Rook was in love. No matter how many promises he made to rakishness, no matter how many vows he swore to debauchery, when he told Eris he was interested only in her body, he was lying. Every time.

He tried staying apathetic. He tried sating his lust with her when they found the time, then accepting that there would be nothing further. And it worked, maybe, for a few seconds as they laid together in the cold of night, but no longer. What he didn’t understand was how she cuddled in that same time. Those few moments where he wasn’t obsessed with her seemed to be the only moments Eris showed any interest in him at all.

They did talk. They flirted, sometimes, though they still hadn’t been reunited long. But usually only after sex, rarely before, and there was nothing more than that. When Rook gathered everyone to tell stories and eat dinner at the campfire, she would always, invariably, be absent. He hated that so much.

“I stuck the boar,” Astera said one night. “My father had lent me his spear.”

“Just like that?” Rook said. The crickets were deafening; he shifted nearer the flame, yet even as his companions’ voices became clearer, he felt Eris’ absence more sharply than ever.

Astera nodded. “My…partner, Alanta, finished the beast with her sword. We often hunted together. I have since learned to hunt alone, of course.” She motioned down at their current meal.

“Good for it, or we would be long since starved,” Rook said. He glanced to Robur, who was squinting at a set of notes in the darkness. “What about you, Robur? You must have stories to tell.”

“Me?” Robur said. He looked befuddled and terrified to be singled out. “No.” The answer was utterly sincere.

Rook laughed, surprised. “Not a one?”

“You must have some from your time with Eris, at least,” Astera said.

He shrugged. “Perhaps, but—I am not accustomed to telling stories.”

“Everyone tells stories sometimes,” Rook said.

“Not me and Eris.”

Somehow Rook could believe it. Yet Astera raised her eyebrows, saying, “In a full year? Did you ever speak?”

“We spoke. But…she never mentioned the two of you, for example.”

Rook grimaced. How long had it been before he told Jason about Eris, after they met in that cell? An hour? Maybe two? But that’s what love looked like. He had convinced himself that Eris was deceiving herself, that she was suppressing her true feelings for him, but he wondered then if he was mistaken.

Yet he was resolute to not allow himself to be deceived. He realized, and had realized since months before she left him, that he was in love, even as he was full aware that the object of that love was a cruel, evil, selfish, cynical, sarcastic, catty, irritating, beautiful, leggy, porcelain minx, and that no matter how well he knew he should turn her away every night she came to him, he was so desperate to touch her that he could do nothing of the kind.

It was precisely because she was so horrible that she was so easy to love. One, because her selfishness made her an excellent partner; two, because he felt certain that if he could only show her warmth, show her compassion, show her that there was more to the world than power and independence, then maybe she might be somehow turned off her destructive path; and three, because however terrible her personality, she was still fun to talk to, when talk they did talk. Never stupid or dull, always with something to say, and never willing to roll over.

Well. Sometimes willing to roll over. But not usually in public or during daytime.

She also looked like an elf. That was a large point in her favor. Had she looked like an ogre Rook doubted he would feel the same way. He wondered if that made him shallow, and he decided it did, but then shallowness was one of many reasons why Eris was so fun.

Rytus was beautiful in spring, too, but Rook found little delight in the scenery. Even after a long winter his heart hardly warmed in the mild sun, at the sight of so much sprawling green. He found himself in an uncharacteristically bitter mood as they moved down from the hills toward Kaimas.

He didn’t realize why until they were hardly a day away from the town. Then he remembered. Rytus was where he had spent so much time learning to love Aletheia. He hadn’t been here since her death; now every tree, every sign, every cobblestone in every road reminded him of her.

All the more reason to deal with the Manawyrm quickly.

“I believe there’s a town called Kaimas on the shore,” Robur said. “I visited it on my way to Nanos. We should stop there and prevision.”

Rook, Astera, and Eris took a collective breath.

“We spent several months in Kaimas two years ago,” Rook said. “I doubt they have forgotten us.”

“It would be best if we did not return,” Astera agreed.

