[Campaign Journal/Story Hour]: Thorn's Chronicle

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


Waxing half moon of the Deep Snows (on or about Kaldmont 11, 997AC)

“Thorn, wake up.”

Ana’s hand on my shoulder roused me from the sleep into which I’d just fallen. I blinked that sleep from my eyes, and she was shoving my pack into my arms.

“Your cloak liner and extra tunic are in there. You’re going to need them.”

The thick woolen weave peeked from beneath the rim of her hood, and flapped at the edges of the inside of her cloak. She wore her fur-lined gloves. Sitting up, looking past her, I saw Gilliam and Varis making the same alterations to their own cloaks, sitting much closer to the fire than we had over dinner just before the sun set.

“I thought we were to leave after breakfast.”

She shook her head, and pointed at the mouth of the overhang. A fine layer of snow had already formed over the sparse grass. I hurried my own work at altering my cloak, amused to find that I’d tied the last few knots as “hurry” “snows” and — well, it was my own shorthand for one of Varis’ more colorful curses.

“I knew the cold was creeping closer, but this…” I struggled with the last of the knots. My fingers were already beginning to ache with the cold.

I donned my cloak, slinging my pack, glancing around what little was left of the campsite. Gilliam was securing his bedroll, and Varis was tucking the cookpot into the top of his pack.

“Where is the girl?” I asked.

“She’s right—” Varis turned, glancing around. “She was just here…”

A distant, hard splash stopped Gilliam as he was about to toss a handful of loose earth onto the fire. We all glanced at each other for a beat, and then Gilliam and Varis were dashing to the pool. Ana began untying the bedroll Gilliam had just bundled over top of his pack.

“Thorn, no. I need you to give the fire a little bit of a prod. We need to coax as much heat from it as we can.”

Though too far away, I could hear both of the warriors’ voices lifted in either concern or anger. More than likely, it was a good measure of both. There was much splashing, more shouting. And then the two men grew silent. Glancing up from my coaxing of the flames, I saw them standing, hands on their hips. They must have been discussing something, because I saw Varis point vehemently to the distance, and then at the pool, then throw his hands up in the air.

The surface of the pool broke, and the girl struggled to the edge, clumsily. Gilliam stooped, and hauled the girl out. She was clinging to something nearly as tall as she was, and as the trio hustled back to the camp, I saw that part of that bundle was Varis’ sword.

“Fool of a girl,” he was fuming, as he snatched the sword from her arms, and dragged her by the arm to the fireside. Ana threw the bedroll blanket around the girl’s shoulders, rubbing vigorously at the girl’s hair to absorb as much of the excess water as she could before it started to freeze. Resistant to the cold as she was, her teeth still chattered, and her lips were nearing the lightest of blues.

“Y-yuddah na hiin z-zastra,” she managed, barely avoiding biting her tongue. She rubbed her hands, then held them out for the bundle that Gilliam held.

It was a long, but narrow package of some sort, carefully wrapped in oilcloth, tied over and around again with a strange, waxy-looking twine. The knots had been put in to stay, yet the girl was able to unravel them with a few tugs. Gilliam helped her, turning the large box as she pulled at corners of the wrapping.

“It’s like Yuletide,” he said with a grin. Once the wrappings fell free, he carefully folded it. He frowned, looking down at the metal box the girl had exposed. “Impossible,” he said, knocking on it. It made a solid, metallic ‘thunk.’ “It doesn’t weigh much more than Varis’ sword.”

Varis leaned over. “What is in there that’s worth going for a swim in this?” he asked, gesturing behind him at the snow that was beginning to fall heavier.

The girl seemed to gather the basics of what the warrior asked. “Zastra madiiya,” she answered him, shaking fingers working at the clasps of the sleek metal case. We all leaned close as the girl lifted the lid.

Lodged diagonally across the lid's interior was a scabbard of ash, bound and worked with the same golden metal that adorned the girl’s wrists. It swirled and looped from the base to tip, where it ran in three tight rings just below the sturdy hexagonal crosspieces leafed in white gold. The hilt was a simple wrap of white leather that finished at what looked like a mounting point for a jeweled setting of some sort, of the same white gold as the guards.

Gilliam whistled. “I wouldn’t want to leave such a treasure behind, either.”

The bottom half of the case held a neatly-folded gown of a bit thicker weave than the one the girl currently wore. Next to that was a black wooden box, lacquered and polished to a high gloss.

With a sigh, the girl stood up, the blanket falling from her shoulders with a sodden ‘plop.’ She reached down, and began to straighten, lifting the hem higher and higher on her gown.

Varis and I scrambled to turn our backs. The sound of a gloved hand smacking against layers of clothing indicated that Gilliam was not quick enough in averting his eyes.

“Here, let me help you with that,” Ana said. There was a rustle of cloth, and instead of hearing another, we heard an almost-metallic jingle -- not the heavy clangor of Varis or Ana’s coats of mail, but... I can only describe it as what theirs would sound like if a single breath could disturb the links. There was nothing unpleasant or jarring in the noise. It was almost... musical.

“All right, you may turn around,” Ana said, and we turned to see the girl clad in what appeared to be another gown. But there were differences -- the front bodice looked to be adorned with row after row of decorative vertical seams. There was no neckline -- the girl’s throat was enclosed in a high collar. From a distance, she would simply appear to be dressed in the high Thyatian formal style.

But no Thyatian had ever worn a dress that gave off a metallic whisper.

Varis and Gilliam both held their hands out, hesitantly, practically drooling. The girl didn’t hide the smile as she held out her arms for the two men to run their fingers over the material. The sleeves looked to be just a bit overly long. Indeed, on a normal dress, they would have been. Of course, normal dresses were not intended to protect the backs of her hands.

“Amazing,” Varis breathed.

“Durin would weep,” Gilliam said.

At that, the girl frowned, here eyes bright, but distant as she appeared to be trying to remember something.

“There now, enough pawing,” Ana said. She shooed the men back and wrapped a wide belt of thick white leather about the girl’s hips. The buckles were of the same white gold as the decorations on the sword’s hilt. Gilliam glanced over at the metal case.

“Gloves, but no shoes?”

[Chimpman]

Anyatama... hmmm... the first thing that comes into my mind is automaton.... I wonder if these girls could be some advanced Blackmoorian form of warforged?

[RobJN]

Anyatama... hmmm... the first thing that comes into my mind is automaton.... I wonder if these girls could be some advanced Blackmoorian form of warforged?

