I didn't know how I should end the time with the hunters. This is a part that I'll probably change a bit on the re-write.

The first hunter was easy enough to find, having landed only a short distance away. He’d also worn a mail shirt, though the teeth had torn it so badly that it was near useless now. He’d gotten away with a few broken ribs, and a broken arm to go with a dozen holes from those teeth. At least he’d live to remember this day, perhaps even embellish it for grandchildren. John winced from the pain of his own cracked rib as he helped the man to his feet.

The other hunter hadn’t been so lucky. Staying in the Wyvern’s claws would have been certain death. He’d rolled the bones of chance and chose falling. The little fox pendant still hung from his neck. Hasituur had laughed and let him miss the trees. The god of fate and fools for a fool hunter. He might have done better to follow Kamika, though the hunter’s wolf rarely favored fools.

John took the time to bandage the wounded hunter, and find Marrow. The horse had only run as far as the two mares before stopping. The wound on his neck was deep. What was left of John’s shirt became a bandage to wrap some bitterroot and willow bark to the gash. Marrow had been through a lot with him, and he’d do his best to save the stallion if he could.

With the bandaging complete, he set about cutting the arrows free of the Wyvern. It was grisly work to carve out enough of the body to get the three from there. The one that had dropped it from the sky was nowhere to be found. He completed the chore by hacking off the head so that the lone hunter could claim his prize, though he pulled a couple teeth loose for his own trophy. Marrow wouldn’t come close until he had scrubbed the blood from his hands with sand.

“I’ll take that bow if you don’t mind.”

John looked over his shoulder from where he was fixing the pack on Ryndell’s saddle. The hunter was a few paces away, with his sword pointing at John. He’d managed to find it after being tossed by the Wyvern, and now held it in his left hand.

“You don’t want to do this.”

“And I’ll be taking them two horses too. Gots ta ride one, and the other for the trophy head.”

“Walk away now and you live. You have your prize. You know there’s no way you’ll win if you attack me.”

“I can’t make it down without a horse.”

“You can if you leave that thing behind. It isn’t worth your life.”

The hunter launched himself at John, wildly swinging the sword in his off hand. The blade didn’t even come close before John knocked it away. Turning his own blade sideways, he used the hilt to punch the man’s stomach. As he fell to his knees in pain, the sword reversed again to point at his chest.

“I’ll not anger whatever god counts you among their devoted by killing you. I’ll leave you to bury your Friend alone. Your horse is likely not too far off, if the Wyvern didn’t kill it first.”

“Wyvern? A special kind of Dragon?”

“You thought that was a Dragon?” John let out a soft chuckle. “For starters, Dragons have scales, not hide. Plus they have four legs and wings, not just two. I for one, am very glad it wasn’t a Dragon, or none of us would still be alive.”

“How am I supposed to get my bounty then?”

“I don’t know, and don’t care. Little advice though; Another difference is that Wyverns aren’t solitary like Dragons. Best be gone when the mate comes looking.”

John sheathed his sword, and led the group of horses off the other side of the clearing and down the trail leading to the higher pass. He wanted to put as much distance as he could between himself and the dead Wyvern. Even if there wasn’t a mate, there were still other predators that called the mountain home.

His spirits rose a bit as he crested the higher pass, and started the descent down into Huyroil. The Western facing trail gave him more daylight before He’d be forced to camp.

When he crossed the small stream he decided to call it a day. Walking uphill had been bad, but every step down sent a jarring pain though his cracked rib. Riding would have been just as bad for John, and it was asking enough of the wounded stallion to handle the pack. Marrow wasn’t looking much better either, with the blood having soaked through the bandage and leaving a trail down to his chest.

The stallion was skittish, and tried backing away as John worked to pull the bandage loose. After a few tries he managed to tie the lead to a nearby tree. This let him get close enough to pull the ragged shirt loose, and pour some of his whiskey over it. Letting Marrow finish off the bottle gave him the distraction he needed to sew the gash closed with simple stitches. John even got most of the blood washed out of the cloth so that he could wrap the medicinal leaves in place once more.

Battle scenes are always major points in writing, yet they actually occupy little space on the page. There is the lead up to the battle, which prepares the reader for this emotional scene that pits a beloved character against the possibility of death. Follow this with a few quick strikes back and forth. End draw out the aftermath to let the impact sink home with the audience. I learned before that trying to stretch out the actual battle made it lose the impact, and people got bored with it. Got bored with a BATTLE!

CHAPTER 4

If you can't tell the difference between a cow and a bear, you ain’t no hunter. That’ll be seven silver for the cow.

…Yyintil, Bean farmer…

The sun was still angling toward the Western peaks when he arrived at the base of the pass. There was plenty of light, but it would be gone before he could get halfway to the top. Thankfully, in the years since he’d las been here, a guard tower had been built. The attached barracks looked big enough for a hundred men, though currently he saw just two.

One was leaning on the post next to the trail, while the other tended a small fire cooking their dinner. Neither seemed overly concerned with his approach until he was too close to shout at.

“It’s a might late for the trail, and you’d do better turning around.”

“Aye, I can tell it’s too late to start up, so I’ll camp here for the night.

“You can camp over there for five silver.”

“That’s open land. Why the charge?”

“This be a might far from the palace, and they sometimes forget about us. So, there’s a traveling tax. You go through the pass, you pay the tax.”

It was a high price, but with few travelers on this road, the soldiers would still barely scrape by. For another two coppers they let him pen the horses in the vacant corral. John setup his camp near the corral, laying out his packs like he did every night on the trail. Twenty years of living on the road had taught him a few things, like making sure packs stay tight and dry.

An hour later saw his packs re-bundled, and fire started. He already had a haunch sizzling when the hunters arrived with the setting of the sun; the darkness crept in rapidly, as it always does in the mountains. After stumbling around in the dark for a bit they asked if they could share his fire.

The night was filled with tales of hunting trips. Magnificent elk, and charging boars had been conquered. This was their first trip to be more than a day from home. By the time the bottle of wine had run dry, the hunters were falling over to sleep, and the bear had grown to at least fifteen feet tall.

The first glimmerings of pre-dawn light woke the travelers for a day that promised to bring fortune for the hunters, or safe passage over the pass for John. It seemed unlikely that both could happen. Over the sparse breakfast they planned for the future.

“When it comes down for the packet of nip, you get its eye. Of course you got to watch for those teeth.”

“I’m using my share of the gold for that farm next to Kersol’s place. Maylene will quit schmoozing up to Hasfid for that.”

“Hey what about you Joe? John? Something with a J in it. Why don’t you help us? Splitting the bounty three ways still leaves us with near a hundred gold each.”

“Yeah, you could buy yourself a better sword, with like gold inlay on the handle.”

“I just need to get over the pass into Huyroil, and then on to Saffon. There’s somebody I need to meet there.”

“I say you’re a fool to pass up an easy hundred gold, but we got to get going.”

At least their horses looked rested as the hunters rode out. The thrill of the hunt barely dimmed as they handed over the five silver to the soldier. They soon disappeared behind a few trees, but the singing could be heard for another ten minutes.

John left about an hour behind them. He had taken the time to get the latest news from the soldiers stationed there. They confirmed tales of missing travelers, and Dragon cries heard echoing from the mountain side. At least the slide was cleared enough to get through if he could keep from getting eaten.