“I see,” Robur said. “Perhaps I could visit while the rest of the party lingered—”

“You’ve traveled with Eris too much. You might be recognized as one of her companions,” Rook said. “The risk is too great. We can forage and continue to hunt until the wyrm is dealt with.”

“What precisely happened in Kaimas?”

“So long ago. How can one be asked to remember?” Eris said. “As I recall, buildings were burned down and an old cheese was spoiled. We were mistaken, most unjustly, for the arsonists, before being driven out of town by an angry mob.”

“We also let loose a plague of bugbears,” Astera said.

“Well,” Eris said, “Zydnus did. We can hardly be blamed. Nevertheless Rook is correct.” She looked at him with a grin. She always looked at him that way now, like she had something evil planned, or like she was in on some secret. “‘Tis too risky to venture anywhere near that forsaken town. We go directly to the mines.”

Only a few seconds passed before Robur stopped them again.

“We will need enchanted weapons to kill a manawyrm,” he said.

Astera drew the Seeker’s sword. It was long, one-handed, with flared quillons and a leaf-shaped blade. “We have one already. I can feel the mana in the fuller, etched to defeat demons.”

“How conveniently dropped for us,” Eris said. “No doubt Lukon will be back to retrieve it presently. But for now it should suffice. Rook?”

He drew his weapon. The Korakos sword was beautifully crafted: the finest wootz steel, a pommel in the shape of a crow’s head. It was his only possession. There was some truth to the notion that he valued it above his own life; it represented his family’s legacy, and as such so much more than any one son.

He shrugged.

“It’s an important sword,” he said. “That means it’s magic.”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Astera said.

“There is an easy way to check,” Eris said, glancing to Robur.

Robur closed his eyes for a moment. When they opened again, they glowed bright green. He took the sword from Rook’s grip and glanced it over. “Fascinating. It’s very subtle, but I believe the sword bears the traces of plastic aether.”

That meant nothing to Rook, except that the sword was important—which he knew already. “What does that mean?”

“…I do not know,” Robur admitted. “I was taught to identify much that I do not understand entirely.”

“Plastic aether is the substance the Dwarves use to fashion their artifacts in manaforges,” Eris said. “It is magic given physical shape, transformed into elements of the earth by the will of a Forgemagister.”

Rook retrieved his sword and spun it in a windmill. “So will it cut a demon?”

“I have no idea,” Eris admitted, “but it is not entirely mundane, so it may.”

He frowned at her. “You just admitted you didn’t know a fact of magic.”

Her mouth opened for a moment, before snapping shut in disgust. “I believe it will, yet when it comes to the matter of your life and death, it is good for you to know that I am not certain, no? It would be awkward indeed if you strode into battle with a sword that did not work.”

He gave her a grin, putting his blade away and clapping her shoulder. He was elated in that moment, because he thought he caught her expressing real concern for his safety.

“My sword has never failed to work before, as you know. It rises to all sorts of new challenges of late. I have confidence.”

When he turned to instruct the party to move on, he noticed Robur distracted. He was looking at Pyraz. Rook thought nothing of it.

“I remember the way to the mines,” he said. “We should be there by tomorrow morning.”

Eris was beneath his blanket. They were both undressed. This time, even after satisfaction came, he found himself dazzled by the feeling of holding an arm around her body, of keeping her close.

But he had only one thought eating away at him, and he had to say it.

“You should’ve told me about the wyrm,” he said.

She nuzzled closer against him. “Must we now?”

“Yes.”

She sighed. A long delay. Then, “If you recall, you were the one who wished to retreat after the battle with the lizardmen. You would have encountered the wyrm yourself, were it not for your rank cowardice.”

He turned his head to look at her. She was smiling at him. This was how Eris flirted.

“That isn’t quite how I remember it,” Rook said. He thought back for a moment. He killed the Lizardman chief. He was impaled through the bicep. He demanded they leave… “Or maybe it is. Still, you might have told me.”

“And what would you have thought, I wonder, when I informed you I had made an arrangement with a demon that lived in a cave full of Manastone and commanded the religious devotion of a pack of lizards?”

“I would have told you to reconsider, and we might not find ourselves in this awkward position today.”

“I rather like this awkward position, don’t you?”

“Was it worth your magic?”