"Anyatama" is Sanskrit for "one of many." The connotation here is that the word refers to inanimate objects, like tools. Or weapons.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


The last of the items the girl took from the case was the slim black lacquered box. At a touch and a whispered word, a bluish rune flashed beneath the surface of the lid, fading as she opened the box. Within, nestled on a silken lining, was a golden circlet, fashioned in the same impossibly delicate swirling mesh as the girl’s gauntlets. It seemed barely substantial enough to keep its own shape, and indeed appeared to flow through her hair as she settled it across her forehead. Firelight caught the string of three gold-veined stones set along the front: a large clear gem like those adorning her gauntlets flanked by two smaller red stones.

“Should we kneel?” Gilliam asked. “If she isn’t a princess, she’s wearing enough gold to buy a kingdom. I— what’s this?”

He was interrupted as the girl pressed a small felt bag into his hand. She did the same for Varis, Ana, and myself.

“It’s beautiful!” Ana was turning the teardrop-shaped stone over in her hands. It was set in a gold mounting that appeared to be an extension of the veinwork inside the stone, suspended from a gold chain so fine, pixies could have forged it.

Gilliam appeared to be calculating the worth of his own pendant, as he dangled it before his eyes, watching the firelight play off the red-tinged facets.

The girl frowned, waving away our thanks. She mimed slipping the chain about her neck, the motions hurried, impatient.

One after another, we did as she indicated.

Even before the chain had settled about my neck, I was aware of an intense prickling against my skin, almost like the feeling during the lightning storms the previous nights. A nearly undetectable ringing or buzzing tickled at my hearing, hovering just out of hearing. The more I tried to focus on it, the further away it seemed to drift.

“If you keep doing that, you’re going to give yourself a headache,” the girl said. Or rather, that was what echoed in my mind as my ears heard her speaking her native harsh, somewhat sibilant tongue.

Varis stared, eyes wide with wonder. Gilliam seemed to be adding to whatever value he’d calculated earlier as he held the stone up away from his chest. Ana, though, pulled the chain back over her head, tossing the stone on the ground, backing away from it.

“It was inside my head!” she gasped, running her fingers through her hair. “Such invasive magic is forbidden!”

[Chimpman]

I really like the way you describe this magic. Can't wait to see how Ana reacts to the girl now.

Hmmm... I wonder if we could get some crunch on the items being used here (as long as that wouldn't give away too many secrets).

[RobJN]

The effects of voice, crystals, and vibrational waves were widely known, in the World that Was. Entire branches of the sciences grew from the Elemental Studies labs at Blackmoor University, each studying effects of sounds on particular types of crystalline structures.

Three such branches became the focus of intense scrutiny, and drew more and more funding from the Crown once the particular properties of the dragonstones had been proven in run after run of experiments. Despite initial similarities in appearances, each of the three showed remarkable differences in tonal qualities, and reacted in no way similar when exposed to battery after battery of magical resonance testing.

Of the three classes of bimorphic dracosilcates, the Manganese-gold based dracosilicus ignus is the most common, appearing in egg-like geodes close to the surface in the marshlands around Castle Blackmoor. These are not to be confused with the ruby-like warpstones of the Egg of Coot — while the red dragonstones do radiate a magical aura, they are not tinged by the evil and insanity of the Egg.

Oftentimes mistaken for rubies at first glance, the red dragonstones are differentiated by a fine network of golden veins nestled deep in the heart of the main crystalline structure. Oscilloscopraphic tuning indicates most of these stones resonate at the frequency of 60 cycles per minute.

Magically, red dragonstones demonstrate an affinity for enhancing existing magic, operating particularly effectively with fire-based sorceries. When exposed to such extreme temperatures as those in magical fires, the stones do not heat up, and can impart some of that protection in jewelry properly aligned and tuned to both the wearer and the stone.

Oddly enough, balancing the nature some see as inherently destructive, the red dragonstones also exhibit a proclivity towards the storage of information, both magical and mundane.

Though hailed as a genius and a marvel at stonecrafting, Ridadel Vulburgh discovered the secret of dual-tuning a reading-stone when he accidentally applied two different dictionaries to the same crystal. The result was a synchronicity between the two vibrations, which then manifested in a sympathetic tonewave overlaying the listener’s perception of the words. In short, Vulburgh had developed instantaneous translation.

Before his work could be put into mass production, though, complaints from the Cryptographers Guilds, the Letterer’s Guilds, as well as three Crystalmanceries put a halt to plans to make “speaking stones” cheaply available to the public. Their use was restricted to special agents of the Crown, and even then, the dozens that were given out were further restricted by attuning them in “matched sets,” each grouping of two to eight stones tuned to a very specific frequency and only resonating with those of the same cyclical attenuation.

Game effects: Of the many different magical properties of the red dragonstones, those in a synchronized set can be worn amongst a group and all will perceive words spoken in the stone’s stored language as if it were their native tongue. Treat this as a comprehend languages spell, limited to the language stored within the stone. It is operational as long as the wearer of the stone can hear the speaker, be it a whisper or shout. Rather than a strictly magical effect, though, it is a vibrational property of the stone itself. Thus, the effect is lost under influence of silencing magicks, or if exposed to the precise reversed waveform (which then has a 1 in 6 chance of shattering the crystal).

The stone's vibration manifests as a slight buzzing or ringing in the ear. Though not harmful, it has been known to induce headaches in wearers who attempt to focus solely on the "hum." This would be the aural equivalent of squinting to read very fine print.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


It took some time to calm Ana down, and for me to relay to her what the girl knew of how the red stones worked their miraculous translation. Oddly enough, Varis and I “heard” the girl’s voice speaking a northern dialect of Traladaran, while Gilliam heard a mix of Ylari and Thyatian. When we were finally able to get Ana to wear her amulet again, she told us that the girl “spoke” to her in Alphatian. After some experimentation, we determined that the girl’s voice was the only one to take on the “echo” in our minds. We still heard each other as we had before. Ana’s Alphatian was still as eerie and alien to my ears as it was during her ceremony, with no translated reverberation over my hearing.

The girl reached for the sword, but Varis placed his hand upon it first.

“Now that we understand each other, I would have your word that you will do us no harm.”

The girl straightened, crossing her arms, the sleeves of her dress singing against each other as she did. Though she stood only a head taller than Varis as he sat, she looked down at him as if she were a giantess.

