There was no trouble on the first day, or the second, or the third. The greatest annoyance was the slow pace, but Jack chided himself for expecting otherwise. Travelling on foot at the swift and steady pace comfortable for a Hero had spoiled him.

There was some initial interest from the other members of the convoy towards the two Heroes with them, but it mostly subsided when it was revealed they had yet to even earn a Name. Neither Jack or Klessan made mention of the fact they had been graduated ahead of their classmates.

They were not the only defenders of the convoy, either. A pair of red uniformed guards, Sergeants, commanded a half dozen sell swords of average quality, and they were assigned evenly along the wagons and carts. Jack and Klessan roamed the length of it, separately. The memory of how Birch and Rosie had almost made off with the gold he was to be protecting while he socialised on his first Quest had stuck with him.

It was late in the fourth day that trouble made itself known. The wheel of one of the Traders' wagons slipped into a deep rut on the road, and its axle shattered. Progress came to a halt, and they were stuck there as repairs were made. The sun was beginning to cast an orange hue over the land by the time they were ready to move again, and they were still some distance from the closest defensible rest spot. They resumed their journey at a faster pace than before, but they would still not reach camp before nightfall.

Jack continued to make his rounds on the travelling convoy, one hand on his sword. The rapidly descending darkness was putting him ill at ease for no reason he could discern, despite the light provided by the full moon hanging low in the sky. His Will rose to flow just beneath the surface, and his weapon pulsed in time with it, like a living extension of himself.

His path crossed with Klessan at the middle of the convoy, and they paused to talk.

“You look bothered,” Klessan said, her eyes flicking over the tense set of his shoulders and the hand on his sword. “Something up?”

Jack shrugged, but shook his head. “Just a feeling.”

Klessan eyed him and frowned slightly, remembering the raid on the Guild, and the way Jack had flinched and turned in the instant before the wall had been blown apart. She loosened her whip from its loop around her torso. “I'll keep an eye out,” she said, resuming her walk along the convoy.

Jack gave her a distracted nod as they parted, trying to pin down the source of his edginess. The Guards and sell swords noticed the increased watchfulness of the Heroes and grew more alert themselves, perhaps believing the pair to have noticed something they had missed.

In the end, it saved their lives.

The caravan was passing through a tight copse of trees, the road narrowing as the canopy closed above them. All progress halted as a bloodcurdling howl pierced the night, issuing from the right of the path. No mere animal could produce a noise such as that, and all eyes snapped towards it, seeking in vain to spy whatever foul creature lurked in the darkness.

All eyes save Jack's. Instinct demanded he look up, and he did so, just in time to see a dark shape descending from the trees above him. He slipped into his wraith form without conscious thought, his insubstantial body casting an eery blue light on his surroundings. A misshapen claw, wickedly sharp, passed through his head and torso in a blow that would have cleaved him in twain had he reacted a half second slower.

A single malevolent, bestial eye looked out from a humanoid, yet undeniably canine head. Base rage clouded its features, but with a flicker of surprise at his continued existence. A snarl, and another swipe that would have strewn his guts across a nearby wagon, impossibly fast.

Jack was suddenly intimately aware that had he been a normal person or a less talented Hero, he would have been dead twice over in less than five seconds. Anger frothed forth alongside his Will, and he responded. He screamed his defiance, and a bolt of lightning pushed back the darkness. It connected squarely with his attacker's chest, blasting the creature from its feet and throwing it back towards the trees. The smoking corpse collided with a tree with enough force to crack the trunk down the middle.

There was a split second of complete and utter silence as even the trees seemed to still. Then, a chorus of eery, unearthly howls rose around them, sending the horse and oxen hitched to the carts into a panic.

“Balverines!”

Chaos reigned immediately. Merchants dashed for the transient safety of their wagons as the guard Sergeants and sell swords struggled to organise themselves amidst the panic. Dark shapes flitted through the trees, taunting and snarly. Klessan leapt atop her family's wagon, arrow nocked to her bow. She tracked a target and fired; a pained yelp rewarded her.

A pair of balverines rushed a weak spot in the caravan, seeking to overwhelm the lone sell sword defending the family taking refuge beneath their cart. The mercenary defended desperately, knowing he was seconds from a messy death and nearly suffocating under the rank breath of the beasts he fought. His sword was caught in a toughly leathered claw of one and yanked from his grasp, while the other moved in for the kill, slavering jaws open wide—and then lightning cracked and boomed, reducing the beast to a smoking corpse. There was a flash of blue light, and a blade was suddenly sticking out of the second creature's gut. The blade was yanked free and the beast dropped, spine severed, revealing one of the young Heroes to the sell sword's sight. The mercenary gave the Hero a thankful grin, before he scrambled to retrieve his sword, and received a nod in return.

There was no way to tell how many beasts assailed them. The balverines would attack and then bound away, harrying the defenders from all sides. Some were climbing through the treetops like twisted, demented monkeys, while others raced up and down the convoy, distracting the defenders from their fellows.

Balverines were one of the great menaces of Albion, a constant threat of becoming a true blight on its people. They were the reason only Heroes and fools travelled alone through the Darkwood, and had in the past overrun entire villages and hamlets.