The trail wound up the mountain, often following close to the small river. At times it passed through crevasses that were barely wide enough for the packs on his horses. Most of the meandering trail was shaded in the low trees. As he was nearing the first ridge the quiet of the mountain was broken by shouting voices.

John quickly tied his two mares to a nearby tree, and spurred Marrow ahead. He topped the rise just as a large gray-green shape flew over his head. One of the hunters was dangling from the clawed feet. As he watched, the hunter managed to pull himself free, and dropped into the trees below. The flyer jerked for a moment, as though tempted to follow its lost meal, but circled back the other way, toward the second hunter.

The Wyvern looked like a Dragon only to extent that it had large wings, teeth, and claws. Still, the Wyvern was more than a match for the hunters. As he cleared the trees, John saw the other hunter standing on the far side of the clearing wildly waving the satchel around while holding his bow in the other hand.

If nothing else, the movement drew the beast’s attention to him. Said hunter was smart enough to drop the satchel, and was in the process of emptying his quiver as John pulled out his own simple-looking bow. Most of the hunter’s arrows missed the mark completely. Of the few that scored, only one penetrated the thick hide. It flinched enough from the pain in its neck, to swerve and miss him.

John dropped off Marrow and got the string pulled tight as it curved up to swing around for another try. It took another moment to get the strap loose from the quiver, that kept his arrows from rattling around as he rode. The dark ash shafts looked almost like steel in his hand, seeming to meld right into the iron tips that never dulled or rusted.

He had other arrows in his quiver, made by modern fletchers. Those were for his normal hunting; he saved the ash ones for things like Wyverns. He’d never broken one, but it was just as bad should he lose one.

John's first arrow caught the beast in the side, burying itself to the flight. That was enough to grab the Wyvern's attention off the hunter it was bearing down on. It turned the massive head to glare at John as it swooped upward once more. The eyes held anger in them as though it hadn’t even contemplated a chance of its mortality.

This time as it skimmed along the tree tops, it was aiming straight for John. The last three arrows from the hunter’s bow proved no more effective than his previous ones, doing nothing to distract the Wyvern’s attack. John managed two more shots; one each for its chest and belly. The only sign they had been felt was the narrowing of the beast’s eyes.

Even Marrow was snorting nervously as the great beast came closer. Just as the claws snapped at John, Marrow lurched in fear, knocking him off his feet. The claw caught Marrow along the side of his neck, opening up a hand-span long gash. The horse took off back down the trail at a run.

John climbed to his feet with a single arrow in his hand, the rest were still in the quiver tied to Marrow’s saddle.There wasn’t time to fret over a runaway horse as the Wyvern swooped in for another pass at the hunter. John took a deep breath, and let it out slowly as he concentrated on the spot where the heart should be. The previous three arrows had hardly slowed the beast; he had one chance to stop it now.

The arrow flew straight, even as the Wyvern shifted with the wind, and it scored right in the wing joint. Suddenly unbalanced, the broken wing caught the ground, dropping the Wyvern into a crashing, rolling, angry ball of flailing limbs. It was momentarily lost in the cloud of dust spreading across the clearing toward the hunter. It seemed to pause just short of him, and the tail flipped out of the cloud to land with a thud on the rocky soil of the ridge.

With a wild cry, the hunter dropped his useless bow, and ran to the quickly settling dust cloud, pulling out his sword as he went. John’s shouts to stop went unheeded. The beast was struggling to untangle its limbs as the hunter bore down on it.

The hunter arrived just in time to meet a badly damaged, and very angrily snapping jaw full of sharp teeth. The jaw clamped across the hunter's shoulder and chest, lifting him up in an arc that flipped him on his back a dozen yards away. The broken wing was twisted under it, keeping the Wyvern from bounding after the hunter.

Time is never a luxury when fighting for your life. The distraction as it untangled its feet from the broken wing gave John the chance to meet it with his own drawn sword. Even wounded and off balance, the beast circled about. It used the advantage of a long neck to strike at John while keeping out of reach of his sword.

The mistake came when it tried to claw at him. The claw shredded the shirt across John’s chest, and even tore a few links from the underlying chain mail. John was knocked backward once more, to where the jaw was waiting to bite a mortally wounded prey. Fortunately the mail kept his guts from spilling out, and experience had made him careful of such tactics. His sword found a mark in the Wyvern’s eye. The point drove deep.

The beast’s head rose up one last time with a wheezing sound, before falling back to the ground in a dead heap. The hilt of his sword still protruded from the eye, in a mimicry of a tavern sign he’d once seen, complete with tongue hanging half out of the mouth. Only that had been a Dragon on the sign. John pulled his sword loose, and went looking for the others.

Even familiar characters can bring surprises. The revelation that came out of this part was totally unplanned until it flowed out on the page. When it did, it seemed only natural considering her background. So... The remainder of chapter 3.