“If I meant you harm, I could have slit your throat the night we met,” she said.

I was not the only one to shiver a bit, hearing those words from one who appeared no more than a dozen years of age.

“She’s got a point there,” Gilliam said. “She could have done us in any number of times in the night.”

“Even the starving wolf bides its time among the shadows, rather than leap amongst the flock,” Ana said.

“I have no reason to want to harm you. We seem to have a common enemy. Do not hinder my work and we will not have to cross swords.”

“Your word,” Varis pressed, crossing his own arms.

The girl sighed, dropping her arms to her sides. “I cannot give that to you. Or you,” she said, turning to me, “or you,” she continued, turning to Ana.

“Why not?” Gilliam asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I am foresworn.”

“Ah…” Gilliam nodded, a hand going to his chin. “And under what name have you made these prior oaths?”

The girl smiled, something almost sweet, but mostly melancholy. Again, she sighed. “I am bound beyond naming. Deeper than blood and bone and magic. Beyond time itself. Now give me—”

She stopped, her hand pausing as she stretched it towards Varis. She looked past the remains of the bonfire, past the six black pillars, into the sloping curve of the canyon.

Fog roiled, billowing and churning, filling the canyon from wall to wall, flowing silently, steadily forward.

[Chimpman]

Very cool stuff Rob! Of course (like any good writer) you've answered my questions and left me with more . Warpstones of the Egg of Coot - very ominous. And what of the other 2 classes of dragonstones? I'm wondering if one of those might be embedded on the girl's wrists.

[RobJN]

Very cool stuff Rob! Of course (like any good writer) you've answered my questions and left me with more . Warpstones of the Egg of Coot - very ominous. And what of the other 2 classes of dragonstones? I'm wondering if one of those might be embedded on the girl's wrists.

Draconus silicus noxis and draconus silicus clarite are the other two classes. Silva uses all three: black on her right wrist, red on her left, a clear stone on a pendant around her neck. Her golden-eyed twin wears a clear gem on each wrist, and a circlet bearing one large clear and two red stones. You've seen the black stone in action against the ogre in Mistamere, and red and black were used in Verge, in containing the fires and then creating the soul-bound warpack.

Silva had been pulling her punches, not using the stones' full potential. Her twin... well, you'll see....

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


Varis did not object when the girl reached down and popped the sword from the top of the metal case. She snapped the scabbard in place across her right hip, dancing forward and backward a step, adjusting the belt. She flipped the bottom of the case up, and pulled a cloak the color of winter storm clouds from a small compartment, swirling it over her shoulders and flipping her hair at the same time so both settled neatly down her back.

“Showoff,” Ana muttered, hoisting her pack. She gave a vicious tug at the cords binding the leather guard around the blade of her scythe.

The girl turned, staring at the long silver blade. She reached up, hesitantly. “May I…?”

Ana shrugged, and lowered the end so the girl could better see the curved, mirrored surface.

The girl flicked the blade’s tip with a finger, closing her eyes as she listened to the note that rang forth. After a deep breath, she opened her eyes, nodding. “Yes. It is good. Nearly one hundred percent pure.”

Thunder rolled, distant, but prowling closer. The girl sucked in a sharp breath as red-tinged lightning danced among the clouds.

“Not so brave now, are you?” she murmured, golden eyes watching the play of the lightning. The girl watched the clouds until the flickering dimmed, then went to the closest of the pillars around the pool. She crouched, Varis’ dagger suddenly in her hand. She bent close, working the tip against one of the dark stones embedded in the black granite base.

“And you thought I was bad,” Gilliam said, trading glances with Ana.



Gilliam tried to help, and got a nasty burn when his dagger nearly melted on making contact with one of the stones. He cradled his fingers, and we glanced between the girl’s progress around each of the pillars, and steady creep of the fog.

She dipped each stone into the water of the pool, and dried it carefully with the hem of her cloak before slipping the gems into a pouch Gilliam lent her.

“Just one or two of those would be enough to buy nearly anything you could ever hope to want,” the warrior told her.

She ignored him, working the dagger along the edge of the next black gem.

When the girl finally finished, there was perhaps a quarter mile between us and the wall of mists. And still they rolled closer.

“You must stand between the pillars,” the girl said, taking one such position. “Quickly! Before the fog overtakes us.”

I felt a tingling jolt as I stepped between two of the columns. The hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up, and a sudden, chill sweat broke out over my whole body. The ringing in my ears climbed in pitch, and I winced, shutting my eyes against the sudden pain. Through my eyelids, I saw flickerings of the greenish-blue light. Through the ringing in my ears, I heard the girl’s voice, rising and falling in a chant of some sort. I could not make out her words, the translating stone’s power seemingly nullified by whatever magic she was working.

The girl’s chanting stopped. The ringing in my ears faded along with the chilling tingle along the back of my neck. Her magic, it seemed, was done. The jangling of Varis and Ana shifting their weight came as very loud sounds, as if we were confined to one of the stone shelters along the mountain trail, or holed up in one of the dank chambers beneath Mistamere. Yet we were outside, the walls of the canyon a mile away to either side of us.

I opened my eyes.

Mist curled and eddied. It was held back at arm’s length by a shimmering curtain of blue-green light, along a perfect circle around the pool. Reflected along the inner surface of the half-orb of light were the outermost-facing runes of the six pillars. Six copies of the same string of glyphs or letters.

“Oh, very impressive,” Gilliam drawled. "How are we supposed to get out of this?"

A shadow solidified out of the mists, all darkness except for two blazing points of reddish light where eyes might be. A deeper darkness yawned beneath, where a gaping maw might have been. It sprang towards the warrior, a hollow, hungry, keening issuing from the thing as it reached with shadowy, smoky talons.

The runes to either side of Gilliam flared, blue-green light washing over the shadow-beast. Its hungry wail melted into a pained shriek as it dissolved under the glare.

Gilliam tried to straighten his cloak as he rose from the cringing, defensive half-crouch.

He cleared his throat. “All right. That was impressive,” he said. We politely ignored the tremor, or how his voice cracked.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


“Do not be afraid,” the girl said. “They cannot harm any of you.”

“Unless this barrier fails,” Gilliam moaned.

“It will not.”

“Every spell fails or fades eventually,” Ana said. “What is your plan then?”

“It will not fail or fade.”

