The tavern door creaked loudly as it swung shut behind me, but the noise was lost in the clamor of shouts and drunken song. Hood up, eyes cast to the ground, I chose a corner of the bar and raised two fingers for a drink. I never liked these places. Mixing grog with the folk they attracted was a recipe for trouble every time.

The barkeep slapped a mug on the counter, the drink sloshing up the side and onto the wood. He grunted when I thanked him and shuffled off to tend to his more rowdy customers. That didn't make my job easier. I needed information and didn't trust anyone but the bartender for it.

While I waited for him to come near again, I cast a sweeping glance around the pub. It had a low, creaky ceiling with wooden beams placed haphazardly to keep up the roof. A few of the beams looked old enough to snap with one solid pat. On one wall lay a roaring fireplace. It looked like a gaping mouth spilling embers on the stone floor, not to mention the feet of the drunken men giggling beside it.

The barkeep returned and laid a huge palm open on the counter. I dropped two silver coins into it and he made to turn back to his business.

"Four more for just a minute of your time," I said quietly.

He stopped and leaned on the counter in front of me, eagle eyes still fixed on the rest of the room.

"I'm looking for a shaman. Asking for a friend." I kept it short and sweet. These tavernkeeps didn't have many spare seconds.

Another four coins exchanged hands and he pointed. "East side. Trail up the mountain. Look for the pig."

"The pig?" I asked quizzically.

He was already walking away. "Can't miss it. And he'll need more than six," he added over his shoulder, jingling the coins in pocket.

I waited another minute, puzzled. The roar of the fire and din of the bar washed over me. It was hard to straighten my thoughts.

At least that part was easy enough.

My untouched drink remained on the counter as I left my seat. Someone else would finish it off. I moved slowly and quietly—not that my soft footsteps were audible in the noisy pub—to draw the least attention possible. It was only a few paces later that an angry voice filtered through the noise.

"...black cloak and hood pulled up, ain't never saw his eyes."

My ears perked up.

"None of them would talk once he was through, jus' like they was scared straight." The gambler had the attention of the whole table.

I slid into an adjacent table, my back to them. Something about his tone set off alarms in my head.

"Oh out with it Marv, spare us theh su'pense." One of Marv's friends tossed his cards on the table and fixed his attention on the story.

Yes, just get on with it.

"Don' rush me Erik!" Marv snapped. "Anyway. I'd only 'eard stories until the nigh' he was in Yicht. Rainy nigh'. He come in dripping wet and pick a poor man by the fire. Dint think much of it till that one jumped up an' ran out, leaving the one with the hood by hisself."

Part of me was aching to leave. I didn't have time to stick around and listen to stories, Andrin needed me. But again, something about this one—Marv was clearly saving the best part for last.

"...so they go over to 'im—the one with the hood—and tell 'im he'd better clear out. 'Bout now I'm worried cause I know the stories, 'ow 'e scares people. Not sure what he said, but they jump at 'im, and suddenly two are on th' ground bleedin' and he's got a magic sword in his 'ands. The last one, the leader, 'e ain't scared. He shoulda been, cause one momen' later he lost his 'ead."

My stomach turned. Magic sword? This man didn't sound like the kind of Animaré I wanted to meet.

"Wait... lost his 'ead? He panic or what?" another gambler piped up, the cogs visibly turning behind his puzzled face.

"No, Boff you moron," Marv growled, taking a swipe at the back of Boff's head. "He lost it! It came off! 'E died righ' there!"

I had had enough and rose at that moment. A dangerous Animaré a town over was not good news, especially considering that he must have a Bond nearby. So why was he alone?

I should've paid more attention. Before I knew it the gamblers caught on to my own black hood and cloak.

"And what's this one doin' listenin' in eh?" Marv's tone was gleeful. "Prolly think you're clever dressin' up like 'im! C'mere boy!"

His hand closed around my wrist like a vice and I reacted immediately. Before he knew it his hand was pinned to the table, Lylisia's knife buried in the wood between his fingers. The force of the knife almost split the table, and half the bar went silent.

I looked around warily and my heartbeat quickened. This wasn't the time or place to get into trouble. I had work to do, and I needed to move fast.