     The breezes lifted her skyward in the blink of an eye. The colorful spires of the towers were dimmed in the darkening sky, but still sent a thrill through her heart. Orienting on the yellow tower, which looked roughly brown in the twilight, she called the winds to send her northward. The Earth Tower stood on the toe of a mountain, with only sheep pastures beyond. A few campfires marked where their tents stood guarding the flocks. Behind her the lights of Twilling glowed bright as people enjoyed the evening repast. Food was far from the top of her list though.
     She was experiencing the thrill that every airwalker dreamed of. What was the point in walking on air if you could soar? Twisting, turning, thrilling to the feel of breezes that carried her along on the playful course. Past the mountain toe that spread eastward, she was soon high above the open rolling plains of the middle country.
     Excitement swelled in her, bringing with it the desire to experience it all. Down she went, to skim along the tops of grain ready for the harvester’s scythe. A few of the taller stalks brushed the tips of her stretching fingers. This would soon be filling the bakery with the sweet smell of spiced breads. Aeriona’s smile broadened even more with the imagined aroma.
     Upward, through the chilling air with a spiral that threatened dizziness. The lights of a few scattered campfires seemed so very faint on the grassy plain below her. It took her a few circles to orient back on Heike, the bringer of color. That star always shined brightly in the Northern sky when it was harvest time.
The stars were all coming out now. Even Autahory, the white, though she was still low in the east. It wouldn’t be long before she chased Heike off to sulk. For now she could rely on him to take her toward Prince Moffatt’s realm.
     Within a few hours she could feel the sagging feeling as her body coveted the softness of a hay pile. It was nearly flying into a tree that woke her to the exhaustion. The urgency of the scroll rolled through the back of her thoughts, and she dared not tarry on the ground to rest. Taking a bite of the first journey loaf woke her hunger, and in a few moments she had eaten half of the ones in her pouch. Several sips on the stim-draught tube diverted her thoughts from eating the rest of them for now. The bitter tasting liquid renewed her energy, and sent her back up out of the reach of branches.
     Thrice more during the night flight she had to revive her energy, though the journey loaves were gone after the second. It was still dark when the last of her stim-draught gurgled in the tube. This was the time of night when the stars have dimmed, leaving only the small moon for company. She knew it was a fickle guide though, and tried to compensate for its rapid sky crossing.
     Luck favored her with another guide, this one not rooted to the soil. Pale light glinted from the road below her. It took only a small change to keep that silvery line below her. A few times she lost sight of it in the dark masses of trees, but they were sparse. The big problem came when the shining road below her twisted around a hill.
     She knew the road to be fairly straight, and nowhere did it make such sharp curves. Descending for a closer look revealed her mistake. Cleared roads of bare earth shouldn’t sparkle the way the Ganboat river did. She only knew the highway crossed the river twice between the towers and Frospire, not where it wandered at other times. Had it already made those crossings? Her only hope fell back to the small moon.
Dawn's early light revealed she had strayed just a few miles off course, despite the detour. The king’s road lay off to her right, marked by the few homesteads bordering the bare ribbon among the oat fields. Aeriona corrected to follow it, watching as the light brightened to bring lights to a few windows as farmers woke early for the hard work of harvesting.
     The sun was coming up about the time she spied the city in the distance. She had enough energy to bring a smile to her lips, though not much else.Her stim-draught had given out more than an hour earlier, and it was sheer will that kept her going. Part of her mind was trying to convince the rest that it would be reasonable to land and beg a ride from a farmer heading into the city.
     Manoga’s capitol, Frospire, claimed the top of one of the rockier hills, surrounded by rolling fields of hearty grain. Only a few leagues away lay the base of the Razor mountains. They cut like a steel edge across the Northern border of three lands. Beyond them lay the cold reaches of the Sky Bowl, a land gripped in ice for most of the year.
     The highway she was following topped the hill, straight into Frospire, and continued out the other side. Her eyes followed it into the clouds blanketing the Razors. Involuntarily she shivered, knowing that was her destination. First she needed to meet with the reagent, and rest a bit. Her strength was so far gone that Aeriona doubted she could pull off a lady-like landing.
     She dropped back to the ground outside the city gates, startling a dozen farmers waiting to pass through the checkpoint on their wagons loaded with the freshest produce. Her legs shared the same exhaustion as the rest of her, and crumpled with the sudden demand on them. Aeriona fell to her knees. Grasping the pike held by the gate guard.
     “Miss? Are you alright? Where did you come from?”
     She struggled to her feet. “I need an audience with the prince. Right away.”
     “Easy now. Just who are you?”
     As she turned her face up to him, he caught a glimpse of the rune etched into her cheek. He quickly wiped his palm across his eyes. It was a gesture she’d seen many times. Wiping the magic from his eyes. Well, it was better than a sword. The other guard, that had been poking the bales on the wagons, joined his partner to face her.
     “Ice Giant! Hold right there, you can’t get in.”
     “You’re… easily half a head taller, and you call me giant? I come from the Crystal Towers. I need to see the prince immediately.”
     It had taken a lot of energy to keep herself aloft, even with the magic of the sky suit. The winds had drained her energy near completely,though concentrating on them had given a focus for her will. Now that solid ground pressed into her feet, a deep weariness was settling over her mind and body.
     “My name is Aeriona; your prince called for me. I must see him, please.”
     “I’m not going to spend my next month walking the spire because of this. Get her into the wagon while I send Bejorl ahead to let em know she’s coming.”
     “Yeah, but she’s one o’ them mages. Turn ya into a goat if you look at her funny.”
     “If she turns you into a goat you can have all the free grass ya want. Now git moving.”
     She heard the rapid clomping of hooves as the rider sped off ahead. She nodded thanks to the guard as they helped her into a waiting carriage. It was a simple affair, designed more for moving drunks than visiting guests. At least the rail at the side of the seat gave her something to hold onto as the wagon bumped over the cobblestone paved street.
     The streets were lining with people gathering for the autumn market. This should have been an occasion of celebration, but she could feel the undercurrent of tension in those they passed. Muted comments about early winter, and unseemly storms reached her. Occasionally there were even comments about her white hair. Those comments carried with them a note of anger.
     There was barely a pause at the grand entrance of the keep as the house guards made to block the way. Bejorl had done his job though, and the appearance of the guard captain cleared this obstacle easily. He even assumed the role of escort, leading her straight into the audience chamber, where she stood waiting for only a few minutes before the arrival of Prince Moffatt.
     “So, you come to us with a claim that I sent for you. Quite a bold move for one such as you.”
     “I am here at the behest of the Crystal Towers.”
     “You bear the blood of Ice Giants, though slightly less than their tall stature. Surely it has not escaped your notice that we are oft at odds with them. As for that mark on your face, many have forged such markings to garner favors; some even had a touch of power to aid the deception.”
     “No mage would dare to invoke the authority of the Magi Council  falsely. The Sonath Tumolt may have been a few hundred years ago, but it is still pounded into us as a lesson.”
     “Firstly, you have not proven yourself either a mage, nor the authority of the Magi Counsel. This is my domain.”
     “You sent a request for aid.”
     “I sent that request four days ago. It is a four day ride each way.”
     “Three.”
     “What?”
     “Three days of hard riding brought your messenger to the gates of the towers. I am their answer.”
     “This borders on utter insult! To answer a request for aid when the Ice Giants have ambushed my gesture of peace, they send a girl?” Not just any girl mind you, One with the ice blood so strong in her veins that size is the only marker to say that she isn’t. You would be what? A Journey mage?”
     Aeriona unfastened the flap of the sky suit enough for it to fall open, revealing the twisted rune of her council brooch. “My name is Aeriona Liff, Third Master Air Mage, and council member. The Magi Council was moved enough by the plea of your messenger to send me. I was granted use of ancient magics so that I could arrive in time.”
     “I must apologize; the claim seemed too wild to accept. Still you bring as many troubles as you bring possible salvation.”
     “Right now I bring you an exhausted mage who needs a bit to eat and a few hours rest before I could summon a breeze strong enough to snuff a candle.”
      "My breakfast is getting cold as we speak; come join me at my table while a room is readied."
     She followed the prince through the side door, and down a short hall to the more private rooms of his home. A second plate was set for her as the prince whispered instructions to his chamberlain. A serving girl roughly her own age stood by to see to her needs, leaving Aeriona a little nervous at the unaccustomed attention.
     Aeriona emptied two platefuls of the food under the astonished eyes of the Prince, and his chamberlain. She filled a third, taking two bites before falling forward. She was asleep with her face in the eggs.
Aeriona awoke to the gently shaking of her shoulder by a woman dressed in the uniform of a servant. Her eyes still felt the grittiness of exhaustion as she glanced around slowly. She had been moved into a bed; her clothes were hanging from a stand across the room. Her body wanted nothing more than to roll over and try to find a dream.
     “What time is it?”
     "I'm very sorry to have to wake you so soon. You've been asleep a bit over six hours. They have horses waiting in the courtyard, and… My Kyle is one of those trapped. Please…"
     Aeriona nodded slowly, still trying to clear the sleep from her brain. She had another stim-draught in her pack, but using it like this would drain her completely in a few hours. She had to get up despite the protesting muscles all through her body. The words had reminded her of just how dire her mission was.
     She dressed back into the clothes she had worn for the party yesterday. They weren't the sturdiest clothes for adventuring, but she needed to protect the sky suit. The cloak Lilja had packed snugged close around her shoulders bringing a bit of comfort. The air here was noticeably cooler than her room in the white tower.
     When she dug deeper into her pack to pull out the journey bread, the maid interrupted her. "Oh, no. Put those away. I had them make you some of these."
     She indicated a tray resting on the dresser that had several soldier pockets stacked upon it; small loaves of bread that the middle had been scooped out, and filled with an egg and vegetable mixture.They didn’t last as long as journey bread, but the taste was far better. They could be fixed at the morning fire, and soldiers could eat them as they marched.
     Aeriona grabbed several of them as she headed out of the door. A squire waited in the hall to lead her down to the courtyard. She pulled the cloak tighter as they descended the stairs. The door opened into a wide courtyard with several men already mounted on horses. A mare stood near the front with an empty saddle, the lead passed to another squire waiting patiently.
     Already her strength was returning enough that weaving the whispering wind runes was a breeze. With Gadrielle in mind she sent the whisper across the intervening leagues. They would be anxious to know she had arrived.
     “Gadrielle, I arrived this morning, safe and tired. We are heading up the trail now. I think you would have loved the flight. I did.”
     The keep was on the Northern edge of the city, and so there was very little riding before they had passed through the gates. The few people they passed were better at hiding their whispers, though the fingers still pointed. By the time they reached the base of the mountain trail, they passed three loaded wagons driven by some of the prince’s soldiers. Supplies for those trapped in the snow.