“So we are to just huddle here, a little flock of sheep while the wolves keep surrounding us in greater numbers?” Ana asked. More and more shadows were coalescing out of the mist, keeping their distance from the barrier, the number of pairs of deep red eyes growing by the minute.

“There must be... hundreds of those,” Varis murmured. His eyed flicked from side to side. “They move too quickly to count.”

“Too quickly to fight,” Gilliam said.

“They number in the thousands,” the girl said, her voice matter-of-fact, distant, as though the tally of shadow beasts were of a minor concern. Her eyes were a strange, golden-green, reflecting the scintillating light simmering behind the runes along the columns. The runes along the two faces between which the girl stood were slowly lighting up, as if they were containers filling with the blue-green fire.

“So we just wait here while their numbers grow?” Varis asked. “That makes no tactical sense.”

“Ready yourselves,” the girl said. She turned to face her stretch of the barrier.

Again, the icy tingle slithered across my skin, a shock so fierce it burned, like touching iron in the depths of winter.

I felt the hem of my cloak stir, and looked back to see the water in the pool, its surface usually mirror-still, turning. Even as I watched, it turned faster, as if the cook wielding the invisible spoon were growing more and more impatient. The faster the water turned, the more the tingling grew at the back of my neck.

I glanced over to Ana, caught her eye as she, too, was staring wide-eyed at the water.

“Your swords!” the girl called, gesturing towards the pool. She had to raise her voice, for the confines of her barrier were filled with the roaring whisper of the water.

Varis drew his sword, glancing at the girl.

She pointed towards the water again. “Bathe them. To the crosspiece.”

Varis knelt, dipping the tip of his sword into the swirling water. He grunted, resetting his foot as he was nearly pulled off-balance by the tug of the water. Gilliam crouched, plunging his blades into the water, leaning against the current.

The water cast greenish shadows over the two warriors’ faces.

The girl watched the water, swaying a bit, her head moving ever so slightly side to side. I suddenly realized that she was singing — or at the very least timing something, as if to a song. I glanced over to the runes facing her. They blazed, nearing the top of the last pair of symbols.

“Rise!” she called, and Gilliam and Varis both jerked to their feet, Varis immediately falling into Thyatian military parade rest, his sword point-down between his shoulder-width feet. Gilliam assumed a deceptively relaxed posture, the twin short swords low and loose in his hands.

All three blades swirled with the greenish-blue radiance that flickered in the pillars.

“Be ready! On my mark, Varis, strike the pillar.” She indicated the pillar to her right, which was on Varis’ left.

“Ready for what?” Gilliam asked, his voice breaking again.

“To run,” the girl said.

“Run? Where?”

The girl drew her sword, the blade making a gear-like ratcheting as it cleared the scabbard. Her own blade swam with the same blue-green energy. It had an odd craft to it, with hand-width serrations all along the length of the blade, as if it were broken evenly an then reforged.

“Strike!” she cried, and slapped the pillar to her left with the flat of her blade.

Varis did the same, the double chime of metal on stone ringing like a huge golden bell. Suddenly, the radius of the protective circle seemed cramped, the noise crowding us.

The section between the two columns flickered, and then the magic seemed to realign, two green walls flaring to the girl’s left and right, carving a clear corridor through the mist.

The ringing was joined by the shrieking howls of shadow beasts, caught in the glare as the magic flared brighter. Those along the path of the two walls of greenish light were simply cut in half, dissolving into so much smoke and fog.

Without a cue from the girl, we ran, Varis and Gilliam in the lead, followed by myself and Ana.

Behind us, with the lightest of steps and the music of her metallic dress barely audible beneath the sizzling crackle of the barriers to our left and right, the girl laughed as she ran.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


We ran until our lungs burned. To our left and right, the shadows paced us, the more hungry or foolish among them throwing themselves into the barriers, only to be met with a spitting sizzle as they dissolved into smoke with a trailing howl.

Not all of the shadows were man-like. Some loped on all fours — or more-than-fours. Some seemed to slither while others simply… undulated. I did not look too closely at those, for they had an uncomfortable number of eyes and mouths.

When our pace flagged, the girl urged us along, her eyes bright, the gold of the circlet and her hair shining.

“Why the rush?” Gilliam gasped. “You said — this wouldn’t fade or fail.”

“The barrier at the pool would not. But this path grows weaker the further from the pool we go.”

“So we run headlong to our doom?”

“We are nearly through, keep going!”

The sizzling hum of the barrier seemed to grow less insistent with every stride. But the fog grew brighter, and as it thinned around us, so too did the shadows within it.
Varis and Gilliam gave shouts as they splashed into a stream. Ana and I both gasped as we followed them, the water an icy pressure against our boots.

The greenish barrier flickered, sputtering, and the girl gave a dismissive slash of her sword. The barrier flared bright, then dissolved back along its own path, distant howls and shrieks bringing a fierce smile to the girl’s lips.

“Was that wise?” Varis asked, panting, leaning on his knees.

The girl shrugged. “The mists are too thin here. They cannot follow us.”

“Where is here?” Gilliam asked.

The river stretched out of sight into clouds of mist to the left and right, and we could not see the far bank through the fog, either.

“We haven’t run that far,” Ana said.

“Actually…” the girl hedged. We all glanced at her. “We’re clear of the pool’s canyon. Across this river is a town. Or was, when I was awake last.” She sighed. “If things such as prowl the mists are awake, this is not the valley I once knew, and all my work here has been undone.”

“It took us half a day to hike there,” Varis said.

“It’s no Lightning Road, but I have the means to cross smaller distances quickly.”

“Imagine how much you could make—”

“No,” Ana said.

“You didn’t even let me finish!” Gilliam pouted.

“There are things more important than money,” the young woman said.

“Name three.”

“Defending the world from this unnatural winter,” Ana said. “Finding out what is behind this lightning. Finding who did that to Pazach and stopping them.”

Gilliam stared for a long moment. “Wouldn’t that last one count as four? All right, those are pretty good,” he said, raising his hands to ward off Ana’s glower. “Not at all what I would have mentioned, mind you, but—”

“I do not even want to think about what is on your list,” Ana said, hitching her pack and adjusting her grip on her scythe. “Which way, then?” she asked the girl.

The girl giggled, and turned slightly to her right and started along the river. “Well it is good to see that some things have not changed,” she said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gilliam asked, glancing to Varis and myself.

[Chimpman]

I'm really starting to enjoy this... especially now that the crew can understand what the girl is saying. I can't wait to read more.