The great balverine hunter, Scarlet Robe, had said that a balverine was driven by two urges—to feed, and to infect. In some ways, an unfortunate bitten by a balverine was more dangerous before they turned into one of the beasts themselves, for the change was not merely physical. The curse twisted their minds first, burying civilised thoughts and driving base instinct to the fore. By the time a victim had changed enough to be noticed by the wary, they had already been carriers of the curse for weeks, fully capable of infecting others—by accident or design. The physical change, when it finally occurred, was nearly an afterthought; the change was swift and vicious, mutating a human into a twisted mockery of a creature, neither human nor wolf.

Balverines and those known to be carrying their curse were to be hunted down and killed as swiftly as possible, lest they grow into their full strength and mature into the dreaded White Balverine. Only Heroes relished fighting those alpha beasts, and legend said that Scarlet Robe herself had fallen putting down thirteen of them.

There were no White Balverines here today, however, only fresh balverines. Some were very fresh indeed, Jack noted as he electrocuted one of the beasts. A memory of Klessan mentioning a vanished merchant caravan on this road a month prior rose in his mind. He would bet with grim certainty that he knew what had become of them.

Three balverines descended on Jack, working together to take down the biggest threat. The largest of the three attacked him in a flurry of claws and fangs, while the other two darted around behind him, seeking to tear out his hamstrings. Their attacks were in vain as Jack dropped into his wraith form once more, ignoring the blows that would have rent him limb from limb. He ignored the strain he could feel building behind his eyes each time he used the expression and swept through his foes, reforming between them and the wagons. He concentrated, and a pulse of pure force emanated from his person, knocking the three balverines arse over snout and several feet back. A ball of red flame was conjured in one hand and he threw it at them, turning away as it connected and exploded with a wave of heat. The balverines didn't have time to squeal as they died.

Gabe and Victor were guarding one side of their wagon with axe and sword, while Ma wielded a crossbow with fair skill above them. Klessan had been drawn away by a rush further along the convoy, leaving her family to fend off a pair of balverine. Lightning crackled in Jack's palm, and then the balverine were jerking and spasming as his Will arced between them. Gabe buried his hatchet in the skull of one while Victor sliced open the throat of the other.

They made to thank Jack, but his attention was already focused on his next target, exhilaration and adrenaline making his blood and Will sing. This was why he dreamt of becoming a Hero as a child, this was the path he would follow. He would defend those who couldn't defend themselves, and shoot lightning at the fools who would menace them.

Another balverine ran at him and he cut it down with pure swordplay, twisting around its claws and seeking its heart with his blade. The weapon seemed to snarl as it cut through the air, but surely that was a flight of fancy. He pulled his sword free and the balverine collapsed. It was less canine than most, the claws on its hands more like sharpened nails than the talons of its fellows.

An arrow whizzed past his ear, burying itself in the eye of of a beast that had been sneaking up behind him.

Jack sent an unamused stare at Klessan, feeling at his ear. His fingers came away lightly daubed with blood.

“There was a balverine behind you,” Klessan said helpfully, smirking at him. She returned her bow to her back in favour of her whip.

“...I knew it was there,” Jack said, sheathing his blade. He shook his hands out.

“Running low on magic juice yet?” Klessan asked, as they moved towards another knot of fighting.

Jack conjured a whip of fire with a grin, not bothering to correct her phrasing. “Not on your life!”

The two guard Sergeants, both solid, burly men, were pinned against the side of the largest Trader wagon by a knot of balverines. The wielded their longswords defensively, successfully keeping their attackers at bay, but while they were occupied, the less skilled sell swords were leaderless and in danger of being overrun.

Jack and Klessan fell upon the beasts attacking the Red Guards, lashing out with their whips. Klessan attacked with the razor precision her friends admired her for, slashing tendons and hamstrings with the metal tip of her whip. Jack employed less finesse, laying into them with a gutso. It was less effecting at doing lasting damage, however, and served only to gain their attention.

One of the balverines turned and charged the Heroes, ignoring its burning fur. Jack let his flaming whip dissipate and met the beast with a charge of his own. He feinted to one side, and his foe committed to meet the attack, only to find Jack's blade sliding up between its ribs to pierce its heart. A rush of hot, black blood spilled as the Hero ripped his blade free, moving on to the next one. Klessan's whip snaked over his shoulder to score a balverine's face to the bone, leaving it howling in agony.

A horrid scream drowned out the balverine, drawing Jack's eye. Further down the convoy, a pair of sell swords had been beset on all sides by a number of balverines. One of the mercenaries had been grasped hand, foot, and torso by three of the beasts—and they tore him apart in a shower of gore. His scream stopped with shocking suddenness, and then the beasts were swarming the second sell sword, burying him under their mass.

Jack's gaze met Klessan's in the heat of the fight and she nodded minutely. In the next instant his form glowed blue, and then he was at the overcome sell sword's side, balverines everywhere. The two men made eye contact for a split second, and Jack realised it was the same mercenary he had saved not minutes before.

The Hero grasped his blade as he drew on his Will, and time slowed. He went deeper into the expression than he ever had before, to the point that the balverines around him hardly seemed to be moving at all. Slowly, implacably, his blade reached out to touch the throat of the foe nearest to him. Blood leaked from the wound like molasses, and Jack felt like he was moving through it, thick and heavy. The world was slowed—but so was he.

