Chapter Six

  Stolen Away

  A young boy watched in awe as four knights gleaming in silver mail made haste down the old road. They bore tabards of a black and silver oak. Like heroes of the sung-of days they seemed to him, warriors in perfect white, armed with sword and shield, their form shrouded by the metal, their purpose made good by the mail. As he peered from behind the door, one of them raised a fist in salute – to him! The boy blushed and scurried out of sight, but watched ever more closely, and in him a dream was born.

  The village was walled in by a great palisade, which was guarded by the maimed and feeble. What a wretched sight, Marcus thought, a simple town reduced to such quaking. But in due time, all of this would be a fading memory. As they came to the gates, he called out for their leader. “We answer the call!” he shouted in a booming voice.

  Quickly, their leader was roused, and not after long a meek and simple man emerged, looking at their number with a cocked head and nervous expression.

  “Go on, Lorelei,” Marcus nudged the smallest and least experienced of their number. She nodded and stepped from her horse. He watched close, careful to judge her rightly.

  Lorelei stepped before the mayor, matching his height with ease. She undid her helmet and bowed her head to him. “I am Lorelei, of the Black Oak,” she introduced herself. “We have heard of your plight.” Her voice was stiff and foreign, sounding of a land far to the north and east.

  “The Black Oak?” the mayor asked in confusion, “Are you with the governor?”

  “No,” she answered, “But where the governor ignores your plight, we answer. In the name of Captain Fane of the Black Oak, we will rid you of these orcs!” she finished with fire and passion, beating her chest in salute.

  “Oh,” the mayor jumped, “Thank you, and your captain, but someone has beat you to it. What we need are guards, so that our men might rest.”

  Lorelei stopped, the wind stolen from her sails. It was an awkward stumbling block, after all. But she just as soon fell to one knee, her head of golden hair bowed low. “My Lord, let it be known that we shall find you your men,” she promised, “Let fear be a thing of the past.”

  Such a serious woman, the mayor thought to himself. And a woman clad and bearing the devices of men, she was quite the oddity. But he did not mind being called ‘lord’, and his mustache twitched in delight upon hearing it. “Very well, at ease,” he released her.

  She stood up, still in salute, and addressed him once more. “Now!” she said, “I would like to hear more about what happened to these orcs.”

  The mayor told her the story, and quite the tale it was. Vagabonds from the capital. But it was when she saw the two orcs, having been preserved as trophies, that she was amazed. One, slain by the village, was full of a thousand holes, an expected end to such a beast. But the other was almost untouched, aside from its head, crushed like a common nut, hanging limply as if it were ashamed. Who could have done such a thing? She wondered. Great and mighty warriors they surely were, no doubt worthy of joining their own order.

  “No, that one’s poisonous!” Kugo snatched the mushroom from the princess’ hands. They were camped in the middle of a damp forest, having taken the wrong path two days before, and now made do with what they had. Their backs broken by roots and their stomachs emptied. They stretched what remained of their thin rations, which were now little more than crumbs and faint smells.

  “What?!” Nephis cried in frustration, “They look the same!” And in Kugo’s hand were two mushrooms, both red with white speckles.

  “It’s the gills!” Kugo bellowed again, “Look at the gills! Let me see what else you’ve found,” he huffed. And bundled in Nephis’ skirt was a large collection of mushrooms. “Almost all of these are poisonous!” He exclaimed, as he threw all but one into a pile of sure death.

  “That one was on a yew tree,” Moss cautioned in his low voice.

  Kugo scoffed and tossed it aside.

  “Why!” Nephis cried again, “Why do you know! You don’t even need to eat! How is it that I’m the only one who can’t see it?”

  What edible mushrooms they did find would be cut thin that night. Their journey was wet and miserly, and Nephis feared they would be reduced to gnawing on seeds to get by. But even once they found the path forward, it was long and lonely with hardly a hut or pasture within sight. There was only the old, beaten road. Once, this way might have been the lifeblood of a good city, but as time wore on, the people shifted like the river, and all that stayed behind were forgotten.

  She sat for a while on a hill overlooking an open valley, where in rested a hundred nameless men, their bones feeding the green and lush land. By her foot, she found the steel point of an arrow, shaped like an adder’s head. A thousand of these had flown from the hills and into the valley, and so ended another battle. By flames and blood, so were a hundred peoples bound under the iron crown.