She hesitated. “What a curious thing to ask, when I can so easily have both. When, in fact, I soon will have both, your body and my magic.” Her hand tugged at his hair.

Rook shook his head. “You made a deal with a demon behind our backs. Literally, as it happened. I’m not angry, but it warrants discussion.”

“This word ‘deal’ suggests a mutual agreement. I deceived the Manawyrm into granting me its power. You may disapprove all you wish, but do not treat me like a rogue demoniac. I thought I could control the wyrm better than I have proved able; yes, rake me over the coals for it. May we move on?”

They had been playful until now. Now the mood shifted. Even with their skin still touching, everything became much darker.

Rook felt very strangely. He loved this woman, but he couldn’t believe she would do something so careless. So utterly without regard for her own safety. That was what upset him—more than notions of betrayal or deceit. He hated that she did this to herself. He wanted to chastise her for it and nearly did, but of course he knew no good would come of that. He tried to choose language that would appeal to her selfishness.

“I need you alive for when we face Arqa. A Manawyrm in your body won’t do. I want to know I can trust you to be more careful, once your powers are restored.”

“Yes, yes. Very careful.”

“No. Eris—” Rook hesitated. He knew she wouldn’t like his next question, but he didn’t know how to survive without asking it. He needed to know her response. “Can we trust each other?”

She pulled herself away immediately, sitting upright.

“Trust?” she said, like the word was a joke. She was horrified.

“Yes, like how I trust Pyraz not to jump off a cliff when we approach its edge.”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “What use is trust?”

“How can you say that?”

“A wise man trusts no one. If you want an honest answer, then no, you cannot trust me. Nor do I intend to trust you. Only a fool trusts anyone except herself. I have made mistakes, but I have never betrayed you, and I have never lied to you. You may rely on me for so long as we are partners, to the extent our interests remain aligned, but do not stoop to blind ‘trust.’ Are you happy, now that I have said what we both know aloud?”

He wasn’t happy at all. “Overjoyed,” he said.

She gave him one last look. But she said nothing, and she stood, and she left him alone. That night, Rook was the one who slept away from camp, and in solitude he spent restless hours wondering how someone like him could feel the way he did about someone like her.

The mines took the better part of a day to find. The entrance was overgrown; the woods ran wild, overtaking the road, covering the shaft’s entrance, cloaking the buildings that once lingered outside the earthen entrance underground with vines and leaves.

But eventually they found it. Young shrubs and saplings sprung about the clearing outside the mouth where, two years ago, they were ambushed by bandits and robbed for all their worth. Rook hardly recognized the scene.

“I think ‘tis safe to say the mine was not re-established by Erkent’s widow,” Eris said.

“The lingering Manawyrm inside no doubt had something to do with that,” Rook said.

“There is immense power in this place,” Astera said. She held a hand in the air. “Manastone mines. Dangerous. Such magic will attract monstrosities untold.”

The reclamation of the woods was a reminder of so much time that had passed. Rook realized that there was no guarantee they would even find the Manawyrm here, or that it would be anywhere near so easy as he had imagined vanquishing it.

Astera stepped forward. She cut a thorny bush with her sword, making a path through to the shaft, yet when she reached its dark embrace she stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Rook said.

“Do you smell that?”

He glanced to the rest of his party. All three humans shook their heads. “No,” Rook replied with confidence.

“Kallikantzaroi,” she said. “Goblins.”

She lowered herself.

Rook drew his sword. “Drawn to the Manastone?”

“Yes, or in the thrall of something that is.”

“They may be the Wyrm’s subjects,” Eris said, “much as the lizardmen. Be wary.”

The four proceeded into darkness. Astera conjured light for the party. Just as the last time Rook visited this place, long veins of untapped Manastone appeared in stripes along the walls—bright blue birthmarks in the earth that glowed with enough luminescence to see in the pitch darkness of the mineshaft. They made it about halfway through the shaft when Astera stopped again, then knelt down.

A body lay on the ground. Astera turned it on its side. It was a hideous, gray-skinned monstrosity: short, asymmetrical, covered in cysts and warts. Maybe it looked something like the goblins Rook recalled fighting in the cave in Chionos, but only distantly, only in that both were horrifically mishappen. Beyond that much it was hard to believe they belonged to a single species.

