Eyes Abound

Polished 9.1 — 2020/05/06

Polished 9.1, 9.2, 9.3, 9.4 and 9.5 — 2020/05/25

Changed 9.5 so Creigal knows of wyrms. Is very messy. Will need more work immediately. — 2020/05/26

Back at the bonfire, Baet felt embarrassed by the episode with Wenifas and begged off, that he might soak in the hot springs for a while more before standing guard. Carringten sat with the others for a time, then decided to join Baet, that he might cheer the sulking guard.

As the Saot and the Borz cleared the circle, Komotz turned to his brother. “Seems our new friends are not all friends.” Since the brothers understood only a bit of Ministrian—and mostly curse words at that—they missed much of what happened among the foreigners.

“Jaded lovers?” Homoth guessed. “I would not be surprised. You see how the Saot stares?”

Despite his hesitation to talk of other people’s business, Toar thought it might be best to straighten out the brothers. They’d get it from their Jindleyak friends if they really cared to hear it anyway, and he felt if he told the story, at least he could be sure it was told with care. “The lot of us have not known each other for very long. Indeed, it is the depth of our friendship that keeps us together, and not any great length,” he shook his head as he began. “I have known the Saots for less than a month, and I’ve known the priestess and her companions for even less."

Toar told of the bugbear war that attacked the Camp and Fort, and how the three of them overpowered and killed the guards, that they might escape. "They attacked Carringten," Toar shrugged as he defended their violence. "And if we had not escaped, the bugbear likely would have slaughtered us, and eaten our corpses. It is regrettable that a man had to die, but the worst of it was the timing. As we overcame Derris, the priestess came around the corner; and where we saw a foe, she saw a lover.” He shook his head with regret.

“How do you know his name?” Homoth asked, dubious.

“She yelled it at us,” Toar pointed.

That brought a low whistle and several curious eyebrows from the men of the Oak and Beast.

"It seems she hates him the most," Homoth noted.

"Baet drove the knife," Toar shrugged. "Indeed, this is not even the first time she's tried to kill us. The very night we escaped, she shot at us with his musket."

The brothers stared at the man, then turned to themselves in question. "If she hates you all so much, why did she not stay with her people in Falderfallen Hovey?" Komotz asked.

“For her own reasons, she accompanied us to Kezodel’s court,” Toar shrugged. “Then, as everything unraveled, the Jay banished her because the priestess refused to relinquish her guards to the Jay.”

Komotz frowned. “Seems a silly reason for such bad blood.”

Celesi had returned halfway through this tale. She sidled up to Toar and beamed at the young Bouge as he told his half of the tale. Now that he faltered and could go no further with the story, she thought to fill him in. For a split second, she thought she should keep her silence and protect the priestess—but as she stared at Toar, well, he was so handsome that she decided to tell what she knew.

"Meriona promised Wenifas that she'd see the lot of you hanged by Kezodel and his court," the apprentice Jay began. “That fell apart,” she said with a smile.

"She meant to see us hanged?" Toar cut in, surprised by the assertion. "That sneaky cuss…" He began as he stared daggers at the absent priestess.

Celesi nodded and cut in before he could call Wenifas more names. "Meriona always meant to betray her! Wenifas has a reason to hate you, but the Jay is petty and vengeful!”

“Well, that does it,” Toar began. “We must tell the others and cut her loose. We do not need such a devious Ministrian among us,” he glared.

“You killed her man,” Celesi shook her head. “Can you not forgive her for trying to return the favor?” she stared. “Since court, Wenifas has caused you no issue—until tonight. And you cannot blame her! Did you not see the way Baet antagonized her as she was deep in her feels?!”

“We never tried to hurt her,” Toar asserted. “All that time on the road, and she still harbors her hatred?”

“All that time!” Celesi huffed. “A pittance of days!”

“And you think we should simply forgive her and allow her along,” Toar continued. “What is to stop her from turning on us at her earliest convenience?”

Celesi threw up her hands, “Then we must turn her away! Among foreigners! That you and your duke might be safe from the dangers of an exiled and toothless priestess! Oh the danger! And her children!” she exaggerated. “We must be especially scared of the little one!”