He watched as the jaws of another beast fastened around the sell sword's shoulder, tearing flesh and gripping tight. Jack and his blade moved as one, his Will flowing from the rune on his palm to the rune on its hilt. He struck with smooth purpose, and the balverine's head was severed from its neck. Time resumed its normal march, and the surviving beasts were suddenly confronted by two of their own dead and another prey-creature in their midst. They moved to tear the Hero limb from limb, but Jack didn't give them the chance.

He blade spun, still pulsing with his Will, and this time he knew for a fact it snarled as it cut. The balverines fell, deep wounds marking their dying bodies. A warm liquid trickled over his lip, and he wiped it off with the back of his hand. It came away smeared red.

Jack ignored the blood trailing from his nose and turned back to the fight he had left Klessan in, just in time to see her dispatch the second to last balverine. The tail of her whip was curled around its neck, and she heaved on it, dragging the beast in closer. She pulled a long dagger from her belt and buried it in its eye, twisting it cruelly. Yanking it free, she uncurled her whip from its neck and turned to the last balverine, where it still tangled with the Red Guards.

As if sensing its impending death, the creature abruptly turned and fled, high tailing it towards the tree line. The Red Guards made to pursue, but were stopped by a quick word from Klessan. She leapt upon a nearby wagon, bow in hand, and strung an arrow.

The balverines were all dead or fleeing, and Jack sheathed his sword, concentrating on cutting the steady current of Will flowing into it. His vision blurred slightly, and tiny tremors wracked his frame as if his body had decided to remind him how much Will he had used all at once. He succeeded in clamping down on the connection, sluggishly trying to consider what it meant that his Will continued to flow to it even after physical contact was lost. He pushed it to the back of his mind; it could wait until he was in better shape.

There was someone at his side watching Klessan line up her shot, and the Hero blinked, having completely missed his approach. It was the sell sword he had rescued, twice. The man was pale, clutching at the messy bite wound on his shoulder. Something about the wound tugged at Jack's mind, but nothing concrete surfaced. They exchanged a nod, and then went back to watching Klessan.

She looked every inch the Hero as she stood atop the wagon, bow drawn, tracking her target, hair shifting in the night breeze. The moon left her features half in shadow, one eye shrouded in darkness, the other intent on her prey.

Klessan let out a breath, and a beat later, her arrow. It whistled through the air, and Jack was aware that every pair of eyes in the convoy not still in hiding were fixed on it.

The arrow flew true, striking the fleeing balverine at the base of its skull just as it reached the treeline. A ragged cheer rose in the night, merchants, Traders and fighters alike celebrating their survival.

Klessan lay her bow down on the wagon and thrust her arms up in victory. “Yes! Who's fucking awesome? We're fucking awesome! Someone bring me that things' head, it's going on my wa—oof.”

The balverine had come from out of nowhere, springing from the darkness. It tackled Klessan like a spear, and her body arced as they flew through the air. They disappeared over the far side of the wagon, out of sight.

Some shouted in dismay, but Jack roared his outrage, his will to fight and kill rekindled. He dragged the remains of his Will back to the surface and made to drop back into his wraith form—only to stumble and fall as his Will failed him. His vision turned grey around the edged, and blood an afresh from his nose, and his eyes. He ignored the blood and dragged his sword from its sheath, regaining his balance to race drunkenly around the wagon. He could hear the struggle between his friend and the balverine; snarling, grunting, pained whelps.

After an eternity, he rounded the wagon and saw Klessan pinned beneath the beast. He made ready to lunge forward and impale it, only to pause as he realised what he was seeing. The balverine lay atop Klessan, but it was facing up, its claws scrabbling at its throat—at the balverine leather whip Klessan was garroting it with. There was blood on her face, and her bared teeth stood out in the darkness.

The balverine's struggled began to slow, and Jack stood back, leaving Klessan to take her victory. The beast stilled at last, and Klessan lifted it off herself, sliding out from under it. She unwound her whip from its neck and dragged her dagger across its throat, messily ensuring it was dead.

“That head, I want that one,” Klessan said, eyes closed, taking great gulps of air as she knelt on the ground. “It's going on my wall.” She made no move to get up.

Jack just laughed, relieved that Klessan was mostly uninjured. The blood on her face issued from a cut that stretched from the corner of her right eye to the corner of her mouth, and without a skilled healer like Duran present, would earn her a wicked scar.

There was movement behind him, and Jack turned to see Gabe and Victor rush around the wagon. They wore their relief openly, relieved to see Klessan alive and well, but they blanched when they looked to Jack and saw the blood trails leaking from his eyes and nose.

“Klessan wants the damn thing's head,” he told them, starting to sway. “Someone be a gentleman and decapitate it?” he asked woozily. Then he collapsed, out of it before he hit the ground.

X

Jack came to slowly; the first sensation he could feel was that of his Will thrumming through his veins like waves lapping at an island shore. After a moment, the feeling subsided, as if his Will had just been letting him know it was recovered.

He was moving, or rather, being moved, as he could feel the rocking and jostling of a wagon on the road beneath him. He lay on a mattress and was covered by a light sheet. There was a hint of a breeze on his face, and it was bright out, although he was shaded from the sun. Someone was talking within earshot, and given that his eyelids weren't listening when he told them to open, he attempted to listen in.