When this part of the story came out, I was thinking at first that it was too easy. Nothing had been shown to prelude this. Then all sorts of subtle possibilities popped up. This has points that will come back as big conflicts in a few chapters. Things are not always as simple as they first appear. This part was three times as big when I wrote it, but trimmed down a lot of redundant garbage.

The seal puffed away into mist without destroying the scroll, and Aeriona began reading the details it contained. Part of her brain that was beginning to think clearer again, wondered how it was that she was getting an assignment from the very council she’d just become a part of. The rest of her brain was stumbling over the scrawled details of council authority, and finally getting to the heart of the matter. Prince Moffatt had sent two hundred soldiers over Quintiliss Pass.

Her hand dropped to the side, with the scroll banging her leg, as anger overwhelmed her thoughts. In an instant she rounded on Rees Garath, standing there with his hands clasped in front of him like a prayer arch. Serving time for the towers was not slavery. There were agreements and contracts to cover all of it, and he had known her limits. Her voice would have rattled the windows were it not for the ward seal Gadrielle had placed.

“I thought it was clear that I would never take part in a war?!”

“This is different. Lives are at stake. I know you like to work with crafters and scholars.”

“But soldiers fight. They kill people. You want to give them magic to make that easier.”

“This isn’t about him. Read on. Soldiers are people, with families that care about them.”

Aeriona held her glare on him for several heartbeats before the curiosity drove her to open the scroll once more. The men had been transporting a relic to the Ice Giants as a token to negotiate. Manoga and Skybowl had been bickering back and forth for ages. Prince Moffatt wanted to bring on another period of peace. Despite the efforts of the court Journey Mage, a storm had struck the mountains. His soldiers were trapped beyond reach in deep snow. His court mage had fled, leaving them without any hope.

“But the first snows shouldn’t happen for another month! Why would his mage run?”

“I don’t know, and I’ll be sending someone to see about that. The rescue would really be beyond a journeyman anyway. That’s where you come in.”

“Manoga is like three days away, maybe four! His men could be dead by then.”

“Two and a half if you ride without sleep. Just ask his messenger that arrived a few hours ago.”

“That happened three days ago?”

“Seven. Twice he’s sent crews to dig them out, only to have more storms hit that pass. Nine men have died trying to dig through. One group of diggers was buried under an avalanche.”

“But…”

Gadrielle reached to pluck the scroll from her hand. Aeriona watched with mouth hanging open as the older mage slipped the rolled scroll into a leather tube. She was still trying to grasp the magnitude of the situation. Thoughts of Carandell, and the missed party had been replaced with visions of waist deep snow. Gadrielle laid the cased scroll on top of a pale green leather pouch decorated with the Elvish script. Ancient Elvish. She took a deep breath, and paused before extending the two items to Aeriona.

"It's just the sort of thing you like. Help people, rescue ancient artifacts, storms. Really though, you're the best one to get there in time to do some good, and the only way to do that is…"

Aeriona gasped at the implications. Could this really be one? She slowly opened the flap on the pouch. Inside was a folded gray leather piece with silver thread pattern. Not the thick rough leather like John wore; this was as soft as velvet. Knowing the Elves though, it would protect just as well as thick stuff.

She held her breath with anticipation as the sky suit pulled free to dangle from her grasp. Reading about such artifacts is far different than holding one in her hand. The color was a soft grey that shifted even as she tried to look right at it, causing her eyes to sort of slide off. Intricate leaf patterns were picked out in the finest silver thread. It was questionable if even the modern elves could duplicate the work that went into it.

The long sleeves, and legs had ribbed sails connecting them; It turned the whole body into a sail with arms stretched wide. At the tips of the sleeves were the glyphs that bound the whole suit together. The tomes in the deep vaults had spoken of such suits, with their elemental counterparts, being special even in the first era of runes. Long before the cataclysm. Only a handful had survived the intervening millennium. She had spent countless hours delving through the tomes searching for such things.

“I know you missed a lot of your own celebration party, and that you’re desperate to get back to Carandell, but time is critical here.”

“I’ll get some things right away then.”

“No time for that. I’ve…” A knock sounded on the sealed door. “Speaking of such. I think this is her.”

Gadrielle’s hands burst into the green fire as she traced the breaking line on the ward. All of the magic lines flared to life, and sucked back into her hands in a mirror mimic of when she’d set them. As the last of the green fire seeped back through her fingers, Zumas pulled the latch on the door. Imediately it swung open,admitting a breathless student carrying a stuffed pack. Aeriona had seen the girl before, but couldn't recall her name.

Between pants the girl waved, and held the pack out to her.

"I got…the cloak, and… some other…stuff…Got some…journey bread too. Ran all the…way." Her eyes grew suddenly wide and locked onto the pin on Aeriona’s chest. “Council?”

Now Aeriona remembered her name, Lilja, one of the few Elven mages in the towers. Lilja was a fifth-year fire mage of some talent. They had met only a few times, but she had liked the girl. Any chance that familiarity might grow into friendship had just vanished though. Ristalli had woven her fate thread in the most twisted manner she could think of.

Zumas stepped up to lift the pack from Lilja’s hand while turning her back to the door. "Thank you young one, now go ahead and join the group on the third floor. I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

“Is she really?”

“I know that Ji’Lin is there. He might show you some tricks with fire.”

Rees led Aeirona into the inner office, which looked more like a private library, so that she could change into the sky suit. The legs were crafted for the limbs of the Elves, and what should have come to her calves came to her ankles. It bunched a little at the shoulders to fit the elbow joints right. The sail spines left the lower arm free for use without disturbing the flight.

Aeriona spent a few minutes marveling over such fine details in a suit she’d never thought to even see, let alone wear. The legs had enough give in them to actually walk without trouble. With the straps adjusted right it snugged around her leaving barely any ripple to disturb the wind. She filled the little breast pouches with a few journey loaves. That meant she could snack in flight. Such ingenious designs. A knock on the door startled her from inspecting the collar fastening which had a tube rising from it.

Gadrielle’s voice. “Is everything alright in there?”

She grabbed the pack from the floor, slinging it over an arm as she opened the door on the elder mage. “Yes, ready.”

“Actually my dear, the straps for the pack go under the sail here. Snug it tight. You don’t want it shifting when you’re a few thousand feet up, trust me.”

“Wait, you used it?”

“Not I, though I wish it had been possible. I’m not strong at all in the winds.”