Toar frowned, stung by her sarcasm. “That is not what I mean.”

“I know what you mean,” Celesi said. “You mean to turn her away, because she planned for revenge, back when revenge was in the cards!”

“It still seems to be in hand,” Toar noted.

“With everybody knowing about it?!” Celesi screamed. “Now if anything happens to that tea-drinker, Wenifas will immediately get the blame! Besides, she has nothing against your duke!”

As the two stared, upset and disappointed with each other, an elder among the Jindleyak, Saleos stood up and interjected. “Little in the world is ever simple,” he began. “Since the priestess has done nothing else to jeopardize us, I say we let her continue in our company.”

Celesi turned on the militiaman, “And what if the Saot lord should say otherwise?”

“Is it his decision to make?” Saleos replied. “What if the shaman should say otherwise? And what will Duboha say on the subject?” He shook his head. “If she does not like the duke’s guards, then she shall not have to interact with them, and if the duke’s men do not like the priestess, they do not have to interact with her either.”

Toar could not fault the Jindleyak’s logic, and so he nodded.

“Fine,” Celesi agreed since she’d won—though she’d distanced Toar with her victory. She was upset only because Toar was upset. She thought he’d be happy to have the whole story—instead he was mad that the priestess would still be traveling with them—just as she would if Celesi had said nothing.

Andrus snorted. He knew this spat was just more flirting, and hated to see it, so he diplomatically attempted to return them to an earlier part of their story. "All of this occurred as the bugbear warred?"

"That's how it started,” Celesi answered, and Toar nodded agreement. “Unlike Wenifas, I owe my life to Toar, Baet, and Carringten—and so does Meriona, the ingrate. We were ambushed by bugbear, and they rescued us."

"Saleos fought bugbear,” Komotz interjected. “In Salyst."

Obsessed as he was with Salyst, Toar stared at Saleos. “You must tell us," he begged.

Saleos shook his head. "After you have finished."

"But that is the end of it," Toar explained. "We escaped the bugbear and marched for Ebertin. We came across Wenifas, the shaman, and her train of survivors, and she could not deny us since we traveled with the Jay. Then we left the bulk behind at Falderfallen’s Hovey, continued to the big city where we met you in Kezodel's chambers," Toar shrugged. "I feel we have talked too much of what happened there.”

The others agreed.

“Tell us,” Celesi pleaded. “Tell us of Salyst, and distract us from our own petty animosities."

Saleos acquiesced. "It was a long time ago, some twenty years," he began. "A war of bugbear stormed out of the Cloud Mountains and fell upon the mines, farmlands, and the smaller villages that surrounded the great the city. The bugbear continued their assault for the better part of a week, marauding and ravaging outside the city walls. They did no harm to the city proper, but those in the lands about were as much Salystians as those in the city. For several days, they harassed the city walls—but they had not the forces to be effective, and since they’d already plundered enough, the bugbear slunk back to their warrens, satiated with blood and treasure.”

"Bugbear make the worst sort of neighbor," Toar noted.

"After the war ended, the militias decided they could not leave the vermin to proliferate,” Saleos continued. “The Salystians agreed if they did nothing, the buggers would simply war again at their earliest convenience, so they decided to push the beasts to the other side of the Cloud Mountains.

“For a year and a half, the Salystians chased the beasts fromt he countryside, through the long canyons of the mountains, and finally along the mountainous ridges themselves,” Saleos said. “We wore thick leathers with interwoven chain, gloves, and full masks to defend against the bugbear poisons. We chased the bugbear through thickets of needle thorn, poison sycamore, and the ever-present strangle vine.

“Arriving in Salyst nearly a year after it all started, I joined the campaign, looking for glory and adventure,” Saleos continued. “I found no end of blood and hardship. I got a crash course in the treatment of numerous poisons, toxins, venoms; and also underground fighting.”

“What poisons did you face?” Toar asked.

“By the time I arrived, the deadliest of the bugger poisons were in short supply—but we still saw them all from time to time,” Saleos stated. “Dragon’s Call, Wormbite—the Choker was the worst,” he shook his head. “For me, it was a rare thing to see a man get stuck with a dart or step on a spike, only to drop dead in seconds. For me, the poisons were slow and vicious—but often curable."