  When they at last found a bit of civilization, the sky had grown grey, hanging low over the earth. Solca was a small trading village, sitting on what once had been a grand old throughway. Though it struggled to grow any larger than it had been sixty years ago, it had enough traffic to keep its head above the water. It was surrounded on all sides by a tall and fat palisade, a vestige from the wars of the previous emperor. From it hung two corpses, long withered, a warning to ne’er-do-wells. It had little purpose to them now, but if nothing else, it kept the wolves at bay. The gates were kept open at all times of the morning, only closing at night when nothing good lurked. Yet they should have kept them closed in those days, so they might have avoided being trapped in and reaped for another.

  Solca was crammed in, the roads were only wide enough for a cart to pass through, and today the people had wasted no time clogging it. The buildings were as tightly packed as they could be; any space that had once been an alley or yard was now a booth or a shrine, having been bought up long ago. It smelled of garlic and the tinny nip of copper. And the people murmured, for today an important emissary had arrived and brought with him a small collection of soldiers, dressed in heavy, polished mail.

  “His majesty, the Emperor of all of Radina, has issued a levy on the young men of the empire! From Cadru Vale, two hundred!” The voice washed over the crowd like a crashing wave, and Nephis crept forward, soon scrambling onto Moss’ shoulders that she might see. Nephis watched the recruitment with wide eyes. Here was where the bravest and most valorous could show their devotion to the iron crown. The crier, a broad man with a great, thundering chest, stood atop a platform, bearing vestiges and sigils of House Radina. As far as the law was concerned, he spoke the very words of the Emperor himself. “And from Solca!” the crowd winced, “Ten young men are to be provided to his majesty's forces, and one to be trained upon the horse and lance!”

  The crowd was silent. Ten. Ten young men sent to fight in the faraway wars of the emperor. Ten young men, no doubt sure to die. The shores of Karlia had not been enough for the dragon.

  “Do we have any volunteers?” The crier bellowed. “Glory no doubt awaits you! Opportunity beyond the pale life of Solca!” A single young man crept up the platform, much to the dismay of his mother, and took the crier by the hand. “Wonderful! What is your name, boy?”

  “Radu,” the young man answered, his voice caught on trembling.

  “Radu! A mighty name, no doubt for a mighty warrior!” the crier raised the boy’s arm into the air. “Would any of Radu’s friends seek to join him?.” When the crowd was once again silent, the crier made a wide, sweeping arc with his hand and pulled from his purse a silver band, but of what make, Nephis could not tell. He showed it to the crowd and placed it in the boy’s palm. “Your first pay, boy! The Empire is generous to its faithful! Once again, I ask, are there any volunteers? Ten! Ten from Solca!”

  The crowd was silent, some looked on with hate and others with fear.

  The crier huffed. “Very well, then I shall choose nine more! Collect the young men!” He ordered, and his men advanced upon the crowd, dragging each young man they could until they had gathered a small flock. The boys and the men fought and kicked and scuffled with the soldiers, but it was over before blood was drawn, the soldiers were armed and the villagers were not. The crowd bellowed and roared, hardly held back by the long spears of the crier’s men. But the voice of the Empire did not seem to mind. Instead, he carefully inspected each of the young boys, testing them for their strength and health. When he found one he liked, he handed him a silver band.

  Once he had picked his men, he stood once more upon the stage. The crowd raged even still, but eventually they were silenced. “Hear me!” his voice boomed. “I shall return in three months time. When I do, the recruits will follow with me. And you shall outfit one with a horse, a lance, and armor, or the coin to buy one. When I return, if I am not given ten young men with silver bands, I shall take them for myself, and a tax will be levied on your village for the price of the bands.” With that, he rolled his message into a case and surrounded himself in a wall of soldiers and left the village to shouting and tears.

  Nephis left in a huff, desperate to find a place to stay for the night. Kugo and Moss scrambled after her. Both taken aback by the levy, but more by the sudden anger of the princess. “We will leave at first light!” Nephis commanded them as she pushed aimlessly through the crowd.

  “Nephis, we have to resupply,” Kugo warned her, “And I’d prefer not to leave here later than midday.”

  “Then we’ll leave at midday!” she bit.