Rees took her hand to pull her along toward the window. "I know it's late, but lives depend upon you. You should be able to make it there by morning."

Gadrielle stepped up handing her a flask. "Here"

Aeriona took a swig, expecting water, or at least the mild wine. "Gahh!"

It was nearly like swallowing a bit of Gadrielle’s fire. The stim-draught would rid the wine from her body and keep her alert for several hours. She'd pay for it later, but she needed a clear head now. She grimaced as the bitter tasting liquid coursed down her throat. Like stepping from the water on a hot day, she felt the warmth spreading outward.Within moments her mind was sharp. Her awareness of the wind stretched out feeling the shifting breezes.

Subtle magics wound up through the suit calling to the wind, and bringing near visibility to the air currents. Gadrielle fumbled a little, and strapped the flask to her side. The other end of that mysterious tube pulled loose from a pocket near the flask to stick in the top of it. She could drink with a slight tilt of her head, if only it were something tastier than Stim-draught.

The excitement of the moment drowned out any last minute reservations. This was the chance of a lifetime for her. She bid them all a good night, and stretched her arms wide. Aeriona called, and the winds came like a faithful hound. She hadn’t planned for this when dressing for her party, but braiding her hair kept it from blowing wildly like the rest of the mages in the room. The strings of beads felt chilled against her neck.

I find it amazing to see what people focus on in my writing. Though I have more than a dozen little notes of plot points, and more that pop up with every page, I am resisting the temptation to reveal where my outline says the book should go. I say 'should' because I've already had to edit a line or two of that.  One of the things that a couple people mentioned was John's name. Like most fantasy writers I have a good selection of fanciful names for everyone. I chose John's name to bring a solid foundation to the man. I have him growing up under a father that fully expected his son would follow in the path of becoming a wood cutter.  He gave him a good simple name that didn't inspire the young lad to run off on adventures. Parent's hopes and dreams don't always match what the child decides though.

CHAPTER 3

Weaving with a weary mind will have your stitches becoming chaos. The same goes for runes.

…Hai’Tli Noovla…

The Crystal Towers sat at the foot of a mountain that jutted into lake Mergen. Originally there had been five grand towers surrounding an even grander sixth, though the black one had fallen into rubble in ages past. The four that remained bore architecture to match the element they served. Tonight her party was on the sixth floor of the central tower, as neutral a place as any to hold it.

Only seven of the thirty-two third master mages were close enough to attend her party. A couple of the others had at least sent word of their absence. Not that she really cared. She doubted if any of them could have picked her out of a crowd in the market. It was a celebration that lived up to everything she had hoped for; right down to Semstal falling asleep on the cake.

At least There was a table full of food, that would bring back energies. Aeriona did her best to fill a plate while Carandell and Fronk vied for her attention, hovering over her like scavenger birds. She’d heard that there was a lot of rivalry between the upper level mages, but until now it had seemed to be nothing more than fantastical rumors. They were trying to dredge an opinion from her on topics that seemed too ridiculous to be real.

With a twist of his body, Carandell squeezed between Fronk and her, shoving a wine glass into her empty hand. It was either the glass or Fronk’s sweaty hand, and she was thirsty. The glass served another useful function too, with keeping her from saying anything with it tipped against her lips.

Carandell had tried cornering Aeriona in a vain attempt to convince her that he was her future. She shuddered at the thought of spending her life tied to him. He was nearing sixty, and balding. What little hair he had looked as if his favorite comb was a slab of bacon. The rest of him found a way to match that same care in grooming. Despite his warnings about finding herself alone and ostracized from the towers, she avoided committing to his whims. Carandell at least did her the service of keeping her glass filled so that she didn’t have to say anything.

Even that ruse was beginning to wear thin by the time Gadrielle tapped him on the shoulder to interrupt. “There you are. I was beginning to think you had snuck out of your own celebration young lady.”

The woman seemed unchanged in all the years Aerion had been at the towers, having met her on the second month vetting. She held herself with the grace of a sixty year old, with eyes that twinkled with brightness of the fire she wielded. Her hair tumbled in loose blond curls between her shoulders without the first hint of grey. Aeriona had found entries from the Grand Master Mage in the stacks of tomes, dating back eighty years. Of course she had only been a Journey Mage then.

“Excuse us Grand Master Gadrielle. We were in the midst of a discussion, and…”

“And you’re welcome to continue that right after I give her a message. You don’t mind waiting a little, do you?”

“But…”

“A message for me? What is it?”

“Oh, nothing major, but we should go to someplace a little quieter perhaps.”

Carandell reached out to draw her close. “Grand Master, If it isn’t so urgent, then perhaps a small delay. She’d really like to stay here for a bit to ensure her…”

Aeriona caught the sudden trickle of flux that suddenly boiled the wine in the bottom of his glass. In an instant it erupted in a brilliant shower of crimson that coated his face, and the ceiling high above him. Gadrielle was fighting a giggle as she led her away from the stunned Carandell. Her lack of comment confirmed to Aeriona that the little puff of fire magic had come from the Grand Master Mage. Once they had reached the outer corridor, Gadrielle stopped and turned to her young charge.

“I’m sure you don’t mind missing a little of the party to meet with the reagent. There’s just a little matter about your status that needs to be settled.”

“My status? I completed everything. There must be some mistake.”

“It’ll be settled shortly, never fear. Come, let’s catch the updraft chute. Have you seen how golden the fields are?”

The fact that every attempt Aeriona made to alter the course of the conversation toward what lay ahead was met with a change of subject, left her worried about just what this dire meeting was about. With a word the chute puffed them upward through the central tower, to deposit them on the next to the highest floor. The very top was devoted to Senior Grand Master Mage Garath’s private rooms.

Gadrielle opened the door to his office without bothering to knock, ushering Aeriona ahead of her. Stepping through the door she encountered a sight that stopped her cold. The room was already occupied by more than the Crystal Towers’ Regeant. The five others were all Grand Master Mages of the council. Nobody got past the second year without knowing the faces of that ultimate group, and avoiding them at all costs.

Rees Garath was talking to Yiggi about setting the correct facet on the gems, but that died out with their entrance. The rest of the low murmer of voices quieted as all eyes turned to focus on her. Aeriona’s wine fogged brain tried to fit the pieces of clues together, but nothing made much sense. There would be no reason it would take six of the council to denounce her testing; no seven. Best not to forget about Gadrielle. Nobody spoke, or even breathed until Gadrielle had sent the door’s bolt home with a dull clunk.

Suddenly it was like the group had transformed into a group of fifth year students. Instead of the expected accusations of cheating, or worse, They began congratulating her like this was a second party in her honor. The warmth of the wine she’d already drank fueled the warmth that spread across her cheek with such praises of her accomplishment. In a whirlwind of faces she found herself back facing Rees Garath once more. This time his face held a sterner continence.

With a glance over her shoulder to Gadrielle still standing at the door, he took charge. “Place the seal.”

Aeriona watched in amazement as magics she could feel, but not touch, shifted through the room. Gadrielle’s hand blazed with green fire as it swept through the flourishing strokes of a ward on the door. The lines of the symbol blazed with her fire without seeming to touch the door at all. A few more strokes and the green fire swept out to cover the windows as well. The final sweep of her hand closed the glowing ward, which now faded from view. Even the feel of it diminished down to a mere memory. Aeriona wasn’t entirely sure if she could feel the faint presence of it, or only the echo of having witnessed it. Her attention snapped back to the tower reagent as he spoke again.