On a slight tangent, I have finally figured out my own stumbling block, and hopefully will be able to start writing some more in my own little tale.

[RobJN]

I'm really starting to enjoy this... especially now that the crew can understand what the girl is saying. I can't wait to read more.

On a slight tangent, I have finally figured out my own stumbling block, and hopefully will be able to start writing some more in my own little tale.

The speaking stones do make things a lot easier, all the way around. It will be nice to be able to add a layering of words atop the usual action of the mysterious twins.

And congrats on clearing the hurdle for your own piece. Looking forward to the next installment(s)!

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


As we walked, the girl sheathed her sword, which rattled as it slid home. She fished into the pouch at her waist, and drew forth one of the black gems, holding it up to a bright spot in the clouds, peering through it. She breathed on it, polished it against the shoulder of her cloak, and then fixed it with a sharp “snap” to the mounting brackets on the pommel of her sword.

It made a perfect fit.

“You have been here before?” I asked the girl, lengthening my stride until I drew beside her.

She nodded.

“It has been some time since then?”

Again she nodded. “Would that I could see the stars, I could give you the span of years. It has obviously been a long while. Your people have rediscovered the secrets of iron and steel. They still floundered with bronze when I was last awake.”

“You speak as if there are still more secrets for us to find.”

She smiled at that. “I will not be tricked so easily. What secrets your kind will find, they will work out on their own. Secrets without such understanding will only bring doom.”

“Do you speak of the Afridhi, or of Blackmoor?”

The girl stopped walking.

“If you speak that name again, I will cut out your tongue,” she said. Her expression was guarded, her golden eyes flat. The hand on the hilt of her sword was white-knuckled.

“Samaam,” I said, bowing.

After a pause, the tension in the girls’ shoulders eased, and she relaxed her grip on the sword.

“Those names were ancient, even upon my first awakening. How would you know to guess them?” she asked, as we resumed our march along the riverbank.

It was my turn to smile. “And who is to say they were guesses?”

I poked through my coin pouch until I found Silva’s coin. I handed it to the girl, and saw recognition light her eyes as she turned it over and over. She squinted at the reverse side of the coin.

“Newly minted,” she murmured, then handed the coin back to me.

“That was given to me by one like yourself.”

“The one they called ‘Silva.’”

I nodded.

“Sirens always did talk too much,” she muttered.

“‘Siren?’ Like the singers who lure sailors to their deaths upon the shoals around the Isle of Dread?”

The girl’s look of puzzlement was nearly comical.

“You said she looks as I do?”

I nodded. “Except for eyes of silver, and gauntlets of the same.”

“How could you possibly confuse us with those hideous snake-women?” She gathered up a handful of her dress and lifted the hemline towards her knees. “Do you see any scales there?”

“No, but you called her a Siren.”

The girl shook her head. “The years are never kind to languages.” She turned at the sudden splashing behind us, the sword coming free of her scabbard with the metallic chattering song.

Gilliam brought himself up short, skipping back from the tip of the blade that was suddenly at throat level.

“Whoa! I just saw—” He swallowed, glancing my way with a grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt your moment, but there seems to be movement—”

The girl dropped her eyes from the tip of her sword to the gem in the pommel. She sucked in a sharp breath, snapping the sword away from Gilliam and spinning, dropping into a low guard position, the sword level across her body.

“Easy,” Gilliam said. “It’s probably just another snow goblin hunting party.”

The shadows that Gilliam had seen in the mists grew sharper. Whatever it was, it was built low to the ground, and indeed walked. Another couple breaths and the mists fell away from the approaching figures.

Gilliam had guessed right: they were the squat forms of snow goblins, drawing to a halt at the edges of the mists ahead of us. The tallest raised a fist.

“Something isn’t right,” Gilliam said, glancing at the girl, and easing his hands towards the swords at his waist.

“Draw,” she said. “These are more a threat to me than you.”

“Why are they just standing there?” Ana asked as she drew nearer.

“And why haven’t we heard them croaking?” Varis asked.

The goblins’ approach had been completely silent.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


The goblins’ attack was just as silent, charging, overlarge mouths hanging open, yet without any sort of battle cry. Once they closed to engage, the bloody half-circles rimming their bulbous eyes were frighteningly clear.

I kept close to Ana, knocking the demon-touched goblins aside, and she finished them off with a cold efficiency, her scythe cut shining arcs through air and goblin alike. Oily smoke boiled from the black-edged wounds as the bodies fell limp. To our right, we heard Gilliam and Varis, shouting terse instructions back and forth as they held back the press from that side. Through the blackened blood slicking the blades, I could see a ghostly greenish glow emanating from beneath the surface of their swords.

The girl shouted a harsh word that did not translate through the gem, and the the circlet at her brow began to shine with a glow like that of the sun. Her hair took the same sheen, and the goblins reeled back from the halo as if the light pained them. That hesitation was all she needed, the sword flaring with its own golden light as it cleaved through the first stunned rank.

She did not stop moving, turning, ducking, spinning, her swordwork a blend of effortless parries and vicious thrusts and slashes. Though she danced and weaved among the press, there was no wasted movement. She did not strike to wound, or cripple. And the air was thick with black smoke as the demons’ influence dissolved into the Ether.

The glow surrounding the girl faded slightly, her eyes sweeping across the swathe of bodies. With a nod, she closed her eyes, and sheathed her sword, the nimbus blinking out as the hilt touched the scabbard.

Varis and Gilliam stared for a long while, catching their breath. While they had taken perhaps half a dozen of the goblins between themselves, the girl stood among more than a dozen.

She was not even winded.

“Aurora,” Gilliam said.

We all glanced over to him. The girl’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

Gilliam looked at each of us, and then at the girl. “Aurora. That is what I name you,” he said.

She cocked her head. “It does not translate.”

“It means… ‘Child of the Sun’ if I remember my High Thyatian,” I said.

“‘Child of the Dawn,’” Ana corrected. “Yes, we study the language of the heathens,” she said, when Gilliam raised an eyebrow.

“‘Child of the Golden Dawn,’ actually, but either will do.” he said.

The girl blinked slowly. “Aurora,” she pronounced, slowly, as though wrapping her tongue around each syllable. She looked up, as if to regard the golden circlet upon her brow, and then turned her gaze down, to her hands, clasped before her. She darted her golden eyes slightly left and right, turning her arms as if she could see through the sleeves of her gown.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


“Do you not care for it?” Varis asked the girl, as we picked our way upstream from the battle site.