  “I doubt that,” Kugo replied, “If the town continues as is . . .”

  This only irritated the young girl more, but eventually, they found their mark.

  Kugo insisted on eating before anything else. And this was not a hard proposal to pass. Days of little more than scraps had worn on the pair, and Moss was always happy to eat. As they waited for the tavern to find their bearings, they sat and listened. So frazzled were the townfolk that they hardly seemed to notice the newcomers. They all whispered or shouted to one another, but no one spoke plainly. And Nephis listened intently.

  “The gall of the Emperor! To send our boys to die!” One man raged over a drink; he was haggard, with skin worn by the sun and labor. “He’d sooner burn a field than let it lie fallow!”

  This Nephis could not abide. She snapped up from her seat and marched to the man, jutting her finger in his face. “How dare you!” she chastised him, “The Emperor worries for all his people! It is an honor to heed the call of the throne. Barbarians belie our borders, and you whinge about noble service!”

  “It was the Emperor that took my father’s leg, will he take my son too? It was his people that killed mine,” the man spat back, “And who are you? You don’t look like one of us.”

  “I am-” Nephis began in a fury, turning her hand to show her silver ring.

  But Kugo soon appeared behind her and closed her hand in his. “She works in the capital,” he answered sternly.

  “Ha! Continue to lap at the heels of the Kin-Slayer! Dog!” he berated her.

  Nephis bit her tongue at the title, but Kugo dragged her away before she could say another word. “Do you want to wake with a dagger in your belly?” he rebuked her.

  She murmured a response, but there was little passion to it, so Kugo could hardly make it out.

  Her fire flared again before they got themselves rooms for the evening, but before Nephis could once more make a fool of herself, Kugo slammed the coin on the counter. By morning, she had tempered herself somewhat, but her gaze was still steely and her tone sharp.

  “Let’s get some provisions while it's still quiet out,” Kugo suggested as Nephis plucked bread from a small loaf.

  “Go right ahead,” she snipped, “I am going to sample the local delicacies .”

  “Surely none of the local delicacies would be arguing with that drunkard again?” Kugo asked.

  Nephis did not reply, but only continued to chew her bread.

  “Moss, stay with her and keep her out of trouble,” Kugo sighed.

  “Yes, sir,” he said, mimicking the soldiers.

  Once Kugo had left, Nephis turned to Moss. “Moss, would you go find me a snipe?”

  “I don’t know what that is,” Moss answered.

  “It’s a sort of bird,” Nephis clarified.

  “When Kugo gets back,” Moss said warmly.

  Nephis groaned, but let the matter lie.

  The drunkard did not return to the tavern that morning, in fact very few came in the morning, and fewer for drink. And so Nephis sat alone with Moss for hours, chatting idly about this or that, though on matters of politics, Moss had little to say. It was not until noon that anyone entered. A young man, wreathed in flowers, kisses, and a silver band around his arm. But whatever purpose he had come for stopped when he stepped next to Nephis.

  A strange young woman, not but a few years his senior, sat dressed in funny robes, quite out of place in Solca. He gawked at her. Hardly noticing the silver ring on her finger before she covered it with a pale hand. She met his gaze, but didn’t say a word, and what a cautious gaze she had.

  “Pardon me, miss,” he said, “Are you with the army?”

  “No, I am here on separate business,” she answered coldly.

  He pulled a chair across from her. “Could I ask you a question?” he timidly asked.

  So earnest was the boy that it cracked her bitter scowling. “Very well, what is it?” she sighed.

  “What is it like, out East?” he leaned across the table, and rubbing his band, he continued, “I’m being levied. But I’ve never been farther than Nelb, and that’s not more than a day’s away.”

  And Nephis could not meet his gaze. “The East is lovely,” she answered, “Though at the far reaches the earth is red with desert and endless sky, or so I am told.” In truth, she had never visited the furthest corner of the empire, where the Flores family was cradled. Seeing his crestfallen face, she panicked and tried to soothe him, “B-but the capital is incredible! It is the most wonderful city in the whole world! I’m sure you will find many exciting things there, adventure and romance!”

  The boy had a somber smile, but did not say anything.

  “Are you not happy to go?” Nephis asked quietly, “Has your day not been ruined?”

  “No,” he answered and rubbed at the flowers that hung from his neck. “In some ways, these have been the best days of my life. I never knew there were so many girls in Solca.”