"You encountered a lot of rot?" Toar asked.

Saleos nodded. "They make it from the root of the strangle vine and never suffer a shortage. The beasts grow massive thickets of the stuff. They make the entrances of their warrens among it. It is tough to cut, and dulled our blades to no end,” He rolled up his sleeve and revealed a webbed scar maybe twice the size of a lune. “I got it once myself—thankfully just the once."

"I caught the rot several years back," Toar admitted. "The duke had it most recently. Someone at the camp healed him, though we never did meet the man—not even the duke knows who healed him. Indeed, his recovery was remarkably quick. I wish I knew who did it, and how."

“It was bad?” Saleos asked.

“The duke had the rot for over a week,” Toar nodded.

“I wouldn’t have guessed such a thing is possible,” Saleos whistled. “He must have had a nasty case by then.”

“The Minist surgeons refused to even try," Toar noted, then remembered the surgeons meant to turn him over to a native healer. Suddenly suspicious, he turned to Krumpus with a questioning eye.

Not wanting more attention, Krumpus shrugged and played coy, though the younger Trohl continued to stare at him from time to time, suddenly convinced that the shaman was involved.

"Our men never suffered it for more than a day before their treatments began,” Saleos noted. “Indeed, I am quite adept at treating rot root after the fashion of the Salystians. If you caught it right now, I could have you fully healed in two days, and you’d never be off your feet.”

“Not even to sleep?” Toar asked.

“Well, everyone must sleep,” Saleos hedged.

"Enough of your medicines!" Komotz cut in. He turned to Saleos. "We wish to hear more of your bugger war!"

Homoth and Aim agreed, and as Toar was also interested in that part of the tale, Saleos acquiesced. "It was a slow and persistent grind to chase the bugbear from their warrens. If you know buggers at all, you have to know they are talented diggers and devious trappers. Many fled across the mountains—but it seemed an equal amount stayed behind and fought to the last. Every bull, bitch, and pup we came across fought tooth and nail.

“But we were equally persistent, and eventually killed every bugger that refused to flee north,” Saleos shook his head. “The victory was short lived. As the militias warred against the buggers, Ministrians began their infernal work, pretending to be interested in peace and trade. Two years later, they managed to clear out the Salystians in a fashion similar to the way we’d cleared out the bugbear. Then, once the people were gone, the Ministrians left the ruins. I believe the bugbear returned back over the ridge, and claimed the ruins for their own.

"We should have seen it coming,” Saleos shrugged. “As the bugger war ended, The Ministrians overpaid for everything, and quickly began to involve themselves in local politics. They were a disruption from the beginning. But the militias were focused on the bugger problem. I was still in Salyst when Minist began her work in earnest. The situation deteriorated quickly. It wasn’t long before the Mininstrians realized there weren’t that many Salystians. They razed the countryside and sieged the city. Many of the Bouge militias that came to help were bribed to remain neutral. Those that refused Ministrian blood money were often slaughtered for interfering. Once I heard rumors of an exodus across the Red Desert, I realized I had to make a choice: chance it with the Salystians and go live in the wilds, or sneak east and go back home to see my family. Though it was uncharacteristic of me, I decided to go home," he finished.

"What was it like among the Salystians?" Toar asked.

"They were nice people," Saleos shrugged. “They were quite like the other Trohl races, though they are almost completely of Yakkish decent. While the other tribes welcomed the Tallian refugees with open arms, Salyst remained cool and distant. Some few Tallians settled among the people as they were not totally heartless—but these Tallians were forced to forgo their own customs and adopt the ways of the Yak. For this reason, they are quite different from the other Trohl tribes."

"It is said they possessed old magics and lost wisdom," Toar stated.

A knowing smile overcame Saleos. "Secrets and talents like no other?" He leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and everyone leaned in as he whispered among the group. "Powers beyond your wildest imagination?"

Toar nodded.

Saleos shook his head and leaned back. "Although we certainly lost a heavy measure of ingenuity and goodness when we lost Salyst, they possessed no special magics or talents that might make them the envy of the world," he shrugged. "I will say they baked a good number of delicious pastries unequaled by anything I've had before or since."