“..I checked on him a few minutes ago, and he was still sleeping. It's only mid morning, so I'm not worried yet. Jack was always a tough one.”

There was a pause, and Jack realised that the person speaking was Klessan.

“you worry too much, Duran. The bleeding stopped pretty quickly, and he had been throwing lightning around like candy, as well as using his glowy assassin form of death every other moment. His magic will be fine, I don't know why you're so worried about it. Did something happen while the pair of you were up in the mountains?”

There was another brief pause.

“I know that's not what the thing is called you big oaf, but he's not awake to hear me, is he? And if you didn't want to tell me, just say so.”

Another pause.

“Mmhmm. Uh huh. Bullshit! Anyway. That's some sword you made for him. Cleanest cuts I've ever seen. Went through bone like nothing. And did you know he has a bag that's bigger on the inside? There's a faerie skull in it.”

Jack began to focus on trying to open his sleep-gummed eyes.

“Of course I looked through his stuff! I ran out of bandages and I was hoping he had some. Plus I wanted to know how he was travelling around Albion without any gear.”

Jack managed to open one eye, and started to work on the other.

“I'll talk to you later Dee, someone whose life I saved last night is looking upset that I've stopped doing my rounds, so I'm going to check on Jack again. Good luck with those Foxy people!”

A moment later, Klessan stuck her head through the flaps covering the wagon Jack lay in. She was greeted by a bleary stare, and she smiled brightly when she saw he was awake.

“Morning, sunshine! How are you feeling?” Klessan asked, far too cheerfully in Jack's opinion.

“Hrnghk.”

“Well, you were bleeding from your eyes and your nose last night,” she told him, as if he'd said something remotely intelligible.

“Hunghky,” Jack said, trying to force his vocal cords to work.

“I blasted you with a healing expression as best I could and forced one of your Will fortifying potions down your throat,” Klessan said, clambering into the wagon fully and sitting near his feet. “you know, I thought for aaages that those things were an easy way of refilling your Will reserves.”

“Nnn suchthing.”

“Well, I know that now,” the brunette said, rolling her eyes. “But I never chewed through my Will to the point of needing a stop gap to avoid the risk of death,” she said, staring at him pointedly. “And from what Duran said, you're beginning to make a habit of it.”

“Hungry. Food,” Jack said, ignoring her perfectly valid concern.

“Sheesh. Already demanding,” Klessan said, smiling. “I'll see if there's any breakfast left over.” She began to climb out of the wagon, before pausing and looking back. “I'm glad you're all right, Jack,” she said quietly.

Jack managed a small grin, and freed an arm from the sheets to give her a feeble thumbs up. Klessan rolled her eyes at him again and disappeared from sight.

A short while later, food arrived, borne by a young dark haired girl who looked to be Jack's junior. She blushed when she met his eyes upon climbing into the wagon, and her lips quirked in amusement when his stomach rumbled on smelling the cooked ham and cheese she carried on a wooden tray.

Jack propped himself up against the side of the wagon with some effort and gestured impatiently for the food. It smelled mouthwatering, hungry as he was. He gave a brusque thanks as the girl handed it over. Their fingers brushed, and the girl yanked her hands back as if burned, but Jack was too intent on his meal to notice or care. He practically inhaled it, washing it down with water from a tall wooden cup.

“Is there more?” Jack asked of the girl.

“I'll check, sir Hero,” the girl said, swallowing nervously, before disappearing through the wagon cover flaps, tray and cup in hand.

As she left, Jack caught a glimpse of outside. Blue skies and open fields peeked in, a vivid contrast to the dark woods and battle of the previous night. More surprising was the trio of children craning their necks to catch a glimpse inside the wagon—of him. The flaps fell closed and he heard the girl shooing them away.

He was on the verge of falling asleep again when the girl returned scant minutes later, although it felt like much longer. He set about eating at a more measure pace this time; slowly enough to actually taste what he ate, anyway.

More awake now, and his hunger sated, the covered wagon started to feel stifling. A headache was brewing inside his skull, and the looks the girl was shooting him from under her lashes weren't helping matters. He kicked the sheets off awkwardly and rose to his knees only for a sudden unsteadiness came over him; he swayed.

The girl, whose names he still had not learned, steadied him with a hand against his bare chest. A distant part of his brain noted that he should probably be more interested in the well endowed young woman making no secret of her interest in him. Like the adulation he received for a successful Quest, however, he found the fantasy to be more than the reality.

But that was only a distant part of his mind. He was more preoccupied with the pounding headache at the front of his brain, as he crawled towards the exit and near on tumbled out of the wagon. A gentle breeze greeted him; cool relief against his bare torso after the stuffy wagon.

The convoy was still moving, and he stepped to the side of the trail they followed, allowing the other carts and wagons to pass him by. He was barefoot and unarmed, but his Will was recovered, and that was all he needed.

The girl was hovering anxiously, and the merchants and families driving the wagons or walking alongside them looked over to him curiously, but Jack's focus was elsewhere. White light suffused his hands, and he held them to his temples. What Duran called his 'clumsy, brute force, cheat of a healing expression' took effect, easing the pressure behind his eyes.

“Jack, you great moose,” Klessan said, making her presence known with a bump against his shoulder. “I thought I told you to take it easy on the magic.”

“No, you didn't,” Jack said, shaking his head. He felt much better already.