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  “And imagine how impressed they’ll all be when you return with glory and honors!” she pressed this, “Well, I’d suppose you’ll have the pick of them.”

  The boy chuckled. “Would you wait so many years for someone?” he asked.

  “Oh? Did you have someone particular in mind?” Nephis leaned over, an impish grin creeping up her face.

  The boy rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, “Well, would you? For five years?”

  “I might. If he was a good one,” she answered. “But he’d have to tell me first,” she chastised, “It’s rude to keep a lady wondering, you know.”

  The boy sucked in all his breath, steeling himself. “Thank you miss. I’ll give it my best.”

  “Very good,” Nephis answered, “What is your name? I will pray for your success.”

  “Tomas,” he answered, “And what is yours? If I may ask, miss?”

  “Nephis.”

  “Miss Nephis,” he said shyly, “I have a question for you.”

  Nephis nearly jumped, feeling herself pull away from the young lad. “What is it?”

  “What is that?” he whispered as he pointed at Moss, who had been sitting very politely the whole while.

  “Oh? Moss,” she answered, “Why don’t you introduce yourself, Moss?”

  “I am Moss,” Moss said.

  “Is he of elf-make?” Thomas asked.

  “Elf? I don’t suppose so, he’s only six.”

  The boy seemed more puzzled than before, but soon enough said his goodbyes and left in a hurry. Nephis sat back in her seat, quite pleased with herself.

  “That is the work of a noble, Moss,” she gloated, “To sort out the less fortunate.”

  “Do you have anyone you're waiting for?” Moss asked curiously.

  Nephis’ smile strained. “Not exactly.”

  Moss was quiet for a while, turning something over in my head. “Did an elf make me?” he asked. “Are they waiting for me?”

  “I shouldn’t suppose so,” Nephis answered, “Unless there are elves walking amongst us.”

  After a long while, Kugo returned with a great deal of groceries and supplies. Cured meats and dried bread, salt and wine, rope and every sort of thing he might need. He even had found another bag. He set down the full bags with a thud and lay back in his seat. And for a while, he enjoyed the silence.

  Nephis peered over the things. It was quite the pile. “How are you going to carry all this?” she asked.

  “I’ll carry no more than I already do,” he answered dully. “This is for you,” and he tossed her the pack.

  She grumbled and griped, but in the end, she filled it with all the lightest things. And so it seemed they would not be leaving today.

  Nor would they leave the next morning. By first light, there was a commotion outside. The three of them hurried out to the cold and grey of the morning, where, standing in the gates of Solca was a cabal of strange figures. Each of them was tall and dressed in fraying cloaks that swept the ground like the rolling mist of the morning. And indeed there were many of them, as many as twenty or more, should they be hidden behind the walls.

  The crowd all peered at them, muttering nervously. The newcomers all stood completely still for a while, as if listening to the wind, before all of the sudden, the gates to Solca closed. Guards fell from the walls with a shout, and the beam was set in the doors. The crowd shrieked in fear and began to press forward.

  Then, the foremost of the cabal looked over the crowd and began to speak in a high and breathy voice. “People of Solca, do not fear. It is a relic of the elves we seek.” He had a gaunt face, with pallid, milkish skin so thin that his purple veins seemed to wrap around him like cords. He had no hair, not even eyebrows. And when he spoke, he raised his arms up in supplication. Indeed, all of them were gaunt as corpses. But before he could speak anymore, the red-nosed drunkard barreled forward.

  “Enough of you empire stooges,” he shouted, “Get out!” And he charged the stranger with a balled fist.

  The speaker whipped an iron wand from his robes and wordlessly swiped it towards the man. The arm of the drunkard twisted and tore as if it were wrung out. His bones snapped a thousand times with sickening cracks, until it hung limply. The drunkard wailed in pain, and the people recoiled into themselves. And from the sleeve of the speaker hung a spiral of flesh and skin, as if his arm had been peeled.

  “Do not resist,” the cabal speaker said in the same, sleeping tone. “People of Solca, I require your finest surgeon.” He then stepped forward and raised his arms up again. His sleeves fell, revealing the turning gash up his arm, at least an inch deep, gushing with blood. “Do not fear us. We are not from the Empire. We are the Sons of Barthus. We come seeking a relic of the elves. Bring it to us, and we shall open up the gates.” As he spoke, two of their number walked to him and began to wrap his arm in their cloaks, revealing their malnourished forms. He repeated this line before shooing them, “Go and bring it to us!”