“I am named. It is so.” She shrugged. “Still… at least it doesn’t sound dreadfully dwarven, like this ‘Silva.’” She let out a genuinely dejected sigh. “That is no name for a Siren. Ah! Here is the bridge that I remember.”

She dashed ahead of our group, ignoring Varis’ shout, spinning away from his grasp.

“Aurora, wait! There could be—”

We pressed through the fog where she’d vanished, only to find her standing at the far side of the stone arch spanning the river, leaning heavily to one side.

“What is it?” Ana asked, going to the girl’s side. She knelt, then gasped as she inspected the girl’s foot.

“It will be fine in a matter of minutes,” Aurora said, through clenched teeth.

“Burns such as these do not heal in…” Ana’s voice trailed off, her blue eyes widening as she watched.

“How…?”

“It is our nature. With a little help,” the girl said, lifting the hilt of her sword. The black stone set on the pommel glimmered slightly, pinpoints of purplish light away from the veinwork within, dissolving into the darkness.

We watched the redness fade, the blisters shriveling. It was perhaps ten minutes, and she was able to put her full weight back on the foot. She still did not step from the bridge, though, but stood regarding the path, the shadows of tumbled-down buildings we could see, looming in the fog.

“It will be dangerous from here,” Aurora said. “If I am to walk this ground, I will need all my concentration to work the Healing. You cannot count on my sword.”

Varis hefted his blade. “With what you did to our blades, Gilliam and I should be able to handle anything that comes at us.”

“The Augment is not permanent. You must fight sparingly if it is to last during your time here.”

“How long is this supposed to last?” Gilliam asked.

“As long as you allow it.”

“What aren’t you telling us?” Ana asked, folding her arms.

“It is a simple Augment,” the girl said, as if that explained everything. When she saw that none of us grasped that meaning, she sighed. “So much lost,” she muttered.

“You are familiar with the workings of primitive oil lamps? The magic in your swords works in the same manner.”

“They burn oil?” Gilliam asked, peering down the length of one of his blades.

Aurora glared at the warrior. “The sword is merely the wick,” she said, slowly. “The Augment works on a simple polarity-based relationship.”

“All right, now you’ve lost me, as well,” Varis said. “I thought I was doing well up to the ‘wick’ part.”

Aurora glanced over at Ana. “How can you work with them?”

“In order for the magic to burn, it needs fuel,” I said. “Much like the flame of the lantern.”

“Ah! Yes! You understand!” The girl’s worried expression brightened.

“‘Polarity-based’” Ana repeated. “Then that would mean…” Sudden understanding lit her eyes, and she practically leapt away from the girl.

“Monstrous!”

“It is a simple equation,” Aurora said. “Life for death.”

[Chimpman]

Yikes, this one means business.

[RobJN]

Yikes, this one means business.

Aurora has a few more sharper edges than Silva....

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues....


“It does’t hurt,” the girl said. “It’s not like they even noticed it.”

“Undo it,” Ana said.

Aurora stared up at the girl. “I cannot. What’s done is done.”

Ana slapped the girl, hard, across one cheek, seemed as surprised as Aurora at the ferocity behind the blow.

“They are warriors. This is war. It is the risk all soldiers take. What I give them is a fighting chance against this enemy where before they had none. Or would you shoulder the entire burden? Four blades fight longer than one.”

“I—”

“Ana, she’s right,” Varis said. “You cannot fight alone."

She stared at the warrior, her mouth still open.

“We risk death every time we draw a sword, anyway,” Gilliam said. “This ‘Augment’ simply means we take a demon or two with us when we fall.”

“But she—”

“She’s given us a means to defend you.”

“I do not need—”

I could not tell if Ana was still flushed from her anger, or it was due to embarrassment.

“How long will this last?” Gilliam asked the girl, who was dabbing at the corner of her mouth, even as the gem on the pommel of her sword sparkled anew.

“For the length of time you held your blades in the water…. I would say three, four days at the most.”

“And after that, this… reverse-whatever is broken?” Varis asked.

“The Augment remains in place until it fades, or the balance tips too far.”

“You mean, until we die,” Gilliam said.

“I was trying to spare her feelings,” Aurora said, giving Ana a dark look.

Varis nodded. “That gives us plenty of time to make it back to the gateway and through the mountains to get warning to Lord Retameron in Verge. He can then pass word along to the Grand Duke.”

Lightning flashed, snaking across the clouds, illuminating the fog with a dim reddish glow. Thunder followed it, a rolling snarl reverberating through the air.

“We cannot leave!”

Ana and Aurora stared at each other, their expressions echoing each others’ just as their voices had.

Gilliam laughed.



“I can do something to lessen the—”

“No,”Ana said through clenched teeth, planting the haft of her scythe firmly, leaning heavily against it as we worked our way north and slightly east away from the village.


After the first half-mile from the river, I’d walked slowly, the girl’s hand on my arm, her eyes distant as she concentrated on keeping her feet.

Soon thereafter, she was the one slowing to match my pace, as the corruption seeped stronger and stronger from the ground with every step, until my stomach finally rebelled.

I refused that first offer of aid.

I tried to refuse again, perhaps a half mile later.

“Nonsense. You slow us down,” the girl said. She tightened her grip on my arm as I got back to my feet, and whispered a few words that the stone would not translate. After several weak-kneed steps, it was as if my awareness of the land’s corruption were stifled in a fog; still there, but distant, obscured. My stomach settled enough that it at least did not cramp.


Ana kept her back straight, her eyes set straight ahead, at the point between Gilliam and Varis’ shoulders.

“Just ask her how much her sorcery will cost you,” the cleric said.

I glanced down at the girl. “Did you—”

“I heard,” she said, her voice distant, with that sing-song cadence voices tend to get when concentrating on too many things at once. She tugged slightly at my arm, and I bent my head down closer.

“This magic does not work in that manner,” she whispered. “But if you insist on compensating, then consider her ire your payment.”

“You two were getting along so well.”

“She is not like the rest of you.”

“Well, she is much better looking.”

A smile crept into the girl’s expression, and she staggered.

“Do not make me laugh. It ruins my concentration.”

“Samaam,” I murmured.

“I meant that she is… different. She is… foreign.”