Toar frowned. "You mock their memory!" He accused.

Saleos shook his head. "I most certainly do not. I knew a good number of them personally. Despite my undying affection, I will not pretend they are more than plain men and women with common failings—just as you will find in most quarters of world. Besides, if they were such powerful and talented magicians, why could they not repel the armies of Minist?"

“They were so heavily outnumbered!”

“What are numbers to magic beyond imagining?” Saleos asked.

Toar glared at the man as he measured the statement. Though he did not like what the old man said, he could not fault the evaluation.

For a long moment, nobody spoke. Finally, Duboha prodded Saleos to continue his story. "That is not where it ended for you,” Duboha began as he stared at his fellow militiaman. “After Salyst, you went to Saot lands. Indeed, you were a post runner for their king," he prompted.

“After seeing what lay west, I decided not to go that way,” Saleos nodded. "First, I went to Hearthstone, where I studied the Saot language among their traders."

"You know Saot?" Toar asked. "But you never speak it with the duke, or the others…"

Saleos shrugged. "There was no reason. They speak Ministrian, and we speak Ministrian—all but the brothers," He waved at Homoth and Komotz.

“And me,” Aim raised a hand. “Mostly. I get some of it…” he trailed off lamely.

"You spied," Toar accused.

"I simply never bothered to mention it," Saleos replied. "If it comforts you, I've heard nothing suspect from the duke or his men, not in any language."

Toar glared at the man for several more seconds, but since the others only snickered and grinned, including Celesi and Krumpus, Toar let it drop.

"Enough of such gossip! Tell us of your time in the Saot Kingdom," Komotz insisted. “You’ve never told much detail,” he complained.

"I went to Land's End, then followed opportunity to Solveny,” Saleos began again. “I continued to learn Saot as I worked as a post runner for the Silver Service. The locals referred to us as 'the silver fish'. We wore thick chain mail coats burnished to a shine with no device or sign—aside from a simple pendant of the post. For over a decade I traveled throughout the Saot kingdom.

“Despite the good pay, running post is a monotonous job,” Saleos revealed. “I grew bored and eventually left their ranks after I chanced upon a consortium of minor nobles that hoped to win favor with the Empress Seviticah. They had special charter from the king to solicit the empress, and since they wished to appear more cosmopolitan, I joined their ranks as an advisor in Trohl affairs. Admittedly, I knew little of our politics at the time—but I certainly knew more than these foreigners—so I made for Minist among their mixed company."

"Why would you meet with the Empress after what she did to Salyst?" Toar charged.

Saleos shrugged. "A love of travel is in my blood. I have no real interest in the Empire, but I thought I should like to see the country, that I might understand it for myself. Besides, I thought our request should be denied. After what happened in Salyst, I thought the Empress would have no reason to back our efforts, and I thought this because I thought our efforts were noble. In the end, I was proved right. We did not even meet her, though we did see her from afar. Instead, we met far too many of her ministers. They were all quite eager to meet us and hear about our money, and they were even more eager to get away once they heard our cause,” he noted. “Minist is ruled by a conniving and villainous lot that wants nothing to do with honest endeavors."

"The Baradha," Toar noted. "I've met some number of them when I worked in the house of Kezodel."

"Is that what they call themselves? They were quite tight lipped about the true form and function of the Empire," Saleos gave a shrug. "Although I enjoyed the opportunity to see Minist, it was not much to my liking. Trohls are not held in high regard, even when they travel in the company of noble Saots," Saleos shook his head. "Some of our cause returned to Danyan by boat, while the rest of us returned to the kingdom over land. From there my friends went south, and I came to Ebertin. Although I initially meant to go home once more, I chanced upon Traust, Duboha, and others among the Oak and Beast. They investigated the Bouge and tried to understand what had happened in far-off Salyst. I shared my insights, and since my intelligence proved useful, I was invited to swear an oath and take the colors.”

Toar stared at the older man, “You mean to say, you’re not a Jindleyak?”