"You've passed all the tests and earned the right to call yourself a Master Mage of the third level.”

She stuttered a little before finding her voice once more. “But wasn’t that what getting the rune meant?”

He smiled. “Clever girl. Always looking past the obvious; which is why you earned this as well.”

Rees Garath lifted a small box from his desk that looked to be carved from rose granite, complete with the twisted rune knot etched into the top. The only sign that it was a box, and not some decorative parchment weight, was the gold latch on the side. It rested in his palm as though it held no more import than a bag of sweet drops.

Aeriona reached out to lift it from his hand, wondering what sort of trinket or treat it might contain. Her finger had barely brushed the top when a spark jumped to it. She’d triggered a ward. Instinctively she yanked back her hand, fearing whatever danger the magical trap held, and was rewarded with several of the Grand Masters breaking out in laughter. Even Rees Garath was having a hard time keeping it from falling from his hand as his body shook with restrained mirth.

With no burst of fire, or lightning bolt turning her hand to ash, she felt confident enough to reach out for the box once more. This time there was no spark. The little box was lighter than she’d expected. Trepidation gripped her with the thought working its way through her mind, that this must be something of far greater significance than her wildest thought. Delaying it wouldn’t change what it was, so she opened the box. Gadrielle sounded a little excited behind her.

“It was also voted upon to invite you into the Magi Council. It’s been twelve years since Roveena wore that pin.”

Rees continued on. “The pin is recognized by the rulers throughout the various lands; at least the ones in good favor. The box is now primed for you to whisper a sealing word to it, and it will guard the pin when you aren’t wearing it. Try not to lose it.”

“The council?”

“Yes, the council. Never fear, you aren’t the youngest one ever to hold that spot.”

“I know, Wendell.”

“Don’t let his fate worry you. I don’t think you’ll be dropping a mountain on top of yourself. Besides, that was two hundred years ago and air is softer.”

The story of his rise and fall had become legend throughout the Crystal Towers. The little whispers she heard from the clumps of students that she walked by had been comparing her success to his for years. The not so quiet speculations that she’d become a master, only to squish herself two months later had been the highlight of many nightmares. Her fingers were shaking so much that Yiggi stepped up to help her pin it to the dress she wore.

“Relaxes please. Is not so much like it don’t have enough Ultrium in it to buy three or four farms. Now stills you hold, else the pin you find in you.”

As Yiggi stepped away, she ran her fingers over the pin. They followed each twist of the runic symbols of the five elements. They wrapped around a diamond at the peak known as the Dragon’s eye, though none of the texts could explain how it got the name. It looked right at home, as though designed just for her. The swirling rune shape even complimented the lace of her dress.

Aeriona’s eyes scanned the faces watching her, coming to rest on Gadrielle. The elderly woman held a scroll up before her like a candle, and knowing her alignment, it could easily burst into fire and complete the picture. The council seal faced toward her like all the previous scrolls she’d gotten. An assignment already. The thought of it was both thrilling and frightening. The whispers about Wendell were echoing in her head. Gadrielle’s prompting had her reaching for the rolled parchment.

“We are once again thirteen council members with your induction. I’m sorry to drop this on you so unexpectedly, but urgent events rushed our hand.”

OK, so my profile for this character took a different turn. Looking back at the sheet for him is like looking at a resume for a boy scout. He's still a good man, but the edges are a bit sharper. There are also about seven more plot twists in the first two chapters than what I wrote into that outline they made me do. Ah, the difficulties of a discovery writer. But then again, I get the thrill of learning the story as I go along too.
The rest of Chapter 2...

     Morning found John untangling himself from an arm thrown over his chest. He had read dozens of the letters to her, by the time they had fallen into a lover’s embrace. She’d been right; he needed the company.
He liked to travel light, and so there wasn’t much to pack this morning. Turning to one of the blank pages of his journal, he pulled the quill from its ink bottle. He leaned over to place a kiss on her cheek before making the first mark. She murmured softly as her hand pulled the cover over the bare shoulder his fingers traced across.

     Nicquey:
Thank you for the company last night. This morning finds me headed over the pass into Huyroil. Once again the Towers have called me. I can’t complain, they pay me well enough to keep wandering. I don’t know where this will take me, though I do hope that the route passes this way again soon. When I do, not if, I’ll bring with me all of the stories that make your eyes twinkle. You listened patiently, not trying to veer my mind from her. I wish you as sweet of a memory of our night as I take with me. - John Heathrow