An arrow was lodged in the creature’s stomach. Astera pulled it out; black blood poured out after it.

“Her Essence is yet to decay,” Astera said. “She has not been dead long.”

“A goblin has an Essence?” Rook said.

“They are creatures of mana, like elves, though they are incapable of wielding it. Once her Essence has seeped back into the aether, she will dissolve.”

“She.”

“Yes. Come.”

More bodies awaited them further down the shaft. Goblins, and goblins only. No sign of any other party.

“The goblins were on the losing side,” Astera said. “The victor carried off their dead or injured, if there were any at all.”

“Or the remaining goblins ate them and not their own,” Rook said.

“They would eat their own first,” Astera said.

“Oh,” Rook said. “Lovely people.” He stared at a goblin with a spear through its gut. This one had the face of a boar, complete with tusks; like the others it bore almost no resemblance to its kin, except a stunted and asymmetrical form. He tugged the spear free and examined it. It was crude, poorly made, and quite small. He showed it to the party. “Or maybe they fought each other.”

Astera took it. “Impossible.”

“Not impossible,” Robur said, “it may be that—”

“The Manawyrm,” Eris said, “could dominate the minds of lesser creatures like goblins and turn them on each other.”

“Why dominate some and not others? A demon has such power in spades,” Astera said.

“Indeed it would, unless it was contested. Something brought these goblins here, I would wager, and not all turned on their master. Thus they fought.”

Rook performed a brief survey of the wounds. He concluded the injuries were consistent with the crude weapons of the goblins. “Eris is right. Could something be hunting the Manawyrm? Something other than us?”

“A magician,” Eris said. “The Essence of a manawyrm is powerful. If captured it could be used to weave potent enchantments.”

“Elves also,” Astera said. “Such a creature could power a village for decades. But my kind would never stoop to utilizing the kallikantzaroi. Only…”

Her face darkened.

“What?” Rook said.

“Which way to the cavern?”

Rook spent a moment orienteering himself, then motioned toward one fork. Astera led the charge.

They penetrated the lair of the lizardmen. More goblin bodies, perhaps a dozen, lined the way, and soon they reached the place where Eris said she encountered the Manawyrm. A cavern of pure Manastone.

It was stupendous. A fortune of unbelievable splendor was on the walls here—enough to build an empire, if only one could mine it all safely. There was so much blue across the ceiling that it was like standing in a glass house during a clear day, the sun shining down on them, but of course Rook felt nothing. To him Manastone was inert—it gave off neither scent nor energy. It was dull and lifeless, no matter how beautiful.

And the Wyrm was missing.

“No!” Eris shouted. “Where is it? Where has it gone?”

Astera breathed heavily. “The power here is immense.”

“Forget the power, you idiot elf! Where is the Wyrm?”

Rook hesitated. He thought back through all the passages they had squeezed through to reach this place. “How big is a manawyrm?”

“What?” Eris snapped.

“Would it fit? How could it leave?”

She was furious, not thinking straight, but the question made her pause. She tried to answer despite her agitation. “Larger than all of us together,” she managed, shaking her head, then returning to her fury.

“Much larger?”

“What? Yes! Yes, much larger!”

“Then how could it leave this cavern?” Rook said.

“The demon we encountered could phase through walls,” Robur offered. “Perhaps it fled through the earth.”

“That was a demon of the aether,” Astera said. “A manawyrm is a terrestrial demon, an elemental. It is a being of magic, but it is bound to a physical form—like an elf.”

“Or a vampire,” Rook said.

“Yes.”

“It told me it had no desire to leave this place—it was a being of sloth, and nothing else. It has been taken,” Eris said.

“Then someone else has killed it for us,” Rook said.

Everyone stopped. Eris cocked her head. She wiped a tear of anger from her eye, then raised an eyebrow. “We are not so lucky.”

“I told you the Lioness was on our side,” Rook said.

“If I may—” Robur tried.

“You told me that before your companions let loose a demon on the whole of Darom,” Eris replied. “On the whole your luck is poor.”