“I'm Gramgoar by birth, though I've served the Oak and Beast longer than I ever served in any Gramgish militia—mostly because I never served in any Gromgish militia at all," Saleos explained. "I was born there, but I was never one of that people. Indeed, the open road was more of a home than Gramgoar ever was, as I was born of unfortunate circumstance,” his lips went tight, then curled into a smile. “But that is another story and I am not willing to tell it just now," he finished.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Meu slept between Claiten and Wenifas. She shivered as the night grew deep, but not for the cold. Her dreams turned to the concerns of her waking life as she remembered her daughter and the new life she sought in the southlands. This was her quest before the shaman interrupted and detoured her travels. She thought she must not remain too long among these humans—though she hoped to stay with them a bit longer. She’d like to see the shaman’s home. He’d promised to introduce his wife and kids. It was only eight or nine days away, and was in generally on her way. She’d wanted to enter the Saotlands by Rynth Falls, but now she would do so near Land’s End. It’d be nice to spend a few more days with her newfound and hard fought friends. It’d be nice to see them settled, and relaxed for a short time.

As the night grew deep, she remembered her daughter. She shifted into her human form, crept from the cabin, and made for the edge of the woods. She stepped under the obliging boughs of a weeping willow, shifted back into her serpent form, climbed the tree, and lit off over the forest.

Despite her discrete manner, she did not go unobserved. Andrus was watching about the inn, as were Duboha and Toar —somewhere. Perhaps the others were dozing in silent corners, but Andrus was awake and alert. He caught the faint creak of the door as Meu stepped from her cabin, then, because Aim made him suspicious, he followed the slight redhead.

When Meu didn’t turn toward the privy, Andrus knew she was up to something sneaky. He followed her out to the edge of the trees and watched as she slipped under the large weeping willow. He saw the shadows gather and slip about her as she shifted into the form of a winged serpent. Shocked to see such witchery, Andrus stared after Meu; as she crawled up the branches of the tree, opened her wings, and flew toward the river. Amazed to have witnessed such a transformation, Andrus stared long after the strange beast was gone, then muttered to himself, “So that’s how that’s done.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.3 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Oblarra rose over the waters of the river and cast the landscape in an eerie crimson light. Creigal remembered sitting late into the night, allowing his thoughts to wear themselves out. He’d laid back in the shade of a maple, and thought only to rest for a bit. A weariness overcame the duke. Sleep came quick.

Creigal suffered a strange vision as he laid next to the river. He had Aerindoun on a rack and stretched him for his crimes. His eldest stretched and screamed, and Creigal was pleased with the sound.

Then the voice turned feminine.

Suddenly, it was no longer Aerindoun that Creigal tortured. It was his second child, Daphne, upon the rack. His heart lurched at the tortured sounds of his lost daughter. He undid the binds and gathered her weak form into his arms. Holding her close, he sobbed for his rough treatment and begged her forgiveness.

As they hugged, Daphne morphed into his third child, Samaraut. The boy was confused, as was often the case, and for some time the duke tried to make sense of his second son's ramblings—though there was little sense to be found.

Then the figure was Samaraut no more, but now the youngest in his place, Jeppith; the most devious and manic of the lot. Before Creigal could stop him, Jeppith pulled the dagger from his father’s belt and stabbed the duke in the stomach. Creigal gaped at the blood gushing between his knuckles. Jeppith stabbed him again and again. He chortled as he did so; then danced and skipped away with the blade held high.

Creigal laid on the ground, his life slipping between his fingers. Blood pooled at his mouth. His vision blurred, and the world began to go numb. He was sure he would die.

He woke with a fright. Checking his stomach, Creigal sat up in strange surroundings. It took the duke several seconds to remember where he was, under the canopy of the large maple, next to the gentle flow of the river. It'd been some time since he'd slept out in the open.

The darkness of night was beginning to lift. It’d be morning soon. Slowly, Creigal sat against the trunk of the tree as he wondered at his strange dream. He felt the wrath and suspicion he had for his sons had somehow poisoned the love of his daughter. he believed the best way to honor the memory of his daughter was to offer his sons forgiveness for their crimes—including Daphne’s murder.