  The crowd burst from the streets in a stampede. Some fled into their homes, while others ran for the western gates, which too had been sealed. Some then scaled the walls, hoping to leap over their bounds, only to find the pale Sons of Barthus were there too, brandishing knives and hooks. Moss dragged Nephis and Kugo back to their rooms before they were trampled or lost in the chaos. And the town was awash with screams and terror until the cabal has corralled everyone back to their homes with much the same enthusiasm as they showed for everything.

  Nephis, Moss, and Kugo all sat on the floor of the boys’ room. The princess was fuming. “How dare they! Forcing me to stay in this village of layabouts one more day! We should ram them through,” she suggested. “The man in the letter was right! They are hounds!”

  Kugo was aghast, “Did you see what he did to that man?” he asked, “Besides, there are dozens of them. There is nothing I could do.”

  Nephis huffed.

  Kugo was struck then by an idea and dug through their things until he found a small pouch Nephis had set aside. And from it, he pulled the white idol and presented it to them. “They’re looking for an artifact, why don’t we give them this. At worst, they don’t want it.”

  “No!” protested Nephis, “We can’t give them the relic! It’s special, it’s a clue.”

  Kugo’s face slackened. “Well, you want to help them search for their artifact, then?”

  In truth, as much as Nephis wished them to leave, she knew nothing good would come from them finding anything they wanted. “Well, no,” she muttered.

  “Then relax and enjoy the luxuries of Solca,” he waved her off and turned to lie on his side, and soon dozed off.

  Nephis lay about the room for a short while, then tried to fill her mind with the hunter’s journal, but soon found herself growing more and more furious with her circumstances. And eventually she could handle it no more. “Come, Moss,” she ordered, “Kugo can lay about all he likes, I will sort this out.” And she led the golem out of the tavern and onto the streets, though she was careful to leave anything too incriminating behind. They wandered the streets for a short while until they came across one of the Sons of Barthus exiting the house of a terrified family, their living space in disarray. Apparently, he had not found what he was seeking.

  “You, Son of Barthus!” she announced herself. And he turned slowly towards her, gazing at her with heavy-lidded eyes. “Take me to your leader!” she demanded.

  He shared all the decrepit features of the speaker, though his face was squarer and his body a little stouter. “Have you found the relic?” he asked in a hollow voice, before his gaze fell upon Moss, and he stared at him in wonder.

  “No, I am a woman of some import, and I demand you and your vandals let me through,” she reprimanded him, but he seemed to hardly hear her, and instead reached out towards Moss.

  “Follow me,” he answered and began to lead them through the village, down its tight corridors and thinning streets, until they came to the largest building in Solca, that being the palace of its chief. Though it was no more than a large house, built of the same wood that filled the region. The robed man led them past guards who also gazed at Moss in awe. And not after long, a small crowd of them followed, all silently observing him.

  Inside the chief’s home was a long line of the townsfolk, all silently quaking, but each carrying something with them. Blankets, and pots, and horseshoes, even small wooden decorations, were all held desperately close by the townspeople; anything that looked old or remotely elvish they tried to offer to the Sons of Barthus. At the end of the room, standing in front of an office, two of the Sons filtered the line, turning each one away with little more than a glance. All little more than junk.

  Nephis turned, nearly jumping, to see the small collection of Sons clinging to Moss. One stroked his arm with bony, brittle fingers, while another gazed into his sapphire eyes. “Do you feel the hand?” he asked.

  Moss shifted in his spot, glancing nervously all around him. “Yes,” he answered timidly.

  And the same one nodded, “Good, fascinating,” he muttered dully. Then another one drove a dagger into Moss’ arm, though it only fell an inch deep, he began to dig the dagger deeper. Nephis gasped. “Do you feel the blade?” the Son of Barthus asked, “Does it hurt?”

  “No?” Moss answered.

  And the speaker fell silent, his eyes turning up to the ceiling.

  “Stop that!” Nephis shouted. “He’s mine!”

  All the Sons of Barthus turned to her and looked at her in silence, their faces unchanging. Nephis pulled back, her shoulders rising to her ears so to protect her.