“Oh,” Klessan said, blinking. “Well, you should. Duran said so. Healer's orders.”

Jack rolled his eyes. “I'm fine. Why'd you bother talking to Duran?” And why did Duran think Will use was a bad idea for him?

Klessan rubbed her chin, mock thoughtful. “Offhand, I'd say it was the way you had blood streaming from your eyes and nose.”

A queasy look came over Jack's face. “Really,” he said, more a statement than a question.

“You don't remember?” Klessan asked.

“I remember throwing a lot of Will around,” Jack said. They began to keep pace with the convoy, and Klessan jerked her head at the girl who still hovered nearby. She hesitated for a moment, then dashed off.

“It was a little badass, actually,” Klessan said. “According to the merchants' gossip, anyway. I thought it was an alright effort.” She affected a disinterested look, examining a nail.

Jack smiled at his friend. “You weren't so bad yourself, or so I hear.”

Klessan shrugged, falsely modest. “I don't know to boast, but I may have kicked enormous amounts of balverine arse.” Then she crinkled her nose in distaste. “Ugh. I love the smell of horse shit in the morning.”

Jack frowned, taking in a breath. “I can't smell anything,” he said.

“You can't smell that at all?” Klessan asked, her expression concerned.

“Well, I was bleeding from my nose last night,” Jack said, shrugging as if unconcerned.

“That's a little bit serious, Jack. You might have had a brain bleed.”

“Brain bleed?” Jack asked.

“it happened to my cousin when I was young. He fell on the rocks and hit his head; when he woke up he had to learn how to speak again. The medicine woman said it was a brain bleed,” Klessan explained, chewing on her lip.

“I didn't take any head wounds last night,” Jack said. “The balverines didn't even lay a claw on me, actually.”

“Someone made you bleed,” Klessan pointed out.

“It wouldn't have been—ah,” Jack said, breaking off as a thought occurred to him.

Klessan watched her friend as he thought fingers twitching subconsciously and a faraway look in his eyes. They had all held their areas of superiority at the Guild, and Jack's was incontestably Will. There was a reason for that.

“I need to talk to Maze,” Jack muttered a moment later. “Or skip ahead in his book.”

Klessan cleared her throat, looking meaningfully at Jack.

“What? Oh,” Jack said, blinking. “I think I know what caused the bleeding. I hope, anyway.”

“You think it was something you did, then?” Klessan asked, as they passed the wagon Jack had recovered in.

“With luck, otherwise I've no idea. But I'm pretty sure my expression of slowed perception reacted badly with my wraith expression,” Jack explained. He offered a nod to Trader Bob as the man managed his team of horses and received one in return.

“That can happen?” Klessan asked, both eyebrows raised.

“Apparently. It's not something Apprentices are warned about, so it can't be all that common.”

“Or maybe they don't expect fresh Heroes to be throwing around as much Will as you are,” Klessan said dryly.

“Either way, I'll have to talk to Maze,” Jack said, shrugging. “What happened to all my gear?”

“I picked through it for the best stuff and dumped the rest,” Klessan told him, straight faced.

Jack poked his tongue out at her, and she flicked his ear in response.

“It's all in Ma's wagon,” Klessan said, more seriously, retying the messy ponytail her hair was in as she spoke. “Your shirt, gloves, boots and bracers I put into that magic pouch of yours, but your sword wouldn't fit in no matter how much I took out. Gabe is keeping an eye on it; I think they're closer to the front of the convoy.”

“Thanks,” Jack said, stretching a kink out of his back. He was quiet for a moment, looking out over the rolling fields and wind swept waves of tall grass they travelled through. “That last balverine put the terror of Skorm in me,” he said at length.

Klessan let out an explosive breath. “It scared the piss out of me too! I've been laughing if off with anyone who asks, but blooded Avo, I was not expecting it,” she said.

“Good story for the Bards though,” Jack said, grinning. “Garroting a gorram balverine. Did you end up getting its head?”

“That's true!” Klessan said, face brightening. “And yeah, Gabe hacked it off for me. Someone found the one you decapitated and kept it, too. The Traders said they'd have a taxidermist take care of them for us.”

Jack grinned, thinking of the trophies he was already accumulating—the fancy throwing dagger, the shards of troll eye, the faerie skull, and now the balverine head. Soon, he would have to find somewhere to put his growing collection of trophies. Then a less welcome thought occurred to him, and he frowned. “What happened to the sell sword I saved? He and another fellow were swarmed.”

Klessan tilted her head, looking at him sideways. “Younger man? Black hair, leather armour?”

“Think so. Sounds right,” Jack said.

“He was bitten, Jack. You cut the beasts head off as it teeth were buried in his shoulder.”

Jack fell silent, remembering the scant few seconds of contact he had had with the man. He had seemed like a decent fellow. “What was his name?”

“Scarborough, I think.”

There was a heavy pause.

“Fucking balverines.”

“Yeah,” Klessan said. There wasn't much more you could say. “He went with the wagon that turned back for Oxtooth Hold. Said he had family there.”

“He's still alive then?” Jack asked intently.

“A balverine's bite has no cure, Jack,” Klessan said. She watched him with sharp eyes, knowing exactly what path his thoughts were taking. “Heroes have searched and failed before.”