“Is the problem not solved? The Wyrm is gone,” Rook said.

“Gone,” Eris said, “but not dead, not necessarily.”

“Does it matter? If its Essence is drained, surely it can’t control you any longer.”

“Perhaps, but—” Robur tried again.

“The Wyrm did not control me directly, but through a shard of its being,” Eris said.

“Yes—”

“We should be concerned of what creature it is that has captured the Wyrm,” Astera said.

“We have enough concerns,” Eris said.

“Rook—”

“Unfortunately,” Rook said, “Eris is right. Once this is settled we must move back to Darom quickly.”

“In any case I do not intend to gamble with my own life. We will not administer the antipotion until we are certain I am free, forever, of the Wyrm’s influence,” Eris said.

“Is there any way of knowing the Wyrm is gone without administering the antipotion?” Rook said. Finally he looked to Robur.

Robur seemed shocked when anyone paid him attention. He hesitated for a long moment, before he finally said, “No. I don’t believe so.”

“Then we might not have a choice—”

“But if I may,” Robur managed, “there is something I should say. As Astera and Eris have said, there are many reasons that groups may have for wishing to capture a manawyrm. Presumably this group—if they have tapped it—have needed to transport it elsewhere. You said the bodies were fresh, since they were yet to disintegrate. Perhaps we might be able to track whoever it was that captured the Wyrm?”

Rook listened closely. That much made sense. “How would a manawyrm be transported?”

“Its Essence would be subdued,” Eris said. “Then the shards of its body would be gathered and carried. That is what our dealings with other elementals would suggest. When I drained the fire elementals in the Mines of Akancar, their bodies did not vanish.”

“Then Robur is right. We can track the Wyrm yet.”

Astera nodded. “If it is large as you suggest, it will not be subtle to transport. We will find traces of the group in the woods.”

“And if we don’t,” Robur added quickly, like he was about to be cut off at any moment, “it may be that I can track the Essence of the Manawyrm from Eris directly using Supernal Vision.”

“See?” Rook said to Eris. “Lucky after all. The only question left is who it was that commanded these goblins. A rogue magician?”

“No,” Astera said. “But I think I know.” She frowned deeply, considering the darkness back toward the mineshaft. “There is no time to waste.”

Recent rainfall wiped away tracks in the earth. The soft earth showed nothing but the day;s passage of animals. But Astera wasn’t so easily defeated. She observed the overgrown woods closely, and before long she found a trail—not in footprints, but where branches and twigs on the forest floor had been snapped.

“There are many of them yet. The pattern of the wood’s fracture suggest boots, one after another—perhaps carrying something, so their feet each landed on the same part of the branch. See?”

“No,” Rook said.

“They make for the mountains. Follow.”

Astera led until they reached a clearing. She stopped, and for an hour, as the sun set, she scoured for any signs of more tracks—to no success.

“The season is too poor. Too much growth, and rain. I do not know where to go,” she said.

“You had better not be giving up, elf,” Eris said.

Astera shook her head. Silence hung for a moment. Rook opened his mouth to say something diplomatic, when just then Pyraz barked.

He stood near the tree line, wagging his tail. When they looked to him, he barked again.

“You may have lost the trail,” Rook said with a smile, “but he’s picked up the scent.”

There was something in the way Pyraz sprinted full-speed ahead, leading them uphill and deeper into wilderness like a runaway, but then would turn back, stopping to look back, waiting until they caught up. It showed a sort of thinking most animals didn’t possess—more like a child than canine. Endless excitement, like any other dog, yet not so much to get carried away.

Rook was ready to set camp at late dusk, but Pyraz didn’t slow, and just as he was ready to recall the dog to his side, he stopped.

Dropped to his forelegs.

Lowered his tail.

Astera drew her sword and darted ahead. Rook turned to Eris and Robur. “Wait here. We’ll scout ahead.”

With that he followed, moving quietly as he could. The woods were dark. The going was slow. Each step careful. Eventually, after what felt like an hour of navigating through a quarter mile, he caught back up to Astera, and saw her at the side of a large oak. She stared off at the distance.