     It may have been nothing more than wishful thinking, but he thought she whispered a good bye as the door was closing behind him. The journal, with its single missing page, was tucked safely back in his pack.
     He could hear the bellowing Dwarves before he was even halfway down the stairs. They were raising a toast to Hasituur, the dealer of fate and fortune, for the good fortune that had found their missing coffer. Mixed into the loud cheering was a bit of chagrin for chasing away so many of the yestereve’s customers. They vowed to drink all the ale that should have been served had the crowd not run home.
     “Yea, for Waverly and his chunk of lead where the thinker should be. He done forgot about tossin’ the coffer in his pack when the ruckus went on.”
     So, the thief had listened after all. John didn’t bother stopping to hear the whole tale, but grabbed one of the sweetbuns on the counter as he headed out to the stables behind the inn. John knew full well that his traveling depended upon the care of his horses. They were more than just a means of getting from one place to another. Company at the fire, and an extra pair of ears to keep watch meant more than silver.
     He found the lad busy tending to a tawny mare, talking to her as he poured oats in her trough. The boy looked to be all of about seventeen or so, just filling out as a man, though his wispy chin fuzz claimed that was years away. He caught some of the words, pass, and snows, and even something about a slide.
     “I’ll trade you this for a telling of the road ahead. I’m sure you heard news from the traders coming in.”
     “You’re heading West, aren’t you?”
     “I have need to. The last time I traveled this way into Huyroil, there had been a slide in the pass. It cost me an extra few days heading through the other route.”
     “Well you sure know how to pick the right bargaining tempt. Mom’s are the best you’ll find in these parts.”
     “I know Charnus the fifth or seventh, or however many it is, was crowned after his father was killed.”
     “Yeah, well things are a bit different now. These three are yours, right?”
     “His name’s Marrow. The other two are Zyndel and Ryndel. Different how?”
     The boy picked up the brush with his free hand as he savored the roll held in his other. Long strokes down the stallion’s neck seemed to do the trick as Marrow stretched to enjoy the attention. A pause in the brushing brought his head around to nose the lad, lest he forget what he was doing.
     “Well Charnus, the new one, pulled men back from the fighting to deal with stuff along the roads. They even got the slide cleared a few weeks ago, but…”
     “Goblins?”
     “I wish. See them two scrawny horse gorging themselves on my oats? Those belong to, how did they put it, the meanest and most ugliest Dragon hunters on Keil. If ya ask me, I say they was farmers or maybe even a shop keeper nae a month ago.”
     “A Dragon? On the pass to Huyroil?”
     “I know, Dragons are supposed to be extinct, or myths or something. As they were clearing the last of the slide to make it big enough for horses to get through, a bunch of the men got killed. Those that came back told everybody about it. As big as three horses, and wings to block out the sun. The skin is kinda grey-green. One of them saw it carry off his horse.”
     “And now every hunter wants to kill it.”
     “I’m learnin’ the sword a bit, but no way could I go against a Dragon yet. The king sent a squad up the pass to deal with it; They lost four men in a week. The rest settled at the trail head to warn off travelers. Pebbleton’s a nice town, but nae risking life to get there. Huyroil gots other towns just as nice as Pebbleton.”
     John paid the boy a good handful of copper crowns, and retrieved his packs from the lockdown. Marrow’s saddle was the biggest, with mounting straps for his bow and sword. Both of the mares had riding saddles, though for now their load was merely the large packs that draped over them. That would change when he reached the Crystal Towers, and gained the company of a mage.
     His sword lacked much in the way of ornamentation; but then again, he didn't feel the need to impress anyone with appearances. John knew that functionality was far more important in something that your life depended upon.
     His ebony bow received the same care as the sword. He wiped the oil off the small sapphire embedded in the center of the bow, almost as though the wood had grown around it. Most people never got close enough to it to wonder where a piece of ebony had been found that was straight enough for a bow.
     John had no answer to that riddle himself. He’d won the bow in a competition many years in the past. At first nobody had cared to join for such a simple prize; that is until the bow was demonstrated with its simple looking arrows. There were seventeen arrows to accompany the bow, and one of them had been fired at a small tree some four hundred feet distant. The arrow had struck the tree passing through the five inch thickness far enough that the head was sticking out the opposite side.
     They had called it the Dragon Bow, with claims that it had been crafted more than six centuries in the past by a craftsman who had died without revealing his secrets. John for his part doubted that any bow could last for as long as the claims said it had. Still, there was no denying that it had proved its value many times.
     The sun was still touching the distant peak when he rode out of the stable. He chanced a glance upward at the window, but she was probably still asleep; the window dark and empty. Most of the town was still getting ready for their morning as he rode through the market. A few lights shone in the rooms above, but the stores were still locked tight. The deserted streets echoed with the horses' hooves. He met only one other rider going through the gates.
     It was a long day's ride to the base of the base of the pass, and he wanted to arrive while there was still light to set up his camp. Tomorrow would find him climbing the mountain trail, and he wanted full daylight for that. If there was a Dragon it'd be best to find that out earlier in the day.
     This close to harvest time the farmers had also gotten an early start on the day. He waved to a few working in the fields as he rode by. The grain was the right color now, and would likely be cut within the week. The fields of vegetables and grain stretched on for several leagues before giving way to the grassy hills.
     He found the cutoff for the mountain pass trail without a problem. The arrow pointed along a small trail and marked it as the Pebbleton Pass. A small board had been nailed below the arrows with a crudely painted outline depicting a Dragon, along with an arrow pointing to the trail as well. John chuckled as he rode past. Such a sign was just as likely to draw the curious and foolish, as it was to frighten away the timid traveler.
     A few leagues later his predictions were confirmed when he met a pair of would-be Dragon hunters. Theirs was a quest to slay the Dragon, and thus claim the two-hundred gold bounty placed upon the beast's head. Both of them were skilled hunters with many prizes to their names. Among the victories had been a rather large bear that had required them to track it for a week before meeting it with swords. One of the men claimed that he could pluck a duck from the sky with a single arrow.
     Their secret, that would guarantee success in this hunt, was a fist-sized satchel hung around each of their necks. The herb vendor a few towns back had sold them this wonderful satchel that contained the rare Dragon Nip leaves. They had been assured that as soon as the Dragon caught a whiff of that satchel, it would come right to them.
     “I’ve no interest in your quarry. I have need of passing through Pebbleton, and the sooner I can d o that the better. My journey takes me on through Huyroil with a need for speed, else I’d just as soon find another route.”
     “It’s just as well. With that cheap sword ya got, there ain’t no way you’d last a minute in a hunt. And a bow? Dragons got skin like rock.”
     John rode on, keeping a little bit ahead of the would be hunters. The overloaded pack strapped behind the saddles told more than all of the boasting. Barely mid-day and the horses under them were nearing exhaustion from the load. Years of experience, that he hoped they lived long enough to learn, had taught him to keep the packs light. An extra horse was better than a heavy pack.

Dialog fixes everything.Just when a scene seems dead in the ink, it can breath in new life and give your characters a chance to strut their personalities with a little dialog. Normally I'm not the one in the middle of conversations, and so often times my pages are filled with sideline views. When I can get away from that, and let the characters talk, it blossoms.

The daughter was passing by, and noticed the condition of his stew. She ignored his protest, grabbing his bowl and heading straight for the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later bearing a tray of bowls and mugs. Without even asking if he wanted company, she set down the two bowls of stew with accompanying mugs. There was even a warm loaf of the rye bread to tease the appetite. She herself dropped into the seat opposite him.

Seated across from him she didn’t look quite as young as she had running ales through the crowd. The lines of her face still held the smoothness of youth, but he guessed that she was nearing thirty. The smile she’d worn like a painted on mask, now held genuine warmth as she flashed it at him over a spoon of the stew.

“I think you’ll like the bread. I made it this afternoon. I kept a few loaves in the warming basket. I even split the top with a drizzle of honey butter.”

“I’m not sure you want to sit there.”

“Of coarse I do. Why didn’t you say anything to the guards about the mouse?”

“You saw him take it?”

“No, but who else? I saw you grab him just before the fight.”

“I know they look shifty. I mean, use a razor on a rat and you could call them cousins, but it’s that very reason that they get the label of thief.”

“He had his hand on Jarl Frettle’s purse. You stopped him.”

“I didn’t see where he went after that.

The girl reached over to lift his journal from the side of the table. “You read much?” She flipped to a random page.

“That’s not for reading. It’s…”

“I see. Dearest Velimina; You’d love to see the deer I came across this morning. He stood proud on the ridge between two trees as though daring any hunter to try his luck. Who is Velimina?”

Reaching his hand out gently. “My wife.”

“There must be hundreds of these pages you’ve written, yet you haven’t sent them.”

“She died.”

She gently closed the journal and laid it in his outstretched hand. “Mine’s Nicquey. I’m sorry to hear about her. How?”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Mom’s done cooking for the night. Now’s when she comes out to swap gossip with the pair of old coots at the bar. I have time.”

“You’re really not letting it go?”

John sighed heavily as the memories came back once more. Thankfully dulled by the years. “I used to run through the hills as a young man, playing hunter. Velimina was a few years younger, but already filling out as a woman. Her father owned a tavern, much like this one. She would have withered there, serving drinks to the local farmers. Her heart was in the wilds, so she often took off to follow me.”

“I bet her father was furious at you.”

“The town was small, and his popularity made him the mayor. I was good at my hunting, enough that I could make a good living for the both of us. As good as I was, she was better. She could see prints in places that seemed impossible. She claimed it was like knowing the animals had been there, even though there was nothing to actually see.”

“There’s a twinkle in your eye when you talk of her. Hold on a minute.”

Nicquey strode over to the bar to pull one of the wine bottles off the shelf. Fresh mugs kept the deep red port from tasting like ale. By now there was only two other patrons, that her mother was happily laughing along with as they did horribly rude things to a song about herding sheep.

“I finally got tired of chasing after her, and asked her to marry me. She had scowled and turned away without a word. I feared I’d lost her for an entire day before she walked past me with a simple ‘yes, I will’. We had to put the marriage off for a month so that her family could plan it.”