Marv didn't seem fazed by the knife, but simply guffawed. "Ain't that a pretty thing now, where'd 'e be gettin' this?" he asked his companions.

The sapphire glimmered in the firelight, the silver handle standing out sharply against the dingy wood. The gambler made to reach for it and magic leapt to my fingertips as I wrenched it away—I wasn't letting him lay one grubby hand on it.

I must have twitched when the magic hit me, because the whole table erupted into laughter.

"Lookit 'im flinch!" roared one.

The magic was burning in my chest. Get out, just get out. You can't do this here. My knuckles were white on my knife and I took a step back.

"Back to yer drinks boys," Marv shouted to the bar. "We'll be takin' our friend ou'side." The men at the bar shrugged and lost interest as Marv's gang lazily stood up.

Panic rose in my chest. I stood rooted to the spot, trying to take deep breaths. The magic roared in my ears.

"Reckon that knife be worth somethin' to some'un," Marv said with a nasty grin.

I could barely take a breath. The room spun.

One gambler lunged and I dodged, banging into a table.

Breathe. The clamor of the bar filled my ears.

Two more came from two sides. A slash to his wrist and one reeled back—the other stumbled and missed me by inches, despite my clumsy footwork.

Breathe. My chest was bursting, ears ringing. The flickering firelight made the gamblers dance left and right, side to side. I could barely focus any of them.

Hands closed around my chest from behind. I dropped to the floor instantly, jabbing an elbow anywhere it could reach.

Forks and knives clattered on the stone floor as we took a table down with us. The gambler's breath filled my nostrils and I gagged on the stench of alcohol.

I managed to stumble to my feet. My elbows still stung from the fall. Dust filled the air. Just breathe.

Marv didn't give me another second to recover. He dove at me and took us both down. Blood in my mouth. The dull thud of bone on stone. His fist hit my ribs and I knew it was over.

Magic erupted in my soul and struck back, savagely.

It traveled like a bolt of lightning straight down my arm and connected with his chest. The rush of power was pure exhilaration mixed with wrenching pain. He let out a shriek, but the rush in my ears drowned out the noise as his body blasted backward off of mine.

Ears still ringing, I tried to jump to my feet, only to stagger to my knees, hanging onto a chair. My chest might as well have been crushed by an anvil—my right arm was completely numb. Blurry shapes swam into focus and I raised my eyes.

No one moved. Marv was lying in a bloody heap in the splintered remains of his gambling table. The eyes of the whole tavern were fixed on me, some wide with fear, some narrowed with anger. A few mutters broke out.

I glanced warily around but the other gamblers had fallen back. The stone was scorched in a circle around me, and I uneasily hauled myself up, swallowing the vomit that rose in my throat. The adrenaline still pumped through my veins as the magic slowly recoiled, as if sensing I was no longer in danger.

The muttering grew thicker, soon filling the air with a fog of whispered words. A few men moved cautiously to the fallen Marv, and I glanced at the bartender. He glared and pointed a shaking finger at the door. The order finally kicked my dazed mind into gear and I slunk across the room, hood up, knowing all eyes were fixed on my cowl.

Above the other voices I heard a raspy growl from the bloodied Marv. "...I'll... kill 'im... you boys... kill..."

It was all I needed to hear as the buzz in the bar filled my ears. I practically burst through the door and broke into a sprint, my heart beginning to pound again. This was a new panic.

They won't find you. They can't find you, you'll be long gone before they do. I wasn't quite terrified of the townsfolk. News travelled fast, and surely Marv had friends wanting revenge. But I had much more dangerous enemies who were looking for an unstable Solace.

My boots slapped the mud as I ran, weaving between shabby huts and equally neglected shop fronts. I finally stopped and ducked into an alley, pausing to catch my breath and hoping the torchlight in the street didn't shine too far down my little alley.

My head whipped around at a stirring further down and I froze, straining my eyes in the darkness. I tried controlling my breathing.

They don't know you're here.

Any moment a Ska'al would rise from the empty crates and firewood, I was sure of it.

Is that black lump a hood?

I gripped my knife tightly, the feeling slowly returning to my numb arm.

Those lighter spots, that's the chalk mask.