That word echoed with many different words through my mind. Whatever it meant in her native tongue, many different ideas crowded their way through that single word: ‘stranger,’ ‘outsider,’ ‘alien,’ ‘invader,’ ‘not of this place.’

“I would not be what I am if I was not uncomfortable in her presence.”

I nodded. “All right, I can understand that.”

“There is a Power about her that I do not understand.”

“I think she would say the same of you.”

“I only do what I can to assist. I do not intend harm. Why does she not understand that?”

“What is good for Alphaks is not necessarily good for all of Alphatia,” Ana said, from several steps ahead of us.

Aurora frowned. “I do not even know what an ‘Alphatia’ is.”

She lapsed into silence again, the gem flickering brighter, her steps more steady.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


After another hours’ walk, the mist thinned, sinking until it merely curled and eddied about our ankles. I wish I could say that the wear of the corruption also lessened, but it only grew steadily worse with the passing miles. Gilliam and Varis both finally hauled the shaking, sweating Ana over to Aurora, and the girl slipped further into her trance, the purplish light pulsing faster, as if mimicking a steadily laboring heartbeat.

After only ten minutes by the girl’s side, Ana could stand, and after another ten she walked without the aid of her scythe.

“See?” Gilliam said, smiling back at her. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

“I know what those black stones contain. Do you not recognize them from Korizegy’s keep?”

Gilliam kept smiling. “Sort of poetic, don’t you think, her using a demon to protect you from whatever it is they’ve done to the land?”

“It makes her no worse than them,” Ana said.

“The fate we bestow upon them is far more merciful than that which awaits us at their hands,” Aurora murmured. It was only in the translation’s echo that we were able to catch all of her words, so softly did she speak.

“I have seen—” Ana began, hotly, but the girl cut her off — without raising her voice.

“You have seen but shadows of demons, ragged remnants, stragglers, mangy curs that pick at scraps left in the wake of destruction left by their masters.

“When you have seen what is left after they swarm and engulf a village, choked on the ash and smoke that is all that is left of a town and all its people, worked for days on end to put out fires that burn stone and melt it as if it is wax; when you walk through a downpour of the blood of your own people… then let us speak of what you have seen.”

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


The haze she’d cast over the corruption burned almost completely away under her anger. I gritted my teeth, tried to ignore the oily sweat that trickled down my back. I tugged my hood closer, clutched my cloak tighter about myself, and bent my concentration to taking another step, and then another…


Aurora’s small hand tugging at my cloak drew me from my reverie. I looked up, blinking, took a deep breath. The air tasted cold, but did not have the iron tang to it that the fog carried. I glanced down, and saw coarse brown grass beneath my boots. It did not show signs of the scorching freeze. A step behind me, I saw the arc of smooth, rounded rune-carved stones.

She had guided us to another of the roadside shrines.

“Rest,” she said, and turned towards the low stone altar that stood opposite the tall standing stone. She unclipped her sword and scabbard from her belt, and with a twist of her wrist, snapped the dark stone from the pommel. She tossed it in her hand, as if gauging its weight, then set it in the center of the bowl-like depression in the altar.

Without a word, she brought the base of the scabbard down on the gem in a sharp, overhead strike, wielding it as if it were a spear.

We all jumped at the sharp ‘crack!’ of metal upon stone. She brought the scabbard down again, and again.

“How are we to rest if you insist on making that racket?” Ana snapped.

“The dragonstone is spent. I cannot seal or purify it, so it must be destroyed.”

“All that magic at your command and you cannot cleanse it?” Ana almost sounded smug.

“I am no Siren. I am a Shrike! Ours is not the task of binding.”

Ana walked slowly over to the altar, looking into the depression. “May I..?” She reached in.

Aurora’s golden eyes flashed, went wide. “You mustn’t!” She made for Ana’s hand, and flinched back with a yelp at a sudden burst of silver fire within the bowl.


“Kaasinteil, kuriva: alluma mindt at kirjah, min ollen alend jenteCypt.
Ei shaadhen se suurelik, vot sivullistin, vot omaisuus.”

The silver light flared, flickered, then died, and Ana fished the black gem from the bowl, holding it between thumb and forefinger.

Aurora took the gem, holding it up against the sky. Her own frown smoothed away into amazement.

“But… you did not sing.”

“It is not our way,” Ana said.

Aurora stared for a long moment, eyes glimmering. I could almost see the questions piling up behind them.

“Perhaps… we can work together, after all,” she finally said.

Ana grinned a grin worthy of Gilliam. “Enemy of my enemy,” she said.

Aurora’s smile was slower in coming, as it seemed she had to listen to many different layers of meaning in what Ana had said. She nodded, then lifted her sword, turning it horizontal, holding it up before Ana. She bowed her head. “Any aid in the fight against the Eternal enemy is welcome.”

“Keep your sword, for I am forbidden to touch any but those weapons sanctified at the Citadel. That is not to say that I do not welcome your sword at my side. And while I may not agree with your use of these — ‘dragonstones’ you call them?— I cannot argue with their results.” She regarded the girl’s offered sword for a moment longer, then shifted her scythe to her other hand. She spit on her free palm and held it out to the shorter girl.

Aurora raised an eyebrow, another smile quirking her lips. She spit into her own hand, and clasped it with Ana’s.

“Well, that’s certainly one way to kiss and make up,” Gilliam said with a sigh.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


We rested for several hours, leaning against the large, white standing stone, soaking in the summer-like warmth it radiated. Aurora paced just inside the circle of stones. Her left hand rested lightly on the hilt, relaxed, but ready to draw at a moment’s notice. She’d clamped a fresh dragonstone into the white-gold setting on the pommel of the sword, and the stone flickered and pulsed with purple motes of light.

“You shouldn’t need to heal while within the stones, should you?” I asked her.

“It is a Blind working now, not a Healing.” Her voice held the distant, distracted tone to it.

Green-gold light welled up from each rune as she passed, the light flowing from rune to rune, stone to stone, matching her progress around the shrine’s perimeter.

“The deception makes me itch,” Ana grumbled.

“You would rather the horsemen saw us and captured us?” Aurora asked, an edge of impatience, or perhaps anger creeping into her tone.

“What—” Gilliam began, then glanced down the road in the direction we’d come. Quiet, distant, but growing steadily louder, closer, came the drumming of perhaps four or five horses at a gallop.

Aurora did not speed up her pace, nor did she slow it, even as Varis and Gilliam tensed.

“They will not even glance our way,” the girl said.