  “Very well,” the speaker said, and the other yanked the dagger from Moss’ arm.

  And the Son of Barthus, who had brought them there, who had not left their side, turned to Nephis. “Follow me,” he uttered and led them past the line and to the office.

  They were led into a cramped study, once belonging to the chief of Solca, but was now stuffed with the grey-robed Sons of Barthus. A heavy desk sat before a simple throne against the end of the room, where the one bearing the iron wand sat. The others milled about, some staring at Moss and Nephis as they walked in, while others picked apart the room or took notes. The one in the throne held out his arm, where a frightened man, presumably the town physician, was trying to stitch the peeled flesh back onto the arm.

  “I understand you wish to pass through Solca,” he said without greeting her. “That you are a woman of some lofty position,” as he spoke, it seemed he did not look at her, but rather gazed into the space where she stood. He did not blink, and seemed neither awake nor asleep.

  Nephis swallowed her heart and bolstered herself. “I am on business from the Emperor himself, and I demand you let me and my companions pass!” And she presented her signet ring.

  The man leaned over the table to gaze at the ring and held her fingers in his cold, wiry hands. And as he did, Nephis saw that the iron wand lay in front of him, on the desk. It was thin and beautifully engraved with words in the elvish tongue. Nephis instinctively pulled her hand away.

  “Forgive me, dear lady,” he gave a stiff bow, the words seeming to fall from his mouth. “I am afraid I cannot let you pass, for our mission is of grave import.”

  “And what is that?” Nephis asked.

  “We seek the Valai Kei,” he uttered, and nearly so with emotion, “The relics of the elves would lead us to it, should we find them.”

  “I don’t have any such relics, so may I pass?” she offered.

  “No. An exception may cause a commotion. And a commotion would slow us down greatly,” he answered. “But, if you would grant us that wonderful device, we should let you pass,” and he held out his arms towards Moss, causing the surgeon to stumble and dig his needle into the man’s arm. But the Son of Barthus did not seem to mind or even notice.

  “His name is Moss,” Nephis spat, “And you cannot have him.”

  “Then I cannot let you pass,” he answered in the same, dull tone.

  “This ring is the sign of the Emperor,” Nephis jut out her ring in desperation. “Would you defy that?”

  The man did not answer for a while, his eyes turned upwards and stared blankly, before turning his head to her again. “Without the relic or the Moss, we cannot let you pass. But we can offer you protection.”

  Nephis mulled it over before coming to a realization. “May I speak to Moss for a moment?” she asked.

  “Go and speak.”

  She pulled Moss aside to the most private place she could find, a small corner with a vase and a little table. “Come down here,” she asked Moss, and he bent his head down to hers. “We mustn’t let them find this artifact. Whatever their purpose, they are untrustworthy. Go and wake up Kugo, I will stay here a while,” she whispered all this to him.

  “Okay,” he answered.

  Nephis returned to the man at the desk. “I will accept your protection for the time being, but my companion must attend to matters in my stead.” And so she determined to glean whatever she could from them.

  And they led Nephis to another room.

  Moss watched as she left. As soon as she did, the Sons of Barthus began to crowd around him, grabbing at his arms and cloak. He hurried out of the room, nearly dragging some of them with him. Quickly, Moss stepped out passed the guards and corpse-men into the tight streets. He was alone on the village road. The rest of its people, quiet, trembling in their homes. Only the birds called, their shrill voices echoing through Solca. This silence was interrupted by the sporadic crashes and wails of the Sons of Barthus rummaging through a home unseen.

  But as Moss turned down the road, toward the tavern, someone pulled at his cloak. He looked behind him to see Tomas waving at him. “You are with Miss Nephis, right?” he asked in a hushed voice.

  “Yes,” Moss answered.

  “Is she with you?” he asked, “I owe her my thanks, and I have something to show her.”

  “No, she is with Barthuses,” Moss answered.

  Tomas’ face soured in fright. “Could I show you then?” he asked, “But you must keep it secret.”

  Moss nodded.

  Tomas led him through the streets, not far from the tavern, until they came to a home that had a great barn to one side, where in were many barrels, some finished and others still being pulled into shape. A wagon had been pulled from the barn, and in front of the door of the home, presumably the door from the barn to the home had also been barricaded. Tomas stepped over the wagon and opened the door, inviting Moss to do the same.