Shaking my head violently, I looked again and the images were gone. I swallowed. My head was playing tricks on me. Hunching down lower, I clenched my fists tightly, trying to stop them from shaking. The magic was there in my soul, ready to lash out. I sucked in a breath through gritted teeth and stepped toward the street.

My boot had just left the mud when the wet smack of other footsteps echoed off the alley walls. I threw myself further down the alley, pressing farther into the shadows than I'd have ever liked. With a shiver, I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will away the image of a Ska'al mask sneering from the darkness.

The steps grew louder, more hurried, and I became aware of a strange hum. They paused somewhere right outside, then suddenly a young man stepped swiftly into the alley. I clapped a hand to my mouth and nearly knocked over the crates I was crouched beside.

The man paced back and forth, barely even casting a glance down the rest of the alley. I understood then that the hum I heard was his wild muttering.

"...anything I see, they say." He picked up his sentence mid-thought, the whisper echoing back into the alley—and to me.

My leg was folded at an uncomfortable angle and I missed his next words trying to slide it around in the muddy filth.

"..and what do they say? Quit wasting our time." He wrung his hands, eyes fixed on the ground. "It won't stay a secret, they'll know soon. They'll know I know."

I bit my lip—time was ticking by rapidly, and I still don't even know where to find this shaman. The bartender said something about a pig?

"I've got to, I've got to," the boy was saying. He was quickly pacing a track in the ground. "Heck, he's missing a whole arm."

My stomach lurched. Missing an arm? Was he talking about the gambler? I sincerely hoped the boy hadn't been there, especially considering he had someone to report it to. The Corvelen Guard? Did I blow his whole arm off?

I strained my ears to catch the rest as the young man made up his mind and hurried out of the alley.

"Tomorrow, I'll say I wasn't there tonight."

At least I had until the next morning before my story got out. I smiled grimly and stretched out my cramped arms and legs. Hopefully I would be long gone by then.

I peered out of the alley after waiting a few minutes. It must have been late, because I hadn't seen anyone save the muttering boy. I resumed my hurried pace, glancing over each shoulder every other step, dodging between flickering halos of light to keep in the shadows.

The buildings became a bit less cramped as the path through town wove and split into a few more tracks, each leading off to a different section. The town wasn't rich or new, but it was big.

After seeing no one for a while, I began to become more relaxed, but my unrest grew again as more time passed without any glimpse of a pig. I wished I recalled more of what the bartender said, and inwardly kicked myself. It wasn't like I could go back and ask—even if I could, I wasn't even sure where the tavern was anymore. I was just beginning to think I'd been lied to when I noticed a particularly wide path branching off. It was muddier than most, and upon closer inspection, sure enough—

I gagged and turned away for a moment. It was a pig alright. Whatever I had expected—a pig pen, perhaps a pig sign—it wasn't this. The hog was massive, hosted up onto a pole, cut in half snout to tail along the belly. The spine was visible, holding the two halves together, which had been pried open like a book. I only hoped the poor beast had been dead before it met this fate.

Trying not to inhale, I flitted past the ghastly creature, shaking off a shiver that tried to force itself down my spine. Somehow the air grew colder around me and I gathered the folds of my cloak closer, glancing warily over my shoulders. This had to be the way to the shaman.

* * *

The squelch of a blade sliding through flesh was always satisfying. The prince let out a few deep breaths through clenched teeth. The weapon hissed as it came out again, leaving a burning, bloody hole in the farmer's chest. The satisfaction was fleeting.

Bërrha turned on his heel and flung the man's bloody knife into the wall, squeezing his other, bleeding fist shut. He was stupid to think the man wouldn't put up a fight.

Even in the darkness, his eyes were wild.

"Torch the house," he growled, jabbing a finger at the masked warrior who stood at the barn's entrance. A nod and he was gone.

Three other Ska'al appeared from the night outside, heads bowed.

"Speak."

"Degrul and his men were found just outside the grasslands to the west. There was no trace of the thieves, despite our patrols through the area."

"Slipped through your fingers again." Bërrha's boots thudded on the dilapidated barn floor as he paced.