Sure enough, the riders — men in dark leathers and simple black-banded steel helms — went by without even a glance to the side, leaning low over the necks of their mounts, short riding capes snapping behind them.

“They have gone,” Ana said, as the sound of the riders was swallowed by the mists and distance. She was rubbing at her mail-clad arms.

Aurora stopped, and the light faded from the rune by her feet, the gem on her sword going dark. “We must be on our way,” she said.

“But we just got comfortable!” Gilliam said, stretching his arms above his head.

“We must go,” the girl said, and started across the shrine, heading for the roadway.

“You can’t mean to follow those riders,” Varis said.

Aurora turned, cocked her head to one side. “Of course. This is the road to Byxata.”

“Is that where they were headed?”

She shrugged. “We are to go there.”

“Follow a group of men who’s motives we don’t know?” Ana asked.

“We won’t learn anything unless we follow them,” I said. “The more information I can gather for the Hierarch, the better he can lay his plans.”

“Come,” Aurora said, beckoning us as she turned back to the road. “It is not much farther. Perhaps another league. And then there will be no more sleeping on the ground. We will go to Nindesh’s estate.” She caught her breath. “Or rather… the estate of Nindesh’s descendants.”

“Who is—”

Gilliam threw his hands up in the air, and took several short, running steps. Despite slipping into her trancelike state, Aurora moved quickly, as if she was eager for this trek through the demon-tainted landscape to end.

As the nausea chewed at the edges of my perception, I could not help but match her sentiment.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


The roadway rose steadily, the ground becoming rockier, the paving stones becoming less and less of a ruin, and more of a proper thoroughfare. The hazy distance resolved itself into the looming wall of the valley. The road arced away from us, then rose in a sharp series of switchbacks, climbing into a wide cleft in the mountainside. Within that division between the folds of the mountain valley, a city had been partially carved from the mountains, and other buildings of the same dark granite rose in mist-shrouded ranks, peeking from above a low wall of dressed stone.

The windows of many of the buildings glowed with a warm yellow-orange light of candle and firelight, visible even as distant as we were, due to the evening shadows already beginning to claim the town.

After a brief pause, we hitched our packs higher, and started towards the switchback.

“Wait!”

Aurora’s voice was not the least bit distant, or distracted. The brittle edge of worry threaded her tone, and I at least stopped with something of a shiver.

“This is the right city, isn’t it?” Ana asked.

“Yes, but—”

“Well then, let’s see this ‘Nindesh’ fellow,” Gilliam said. “Much as I like the great outdoors, my back could use a nice feather bed.”

“No,” Aurora said. She held a hand low, in a warning gesture. “There is something… not right.”

‘Wrong,’ ‘unclean,’ ‘dangerous,’ and ‘unknown’ whispered atop each other in the speaking stone’s translating echo.

“She’s right,” Varis said, setting a hand on Gilliam’s shoulder. “All those ruined villages we passed, and then this? Think about it.”

“They fled, gathered behind walls,” Gilliam said.

“Why so few men upon those walls, then?”

I squinted. I could only make out four men patrolling the long curtain walls, the movement of the two pairs the only way I could pick them out from stone in the gloom.

“Perhaps a changing of the guard.” Gilliam did not sound convinced.

“Weapons close, hoods up,” Varis said, and pulled the lined hood of his cloak lower, his eyes on the paving stones. While they were more or less solid, they still canted at odd angles every now and then, the passing made the more difficult with the dusting of snow and patches of ice.

It would be just our luck to survive demons and goblins and the Pale Walkers only to slip on a patch of ice and break our necks.

[RobJN]

Thorn's Chronicle continues...


The black walls of Byxata were not particularly high, just half again as tall as a man. But the switchback trail leading up to it had not even a shred of cover. I doubt any invading army would get much further than the first turn. Luckily, we made our way up the four turns in the road without so much as an arrow or sling stone’s challenge.

The gate was oak, banded with iron. Aurora gave a surprised-but-agreeable murmur and nod as she glanced over the defenses.

“Who goes?” barked a harsh voice from above. “Give us a touch of light, my pet. There’s a good girl.”

A dim white globe materialized above us, its weak, watery light growing steadily brighter, until it cast enough light to lift the worst of the shadows from our features.

“Hoods, please,” the man above said. Now that the light fell upon him, we could see the bright red of his wavy hair, a coppery sheen to his complexion — Glantrian stock if I ever saw it. Those features crinkled in a frown. His companion, a girl probably little older than Ana, stood next to the man, all but her head and shoulders hidden by the battlement. Her eyes were wide and dark, her features slack, as if she were in a trance deeper than Aurora’s.

“I recognize none of you,” he growled.

“Didn’t the baron’s man make it?” Gilliam asked, adding a layer of contempt to his voice to match that of the man on the wall. “Figures he wouldn’t, what with all the trouble we had getting here.”

“Your names,” the red-haired man on the wall enunciated, leaning further over. “Or I will have the girl incinerate you where you stand.”

An icy tingling across my skin became more pronounced, separating itself form the clammy sheen of the demonic taint of the land, from the cold in the air. Beside me, Ana’s hand tensed on the haft of her scythe.

The glassy-eyed girl was a weaver, like Listelle and Nevinia, and she was gathering her Power.

“We have been on the road for nearly a week now,” Gilliam drawled, hooking a thumb in one of his sword belts. “We’ve been through two avalanches, nearly drowned twice in icy water, lost both of our pack mules. We’ve had to fight off hordes of those shambling dead things, and then sleep on cold ground with what bit of fire we could get from all this winter-soaked wood. At this point, I may just keep quiet so I can at least die warm.”

The Glantrian on the wall tipped his head back and laughed. The girl seemed to rouse from her thoughts, a small smile quirking her lips. The tingle of her Power did not diminish, though.

“So you’re the Baron’s men, then?”

Gilliam shook his head. “I don’t give a tarnished silver for the Baron. His man, Bargle pays me, so I answer to him. And he’s paying in gold, so whoever this is he’s having us escort had better be worth the effort.”

Gilliam gave Aurora a hard shove in the back, and she squawked as she stumbled forward. He managed to grab her cloak in such a way as to twist it enough to hide her sword, but cause the hood to fall back. Her hair shone, golden, then sliver as the globe of watery light wavered above us.

The icy prickling surged, then subsided abruptly.

“Michka! Open that gate! Be quick, our guests are cold, tired, and hungry.”