“None of those Heroes were me, were they?” Jack said with uncharacteristic heat and pride.

“Even if you started searching for a cure at this very moment, what do you think your chances are of succeeding in the next week or three before he succumbs to the curse?” Klessan asked. She stopped in her tracks, forcing Jack to stop and face her.

Jack crossed his arms over his chest. “I might,” he said. “Stranger things have happened.”

“You can't hold yourself responsible for this,” Klessan said, looking very much like she wanted to throw her hands up in the air.

“Who said I was?” Jack said, walking with the convoy once more.

“I do,” Klessan said, stepping quickly to catch up. “And I'm older, so listen to my sagely wisdom.”

“Yes elder,” Jack said, mockingly.

Klessan flicked him on the ear. “You realise that this entire caravan is alive thanks to us? The Guards and sell swords alone would never have been enough to drive the balverines off.”

“They might have.”

“Ugh, you're acting like one of my brothers,” Klessan said. “You became a Hero to protect people, right? Thanks to us, not a single person who couldn't defend themselves was hurt last night. If you're gonna beat yourself up over every person who gets hurt working with you, your Hero career will be a long and shitty one.”

The two Heroes were silent for a time after Klessan's words. It was rare for her to get worked up in such a manner, and so Jack turned her words over carefully.

They had nearly reached the head of the convoy when Jack spoke again. “Just so you know, speaking sense this time doesn't make you wise.”

Klessan smiled, pleased that she had managed to talk sense into her friend. “I'm pretty sure it does,” she said. “And I'm going to tell Duran and Whisper about how wise I must be for you to listen to me next time I see them.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing. Just that your Hero Name should Stubborn Jack. Or Jack the Stubborn. Jack McStubborn...”

Their conversation devolved into a squabble familiar to anyone who had known them even in passing at the Guild. Jack's thoughts lingered, however, on the sell sword with only weeks to live. Had it been Klessan who had been bitten, he knew he would not have let things go nearly so easily.

X

“This'll be where we part ways then,” Trader Bob said to the two Heroes. They stood at a literal crossroads; Klessan's family continuing to the coast while the Traders were turning south. “As agreed, five gold coin for your services, and free passage for yours,” he said, speaking first to Jack and then to Klessan. “I'll have the balverine heads posted to your Guild when they're done.”

Jack caught the thrown pouch reflexively, not entirely sure the Trader was being serious. He deliberately didn't look at Klessan.

“I bid you good day,” the Trader said, taking up the reigns of his wagon. “Gee-yup!”

They watched as the caravan passed them by, quickly drawing away.

Jack was the first to speak. “There are only five gold coins in this pouch,” he said flatly.

At his side, Klessan was ropeable. “Free passage? Is he fucking kidding me? I saved his bloody hide!”

“Them's the deals you made,” Ma said, unsympathetic. “Can't expect a Trader to part with coin he don't have to.”

“Skorm stricken miser,” Jack said. He reached into his bag, seeking his money pouch. “Hope his moustache turns grey and falls off.”

“Set fire to his stupid feather,” Klessan muttered to herself. “Jack I need you to teach me how to breathe fire. You can do that, right?”

Jack ignored her, instead handing over two gold pieces and five silver. “Here. We'll split it.”

“No, I can't take it,” Klessan said.

“I don't want it all after he didn't give you squat,” Jack said, scowling.

“Keep it. I don't want it.”

“Dammit Klessan--”

“If no one wants it, I'll take it,” Gabe said, making an exaggerated motion to take the coins in Jack's hand.

“I'll take it,” Klessan said, taking the coins quickly. She glared at her brother, but missed his smirk as she muttered to herself under her breath.

“River Lady will see to him, don't you worry,” Ma said. “It's time we were on the road.”

“Do you want to keep with us, Jack?” Klessan asked.

Jack turned to face his friend, eyebrow raised in question.

“It's not that I don't pine after your company, it's just that there is really nothing for a Hero to do in my village except hope for a kraken attack,” Klessan said, answering his unasked question.

“Don't forget the interfering old aunts trying to marry you off--”

“Master Jack. This is your Guildmaster. Kindly report back to the Guild post haste. There is a Quest awaiting your attention.”

“--pump you for grandchildren,” Victor finished, sounding disgruntled.

Jack blinked, confused by the strange overlay of conversations. “Uh,” he said, eloquently.

“Who was that?” Klessan asked, recognising what had happened. “Duran? Whisper?”

“Guildmaster, actually,” Jack said. “He wants me to come back to the Guild for a Quest.”

Klessan raised an eyebrow. “Oh?” she said. “You were requested specifically?”

“I'm...not sure, actually,” Jack said, frowning. “He just said there was a Quest waiting for me.”

Gabe and Victor took the opportunity to check over the oxen, while Ma continued to listen in unabashedly.

“Guildmaster say what the Quest was about?” Klessan said, rolling one shoulder.

“No. Just said there was a Quest waiting for me,” Jack said. He rested a gloved hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Sounds like it could be fun,” Klessan said. “You'll have to tell me how it goes.”

“I'll be sure to tell you all about the kick arse trophy I take,” Jack said, smirking at his friend.

“Oh, goody. It'll be a pleasant diversion from the bustle of village life,” Klessan said. She pulled a face.