"Sir, we did find this." One Ska'al held out a bladeless hunting knife, his voice shaking slightly. "Jammed into Degrul's skull. Broke when we tried to pry it out."

"Cowards, all of you!" The prince spat. "Quivering with fear for one dying Solace and his friends. Isn't one of them dead already? How many men will die in twos and threes to these criminals?"

The men's masks remained expressionless, but they stood straight as statues, without even a twitch of the head. The farmer's blood was still running down the back wall.

"How long have you trained to fight them? How much more must be given to you?!" Bërrha's low voice shook with anger as he paced, each step cracking on the wood floor. "They live, yet ever more of you fall. How—"

A woman's scream cut off the prince's tirade and the warriors let out a tense breath.

Shoving one of them aside, the prince flung open the barn doors and stepped into the moonlight. From the blazing homestead two chalk masks appeared like fiery demons. Between them they clutched a woman, kicking and screaming, perhaps from anger, perhaps terror—most likely both.

"What fine spoils have we here!" Bërrha called, spreading his arms wide. "To me, now!"

The Ska'al's grips were iron on the woman's wrists, and they barely shrugged a shoulder to swing her over to the prince. Her clothes were singed and torn and a gash on her head was oozing blood. The roar of the flames couldn't even drown her cries, save for a crash as the roof caved in.

The Ska'al threw her at the feet of Bërrha, who looked calmly down at her as at a wild animal. His lips curled into a smile under his hood.

As if wondering whether to run or fight, the woman looked around wildly, finding more and more chalk-masked warriors wherever she turned.

"Do you know what I just told my men?" Bërrha asked.

She made up her mind. With all the force she could muster, the woman threw herself at the black robe.

Bërrha caught her by the throat. The woman's burning home reflected in his eyes, his face hardened once more.

"Do you know what I told my men?" he repeated coldly. She pulled desperately at his fingers, to no avail. "I told them they are weak. They are cowards. But you..." he suddenly opened his hand and dropped the woman to the ground. She gasped in relief and lay quaking beneath the prince, her neck already turning black and blue.

He crouched down low and looked into her eyes. "You are no coward."

She yelled again and made to hit him, but he swatted her hand away lazily, grinning.

"You... you are perfect," he murmured.

He reached out slowly to cup her cheek and she sat frozen, mesmerized by the dark, swirling light in his palm. It barely touched her cheek before Bërrha's hand was glued to her head. He ground his teeth down hard and dropped to his knees, both arms shaking violently. A dreadful hum filled the air with vibrations, and some of the Ska'al covered their ears and turned away. They'd seen this before.

The woman opened her mouth in horror and pain. This time, nobody could hear her scream.

* * *

"Stay with me Andrin!"

Koren's blade wove a deadly arc of light to fend off two blows at once. His chest heaved. A wound on his shoulder slowly stained his tunic red as he dodged yet another vicious swing.

"Arrow... to the left," Andrin panted, clinging to a rock outcrop for cover. He would've looked pale if it weren't for the mud smeared on his clothes, face, and hair.

Koren's shield burst to life in his left arm just in time to disintegrate an arrow fired from his left flank. The archer was nearly impossible to see in the darkness of evening and the thick foliage, not mention the rain coming down in sheets.

"Another'un Kreggar!" roared one of the bandits. The archer responded clumsily, lobbing another shot over Koren's head into the night.

Too slow to react, one of the remaining three bandits screamed as Koren's Naem-shul bit into his wrist. It discharged a burst of energy into his arm, singeing the skin around and cutting deeply at the same time. He staggered and clutched his arm, then stumbled away from the injured Animaré.

Once again, Koren's shield formed at his forearm and absorbed an arrow. Behind him, Andrin sunk onto his back.

Suddenly the gang's leader stood alone in the brush staring Koren's katana down. He glanced around quickly. Two men lay dead, one fled into the woods. The archer paused as well.

The leader took one hesitant step back, then another. Soon Koren stood alone, panting, his jaw set, weapons still in hand.

The rain drummed on the rocks.

Finally the Naem-shul dissipated and Koren rushed back to Andrin, who lay unconscious in the mud. A jagged stone rose out of the ground in front of him shielding him from any arrows, if not the rain.