Rook followed her gaze.

Not many more than half a dozen shapes, humanoid, lingered far-off. It was impossible to tell anything more, except that one of their number stood far taller than the rest—a full head taller even than Rook. It moved in the distant darkness; one shadowed hand raised, and it slapped one of the smaller silhouettes, knocking it to the ground. Then it kneeled; and there, Rook could just barely make it out, was a small chest on the forest’s floor.

The tallest shadow withdrew something from a pocket. It raised it to its lips, then lowered it to the chest. A moment passed…

The whole forest turned blue. A bright, heavenly light blazed from the chest’s top, casting a spotlight directly onto the tallest shadow’s face, reflecting light off the canopy and giving some view of the whole procession.

The tallest shadow was an elf. He had long, pointed ears and braided hair that tumbled down to his shoulders. Yet the closer Rook looked in the shining light, the more he realized: the elf’s skin was sunken. His cheeks were dark and gaunt. His hair was pure white. His skin was pale, lifeless gray, like a cadaver given life. An elf’s eyes were white, with no pupils, yet his were pitch black; and his fingers were topped with gnarled claws.

He held an amulet in his hand. He kept it exposed to the blue light from the chest, and with each passing second his grip shook more violently. His mouth opened: he smiled, his head fell backward, and all his muscles relaxed, like a man in the grip of an orgasm. The whole scene lasted long enough for Rook to study everything about the scene, all his equipment. He was well-armed; a quiver and sword at his side, and a hauberk of fine mail.

When he was finally finished, he put the amulet back into a pocket.

The chest’s light vanished.

Astera pulled Rook into cover.

“Be still,” she whispered. “They can see in darkness.”

From then-on he caught only glimpses. He saw the elf stand, then, very distantly, he heard a command in a language he couldn’t understand, and a goblin retrieved the chest from the ground. The elf glanced about the area, and for a moment Rook was certain he looked right at him and Astera, but soon he turned. He issued another command—

And he continued farther up the mountain with his minions.

Astera led Rook back to Eris and Robur. She related what she saw, still speaking quietly. “It is an orc,” she added. “He is feeding on the Manawyrm.”

Rook shook his head. “He looked an elf to me.”

“Orcs were elves, once,” Eris said. “They are what remains when a being of magic exhausts its Essence.”

He looked to Astera. “You said an elf becomes sick when her Essence runs dry.”

“Orcs are sick,” Astera said. “They are evil, foul, twisted creatures. Only the most depraved of my people would choose to prolong their beings as such monstrosities. Those of us with dignity kill ourselves when our time has come.”

“If it was an orc,” Eris said, “then he is ancient and dangerous. He likely knows many spells.”

“Yes,” Astera agreed. “It takes a millennium to exhaust an Essence, and there is no telling how long he has sustained himself as he is now—if he is willing to feed off manawyrms, it may be millennia more.”

“So elves are immortal after all?” Rook didn’t understand. “If he feeds on magic, like a wyrm or elemental, or refined Manastone—he can live forever.”

“An orc can prolong his lifespan indefinitely, yes,” Astera said, “but only if he avoids mortal injury. With his Essence drained he has no way to accelerate his healing.”

“How terrible a burden that must be,” Eris said.

“And every year that passes, his addiction to mana deepens. His need for a new source becomes stronger. It drives him closer to madness, closer to suicide, and further from his memories of what it meant to be an elf.”

Eris repositioned her knife on her waist. “We will spare our orcish friend the indignity of madness by cutting his unnatural life short. Then we may dispatch the Wyrm on our own terms, for certain.”

“Yes,” Astera said. “We strike during daytime. Orcs and goblins can see clearly at night; we will be at a disadvantage to attack now.”

“That gives us time to plan our ambush,” Rook said.

“For now,” Astera looked between them all, “we focus on staying hidden until dawn. I will keep watch. You all should rest while you can.”

Rook didn’t like the notion of resting while an orc with a warband was so nearby. But he was tired, and they would need the energy for tomorrow. So they set their camp without a fire and they went without dinner, and come morning they made their plan to recover the Manawyrm from the hands of the orc who nearly ruined everything.