“You could always come back to the Guild with me,” Jack said, quickly. “Take a Quest or two of your own.”

Klessan grimaced. “I would, but I need to spend some time with my family first.” Tellingly, she didn't look over to her mother as she spoke. “I'll start taking proper Quests soon.”

Jack managed to refrain from scowling at her words. Whisper's brother was outright training her, but Duran and Klessan's families seemed to want them to settle down and make their lives easier.

He did scowl at that thought; things weren't at all like that. Duran's clan were at odds with their rivals, and Klessan's mother genuinely wanted to spend time with her only daughter. If he was being honest with himself, he would consider the chance that he wished for his own family to make demands on his time—but he had learned long ago that to think on what might have been lead only to pain, and he rarely cared to revisit those old memories.

Jack didn't voice any of those thoughts, however. “You should spend some time with your family,” he said, “and I'll make you the same deal I made with Duran. If we haven't caught up by Skormdron's Eve, all of us, then we'll make a point of meeting up and taking a great Quest together.”

A quick flash of guilt crossed Klessan's face at first, but she was smiling by the time Jack had finished speaking. “I'll hold you to that, Jack,” she said. Impulsively, she stepped forward and wrapped him in a tight hug, chin on his shoulder. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”

“No promises,” Jack said, returning the hug. They separated, and he eyes his overly enthusiastic, curly haired friend. “Try not to go looking for any kraken nests.”

“No promises,” Klessan said back to him.

Jack raised a hand in farewell to Klessan's family, sparing a nod for Klessan herself. He turned back down the road he had just travelled, setting himself a brisk pace. The Guildmaster, and a Quest, waited.

X x X

It was just on dusk, five days later, that Jack approached the great double doors of the Guild of Heroes. The lanterns on the road leading to them had been lit, and there were several small merchant stalls just closing up for the night.

Jack shouldered one of the heavy doors open slightly, slipping into the high vaulted antechamber that was the Map Room of the Guild. He surveyed the room as the door behind him closed; it was mostly empty, with only a single Instructor dealing with a lingering client. The Trainees and Apprentices would be gathered in the eating hall or completing their out of class study, while their Instructors would be preparing for the next day of training or taking a well deserved break. The lingering client departed at length, and the Instructor gave a sigh of relief.

“Excuse me,” Jack said, approaching the woman. “Could you direct me to the Guildmaster?”

The white robed woman looked pained. “I'm sorry, but the Guildmaster is no longer—wait, you're not a client, are you?”

“No, I'm a Hero like yourself,” Jack said with a bit of a grin. He still got a buzz out of introducing himself as a Hero.

The woman smiled at his pleased demeanor, and Jack was struck by a nagging sense of familiarity. “You'll be Jack, then?” she asked.

Jack nodded, trying to place the woman. He couldn't recall ever being taught by her.

“Guildmaster would like to see you in his office,” she told him. “He said you would be here tonight.”

“Did he tell you what this was about?” Jack asked, not really expecting an answer. “I only know there is a Quest for me.”

“I think it's to do with the raid on the Guild,” the woman told him. “Not that we're making a big deal of it until we have the heads of those responsible, you hear.”

Jack nodded his understanding, even as he recalled why the woman was familiar. She had been present during the raid, and had been knocked down by the second explosion after the wall had been blown apart. One of the grey armoured raiders had slit her throat as she lay on the ground; he could make out a faint white scar. “We've found who did it then?” he asked.

“I couldn't say,” the Instructor said. “Guildmaster only told me a little.”

Jack thanked her and took his leave, making his way through familiar passages to the Guildmaster's office. He glanced out a stained glass window as he passed it, towards Maze's tower. The tower windows were unlit; the archmage must have been out on personal business or a rare Quest.

A pair of Trainees dashed past him, shooting envious and admiring glances at his sword and the iron bracers he wore. He ran a critical eye over the Guild issued white shirt and brown trousers he wore. He really should invest in some decent armour, or better clothes. It wasn't like he lacked for funds after the slightly lucrative windfall of his first Quest. His path took him past the room he had shared with Whisper for years, and he realised with a start that it had not yet been filled with a new pair of Trainees—his classmates were still only Apprentices, gearing up for their final examinations. It was a bizarre feeling. He felt like he had been a Hero for a year already, when in truth it had yet to be a full month.

Th door to the Guildmaster's office was closed when he approached it; he knocked a swift pattern on it and entered after a murmur invited him in. The Guildmaster greeted him with a nod, poring over some papers on his dark wooden desk, almost overflowing with scrolls and knick knacks. The office was a library unto itself, stone walls hidden from sight by tall shelves that each looked to have been carved out of a single piece of wood. All were full to the point of being overburdened, save one in the corner of the room, almost hidden by the scrolls and tomes from the shelves on either side of it. A small hunk of unusually shiny metal, a cracked Guild Seal, a lock of red hair, and a vial of what looked like blood—trophies.

For a moment, Jack was caught up in fantasy of the stories behind the trophies the Guildmaster deemed to be worth displaying. He focused, however, when he realised he was not the only guest in the Guildmaster's office. Whisper sat at a high backed chair in her dress armour of greens and blues, impatiently tapping a stylised steel rod against her leg.

Whisper turned to face him as he approached the spare chair beside her. “You took your time, farm boy,” she said. “You get lost, did you?”