The duke found himself offended by his own musings. The thought of forgiving his sons was beyond repugnant! If not for them and their plotting, he'd still have his wonderful Daphne! In addition, they'd mocked their mother, his loving wife, as she grew sick and died. They celebrated the fact that there could be no more siblings to usurp their ambitions.

That was the fealty and worthiness of his sons: they conspired and murdered their own sister, then danced on the grave of their mother, and finally mocked their father's loneliness.

And he was to forgive them?! He would not do it! He could not do it! There was nothing the gods might offer—unless they should reunite him with the dead—he could not forgive his sons for their cruelty!

His spitting, sputtering rage was cut short as a sudden call broke through the woods and shattered the quiet. "ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!"

Creigal nearly jumped out of his skin to hear it. He sat, and wondered that a mere rooster should shock him so—but he was in quite a strange state. He was lost, somewhere in Trohl lands, bothered by a vivid dream. Thrice on this trip, he’d been on death’s door. How long might his luck hold out?

"ERRR-AY-ERRR-AY-ERRRRRR!" The cry of the rooster sounded again. He sat and waited, somehow sure the rooster would crow frequently now that the light was up. There was something in its tone that made him quite sure—and since he knew birds so well… but it never called again.

After a time, Creigal stood and began back toward the cabins of the inn—and that’s when he heard a bird of rare and haunting song.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Claiten was about to crow a third time when his mother’s voice caught him off guard.

“What’s this about?” Wenifas said. “Why are you strutting like a cock?” she asked as he turned to see her leaning against a wall, staring at the boy with a pained and worried expression.

For several seconds, the two simply stared at each other. Wenifas suddenly turned away, then heaved and spilled gross on the ground.

For a second, Claiten thought he too might retch. Overcoming that reaction, he worried to see his mother lose her dinner. He ran to side and put a hand on her back. "You okay?" He asked with concern on his face.

"These native foods don't agree with me," Wenifas said as she offered her son a comforting smile. She did not think it was the food at all, but simply the fact that she was all nerves and anxiety of late. She was apprehensive about being in a new place, among people she barely knew, and customs she didn't understand. She was on edge after losing her son—then miraculously get him back… The tension was making her nauseous.

But there was no reason to worry the boy with such adult concerns. Let him think it was just a bit of bad food. “Everything will be fine,” she smiled, and tried to believe it herself. She had money and many good people around her—or so she hoped.

She also suffered the company of men she despised—and one of them refused to stop staring at her. She'd known men like him before, men of an obsessive nature. She'd bedded men like him, despite their neediness. It was good coin, at the time—but coin was no longer a concern.

Then again, Derris needed her after a fashion, especially at the end. He had looked at her in a similar fashion. Indeed, in that small way, the one reminded her of the other—and that made her hate Baet all the more.

Wenifas shook her head and turned her attention back to her boy. She frowned. Lately, the boy spent too much time around the guard. She couldn't blame him. The boy was no longer outgoing and carefree. Since Beletrain, he’d become quiet and reserved, and only the Saot guard had said much to coax the boy from his new formed shell.

Yet, in most ways, Claiten seemed to be relatively unscathed by his experiences in Beletrain. She hoped he’d come out of his funk rather quickly. Something bothered him. Something dark and sinister was still about him.

All this worry made her stomach knot. She turned from her son and spilled more sick over the ground.

"What are they feeding us?!" she complained as she wiped her mouth. She stared back at her boy and wondered if he could spot her lies as well as she could spot his. "Come here," Wenifas said, and wrapped Claiten in a hug. He hugged her back and she held him for several long seconds. "We're going to be fine," she claimed as her worries continued to play through her mind—then, despite her claim, she pushed her boy away and held him at arms length, so she could be sick one last time.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 9.5 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Creigal stopped and listened to the odd song as he moved away from the inn once more. The song was rich and clear, and he knew it’s subject the same way he always knew what birds sang. It was a song of bittersweet longing, of old friends and good times, in a past that was all but forgotten. It was a song of anticipated homecoming. It was well sung.