  “Tomas!” A woman gasped, “There you are! Where have you been!”

  “I’m fine, Mom, I was just looking for a friend,” he tried in vain to assuage her.

  “I don’t want you wandering out while those freaks are in- What is that!” she exclaimed as Moss bent through their door.

  “This is Moss,” Tomas tried to explain.

  “I am Moss,” Moss answered.

  “He’s going to help me!” Tomas finished. “He came with the girl I told you about!”

  Moss did not recall agreeing to anything of the sort, but he said nothing to the contrary.

  Tomas’ mother chewed the air, trying to form a single word, but nothing would come.

  “Come on, Moss,” Tomas said and showed him to the cellar, a single set of thin stairs that led down into the pitch black chamber.

  “Tomas!” his mother called after him, “Tomas, stop that!”

  Tomas ignored his mother and reached into the darkness for a clay lantern that hung on the wall. He nimbly lit it, using a bit of flint and the edge of the lantern where a bit of steel had been folded in. And in the dim glow, Moss saw a great room full of huge barrels, which stood every few feet, their spigots firmly sealed. “My family are brewers,” Tomas explained as he led him through the wide tunnels, “We make enough beer for all of Solca and some of the farmers around here. We’ve been doing this for generations, and I thought I would as well, but that’s just how it goes, I suppose.”

  “Show me the beer,” Moss said.

  “Later,” Tomas answered, and led him deeper within, and they walked quietly for a while. “I really do owe Miss Nephis my thanks,” he confessed, “I have a reason to return here, once it is all over.”

  “Do you have someone waiting for you now?” Moss asked curiously.

  “Aha, you remembered that?” he said sheepishly. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You probably remember everything. But yes, I do now,” his face glowed a bright pink in the darkness, and he looked to the far end of the tunnel.

  “Who is waiting for you?” Moss asked.

  “Her name is Liliana. She is a sweet girl, I’ve known her all my life. I always hoped she’d be mine one day, but I never had a reason to ask her, until now that is,” his voice trailed off, and he was far from the dark, cramped tunnel.

  Moss was quiet, and he thought all of this over.

  “B-but like I said, we’ve been doing this for generations,” Tomas stammered, “We’ve been here as long as the Dalca family has, back when this town was nothing but two huts and a well,” as he said this, he stopped before the wall. He knelt down on the ground and began to pull at a great stone which lay loosened, without mortar or locking stones. With a heave, he drug it out and set it aside. And from the hole in the wall, he pulled a box, a fat iron chest with a heavy lock. “Way back when, or so my grandfather says, they were visited by an elf! And he gave them a treasure!” Tomas pulled a key that hung from his neck by a woven cord and slotted it in. And with a click and a whine, the chest opened. Tomas unfurled a most beautiful cloak of crimson, emerald, and azure threads so thin you could hardly make them out. And on it was an embroidered design, like a tapestry, of flowers of a great many sorts, some that Moss recognized, and some that he did not.

  “It’s a pretty cloak,” Tomas said, “And my grandfather said it’s worth as much as a castle! He said it's mine to keep, but that I should only sell it if really I need to.” Tomas looked quietly at the cloak for a while. “It’s warm and sturdy, but I don’t see why those strangers would want it. It doesn’t seem magical, though I wouldn’t know. Is it just because it's worth money?” he asked Moss.

  “It is a clue,” Moss answered sagely.

  “A clue to what?” Tomas asked.

  “A star,” Moss said.

  Tomas furrowed his brows. “I don’t get it. But I do know those creeps don’t deserve it. Would you help me hide it? They will tear this place apart when they get here.”

  Moss gently took the cloak and held it in the air. So this was elven make. He was caught by its beauty and drawn in by it, how the weaves and stitches knotted together to make something almost alive. What hands had done this? He wondered. Were they foul or fair? What did the elf wish for it? And Moss did not know, but he peered into the cloth, searching for the answer all the same.

  Moss agreed, and they began to search around the cellar for a perfect hiding spot that no one could find. But as they did, there came a crash and a bang. Tomas whispered for Moss to follow after him. Yet came the soft, uneven steps and the groaning of old wood, as a mob shambled down the steps. The Sons of Barthus were upon them.