“That sounds like a good thing. I’m sure her father let you stay in the inn until you got a house built.”

“Two weeks later, almost to the day, she fell ill. Nothing the apothecary could do even touched her fever. Fearing some thing nameless had grabbed her. The Dianasi priestess prayed over her for only a minute before screeching the truth. Velimina was being consumed from the unleashing of her magic; there was nothing the priestess could do for her.”

“A mage? How? Nobody knew?”

“I should have seen the signs when she could imagine tracks. In the turmoil of that announcement, her mother started blaming me for awakening magic in her girl, as though it were something contagious. Her father threw us both out to save his reputation as mayor. She was so weak from the ravages of awakening magic, that I had to tie her into the saddle for a four-day ride to Ridgemont.”

“But mages are highly sought after.”

“Trained mages, yes. Wild mages don’t have the training to control their magic. Magic gone wild could do something like incinerate the whole house, including the poor mage. The Uiyah temple in Ridgemeont seemed the only hope to a poor man trying to save his fiance. I didn’t care about trying to control her magic; all I wanted was her.”

“Couldn’t they help her?”

“They could keep her sedated with the help of an apothecary. That gave me time enough to ride for the Crystal Towers. Three days without rest to get there. I didn’t even blink at the cost they asked. Two years of pledged service for a rune that would react to her magic. All I had to do was get it to her and her own magic would make it work.”

“But…”

“In the six days I was gone, her magic became dangerous, even under the herbs. Without the runes, her only hope of surviving was to strip away the magic building within her. I’m told she screamed for the entire four hour ritual. In the end, there was not a trace of her behind the blankly staring eyes. Her heart beat, and she breathed, and yet she could do nothing else. Like a summer gourd that’s been dried, there was nothing left inside the shell. I sat with her for a week as she slowly starved, unable to even eat.”

“What did you do about the rune? And your pledge?”

“I had nothing left that I cared for. I left the rune with the priest, vowing that I’d remove his head unless he used it for the next wild mage. I returned to the Crystal Towers to honor my pledge. Two years stretched into twenty something now.”

“You still serve them?”

“The best thing I could do for Velimina is to honor what she was. The towers pay me to safeguard mages.

“Just how many times have you told that story?”

“To people? This would be the fourth time, but my horse is really tired of hearing it. Then again, I tell him the long version too.”

“I’ll grab another bottle on the way up to your room, and you can read some of the letters to me.”

“I’m not looking to settle down somewhere.”

“And I’m not looking to run away, or have you rescue me from all this, or a thousand other methods of departing this old inn. We both just need company for the night. And no, I’m not trying to take your mind off Velimina; you earned your memories of her.”

John slid the journal back into his small pack, hoisting it to his shoulder. One last glance at her back as she was slicing off a wedge of cheese, and he headed up the stairs. The inn may have looked worn, but the building was sound. The steps solid under his feet. Nicquey was humming something he couldn’t remember the name of when he rounded the landing to the upper floor.

A few steps later her tune was drowned out by the unmistakable deep voices of Dwarves having a go at one of their ballads. By the sound of it, they had finished off at least one keg. Who makes a ballad about a cracked mug? John continued on past their room, not wanting to refresh the experience of searching for the lost coffer. His room was at the end, with a view of the mountains he’d be crossing tomorrow.

His door swung open to the small room that was one of the best in the house. A small table held the tin washbowl and pitcher, with the full bucket on the floor next to it. A hook outside the window kept the chamber pot from stinking up the room, and the straw filled bed was covered in a patchwork blanket, no doubt crafted by the innkeeper’s wife. Currently it also boasted a Bogrunner sitting cross legged on it, and fumbling with a familiar looking coffer.

“Is ‘bout time ya git here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Is thinkin’ that be… um… oblivious. No, obvious. Yes.”

John heard the steps behind him, and whirled around expecting to find the town guard springing a trap on him. Fortunately he never completed the drawing of his dirk, or it might of caused Nicquey to drop her tray. She took the scene in at a glance and flashed an angry glare at John.

“You were in on it the whole time?”

“No, I… I’ve never met that guy before. I was just asking him why he chose my room to hide out in.”

“Is Barune ya poked. Is good eye ya gots ta see Barune.”

Nicquey turned, with the tray still in hand. “I’ll call the guard.”

John gently laid his hand on her arm. “Wait. That could bring all kinds of trouble. Let’s settle this now.”

“We need to get that back to them.”

“Is good ya helps Barune. Is shinies ta share.”

John grabbed the coffer from the little thief’s hands. “Give me that.” He slammed the coffer down on the table, where it promptly shook and tipped on its side.

“Is seein’ too? Is box jumpin’. Is shinies what wiggle.”

“John, I’ve seen those Dwarves before. Twice they’ve come through with boxes just like that. Is it alive?”

“Is box Barune no open. Is good eye can opens Barune box. Is shinies ta share.”

“It’s a Dwarven maze box. Each one is different. I’ve only seen one before. Theres a trick, a maze, to opening them. The more complex, the more highly desired.”

“So why is this one moving?”

For being barely over two feet tall, the Bogrunner could move quickly. In a heartbeat he had snagged the box from the table, and resumed his spot on the bed, hunkered over the treasure that looked enormous in his hands.

“Is arm of tree moves.”

“No, not the tree. Don’t move that. Dwarves don’t work with trees. Axes, rocks, picks, those sort of things.”

The mousy thief danced out of reach while still fiddling with the ornate work on the coffer. His long slender fingers twisting each little protuberance, trying to unravel the secrets of its maze. He even tried nibbling on the corner of the metal box.

“Is no goods. You tries it.”

He tossed the coffer at John and perched on the edge of the bed to watch the big man work. John scrutinized the box, testing for slight movements of the ornate metalwork. Dwarven craftsmanship was so precise that even seams looked solid. Nicquey set the tray on the table to stand beside John, watching silently.

John had surrendered to his own curiosity about the coffer. Nothing that he could think of would explain why it had moved. Something alive, maybe, but that wouldn’t explain why it was so valuable. Twenty minutes of gently prodding the coffer finally resulted in a soft click. Barune snagged the box from John.

“Is good eye for box.”

His broad smile vanished into a puzzled expression as he flipped the lid open.

“Is shiny um… animule?”

Barune tilted the opening forward so that the others could look inside. The bright silver rodent inside was about eight inches long with blue paws.

“I’ve heard of those before. Something Vole.”

“Where do they come from, John?”

“I don’t know. The deep roads most likely. Want to go ask the Dwarves where they got it?”

“Is funny looking.”

“Put a pair of britches on it and you could call it cousin. I think it has your whiskers.”

“Is good pet, I keeps?”

“Now you’ve seen it. It has to go back to them. Besides, look at the color. It probably eats silver.”

“Is cute.”

“Listen you little thief. I’ll give you one chance. Take this back to the Dwarves, and get your tail out of this town. If Nicquey sees you around here, she’ll call the guard to haul you away. Now choose door or window.”

“Is window I go.”

The bogrunner opened the window, and climbed out onto the narrow ledge. His long fingers finding holds easily. In moments he disappeared from view, over the top of the roof.

“Now what do we do?”

“I don’t think he’ll be back. That cheese smells good.”

“But the box.”

“I think he’ll find a way to get it back to them. Did you want to hear some of these?”

Nicquey snuggled close to John under the light of the sconce. “A few.”