Creigal didn’t know what it was—though he had high hopes. It’d been years since he heard a voice like this. It’d been so long he could barely believe it. He crept among the trees on soft, slow feet, and scanned the canopy. Finally, he spotted her near the top of an ancient maple—her feathers spayed, as she sang with her whole body.

He couldn’t believe it. The duke had not seen a wyrm in a good dozen years, far to the south, in the Haltbrush Hills.

He distinctly remembered the day his father introduced him to a council of wyrm-folk. Growing up, he’d always thought of them as figments of men’s imaginations—yet here they were—a good dozen hovered on large wings and regarded the boy with bright eyes.

One of the beasts wrapped about his father’s shoulders and viewed the boy from this nearby perch. His father talked as if he knew the creature’s thoughts—which convinced Creigal that his father was secretly a bird-talker. Only much later, when he went to Haltbrush dressed in black, to tell the creatures of his father’s passing, did he realize the creature had bit him. Creigal never needed to be bitten. Their words were always like the birds and plain to his ear.

bigger than he’d imagined. He was dazzled by the coloring and couldn’t believe the size of them. and far to the south. not seen it because it was long and thin and looked much like a branch, until it moved. Indeed, it was not a bird at all, but a serpent! For a moment, he thought the serpent must be hunting whatever sang. For a moment, he thought to call out and spoil the hunt. At least then he'd see the great bird as it flew away—but there was nothing else in the tree, just the giant serpent.

The song ended. The serpent leaned from its perch, and to Creigal's surprise, spread its own magnificent wings, tawny in color, with red and green highlights. As the creature lifted into the air, turned a few lazy circles over the tops of the trees, then disappeared back toward the inn, Creigal wondered that the creature sang such a poignant song; then because it flew toward the inn, he turned and followed.

Creigal ran after the creature. He almost lost the strange beast as it drifted toward the inn and its outlying cabins. Just as he thought it should fly on and continue out of view, the creature settled in a willow nestled between several of the cabins. Creigal paused as the creature made its way down through the branches and to the ground. He thought it must have a nest in the grand tree, and watched to see if it might come crawling out—but it did not. Instead, Meu stepped from under the willow. She adjusted her slight sundress and Creigal stared at her as if seeing her for the very first time. He had not expected a skin-walker among his new friends.

As the duke stared, Meu turned. Perhaps she sensed his eyes upon her. Whatever the cause, Meu stared back at the duke. There was a glint in her eye and curious smile crept at the edge of her lips. She raised her hand and beckoned the duke to come out of the trees.

Entranced and very self-aware, Creigal stepped from his cover with a foolish grin glued to his face.

“Hi,” he smiled, as if he were always addressing skin-walker wyrms. He wondered how well his guards knew her, and if others among their group knew she was a skin-walker?

Their eyes were not the only ones about the woods. Indeed, there was yet another that followed the duke from the edge of the water. It didn’t see Meu until she stepped from under the tree. Only when the duke was joined, did the creature turn and slither away from the inn full of waking men and back to the water’s edge.

The naga crawled into the river, slipped through a submerged tunnel that led to a dry cave.

Several other naga were there, waiting for others to return.

“I heard him,” Maligno nodded.

“And the beast?” Golifett asked.

Maligno shook his head, having just missed her.

“How long was the boy’s song?” Golifett continued. “How tight is the curse?”

“Twice he called.”

Golifett frowned at his cousin. They both knew the significance of the boy crowing twice. Either he was interrupted and caused to stop yet again—or the spell was slipping. If the boy slipped the curse, he’d be increasingly hard to track—and the others might abandon him. They’d see it as a bad omen. If he meant to have the boy, they’d have to act soon.

“So what are we to make of this beast?” Maligno asked.

“It is a pet—and quite useless against us,” Golifett surmised. “Certainly, it cannot bite us.”

Another naga came through the tunnel that led to the river, and another.

“We are half a dozen strong,” Golifett noted. “They are injured, with a number of women and children among them. Once they are away from this village—for I believe they mean to be on the road—I will call upon a storm of such proportion, it will shake the earth as it passes!” he roared.

The others cheered. Some had witnessed his magic before, and the others had heard tale.

“Then,” he continued. “We will kill them and take what we want. Their children and their gold will be ours!”