“No, I came across a city girl in distress and had to help her,” Jack said, taking a seat. “You can imagine how much effort that was.”

“Children,” the Guildmaster said, cutting across them. His moustache twitched in amusement. “Thank you for coming.”

Jack shrugged, while Whisper nodded. When the Guildmaster called, you answered.

“With luck, the Quest I am tasking you with will be a short one,” the elder said, steepling his fingers. “But first, I would ask if you have given any thought to the raid on the Guild.”

“I have been more focused on training with my brother more than anything,” Whisper admitted.

Jack just shook his head. He had assumed that the raid on the Guild would be dealt with the same way previous attacks had been—a group of Heroes would be chosen to hunt down those responsible and kill them with little fanfare. In such cases, the Guild preferred to let the results speak for themselves. He frowned as a thought occurred to him.

“Is this what this is?” Jack asked. “Have you found out who was behind the raid?”

“An astute observation, but only partially correct,” the Guildmaster said. “Tell me, do you know anything about the raiders themselves? Recognise their armour, or language perhaps?”

Jack and Whisper shared a glance. The armour common to different parts of Albion had been a pet interest of Duran's, but it was Whisper who had been fascinated by knowledge of all the cultures recorded in the Guild library. He nodded for her to go ahead.

“I've never read of any culture like them,” Whisper said, surprising her friend. “But given their appearance...they come from somewhere cold, but not Hook Coast or the Northern Wastes. They might hail from even further north, few explorers have ever travelled beyond Archon's Folly, so...” she trailed off under the penetrating stare of the Guildmaster.

“Go on,” Weaver said, motioning for her to continue.

Whisper cleared her throat. “So I would say they came form beyond that, but we have never made contact with a civilisation that far away, since the time of the Old Kingdom, at least.”

“Even then,” Jack said. “There was a nation to the west that the Old Kingdom traded with, but they were the most distant.”

Whisper nodded, taking his word for it. “This is all just guesswork, Guildmaster,” she said, fidgeting slightly. “They could have been a group of Snowspire circus tumblers for all I know.”

“Your reasoning is sound,” the Guildmaster said, “but you lack the information needed to draw the correct conclusions.”

“Where are they from then, sir?” Jack asked. He was curious, but not overly interested.

“South. Far, far to the south,” Weaver said. “They are a raiding culture, sustaining themselves on the spoils taken from neighbouring peoples.”

“How did they come to Albion?” Whisper asked. “It is surely a great journey.”

“And why attack the Guild?” Jack added. “As far inland as we are, there are plenty of easier targets all along the coast,” he said, thinking of Oakvale, isolated by Darkwood, far to the south.

“They were carried here by a powerful ocean current, aboard three large ships the likes of which have not been seen by these shores for an age,” the Guildmaster told them. “They attacked the Guild because they were told it was a source of great treasure.”

There was a brief moment of disbelieving silence, and then the two young Heroes attempted to ask a hundred questions as once. The Guildmaster held up a hand for silence, and they quieted—briefly.

“Where did you learn all this?” Whisper asked.

“One of the Wiccermen, as they call themselves, was unfortunate to be taken captive,” Weaver said, pronoucning the name with a hard 'c'. “Their interrogation was most fruitful.”

“Who set them on the Guild then?” Jack asked, leaning forward in his seat. “And why?”

“Alas, my captive was not informed. Such details were kept from the common men,” Weaver said, glancing at one of the files on his desk. “However, the body of their leader was not found amongst the corpses.”

An anticipatory gleam shone in Whisper's eyes. “This Quest, then...”

The Guildmaster smiled slightly, tipping his head towards them. “Indeed,” he said. “From the mind of their captain, we shall divine the identity of those who would seek to attack us, and how they came into contact with the Wiccermen.”

The plan sounded promising, Jack thought, and yet... “Why us, sir?” he asked of their elder. “We were Apprentices only a month ago. Surely there are others you could have chosen,” he said reluctantly.

Whisper frowned at him, but seemed interested in the answer herself.

“Unfortunately, we do not have a certain location for the remaining Wiccermen,” Weaver said. “What we do have is the camp from which they launched their attack. It is abandoned now, but there are only so many places nearby that such a force might hide,” the elder Hero said. “The pair of you will be investigating but one of these, by virtue of your prior experience fighting them.”

“We may not even get to fight them then,” Whisper said, disappointed.

The Guildmaster chuckled. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. You would be well served by proceeding under the assumption that you will, however.”

“Yes sir,” Whisper said.

“That will be all for tonight,” the Guildmaster told them. “You may pick up the Quest card with the details in the morning. Until then, I believe your old room has yet to be filled, and dinner is still being served in the dining hall.”

Jack and Whisper rose, each giving the man who had watched over much of their childhood a slight bow. “Thank you sir,” Jack said, speaking for the both of them.

The Guildmaster watched them go, waiting for the door to close before retrieving a file hidden under a stack of books. He looked it over one more time, considering the details of the Wiccermen encampment his scouts had found. Their numbers should prove little trouble for the two promising young Heroes he had long kept an eye on.

Mentoring skilled young Heroes was old hat for the Hero they called Weaver; the real trick was doing so without letting such attention go to their heads. If doing so meant speaking several small fictions...well.

Another thread was prepared, waiting to be woven into the larger pattern.