State of the Play - An Original Fantasy Novella

[Selrisitai]

Chapter 1: It's Not Desirable, Just Necessary

Daniel's green eyes shimmered with cruelty as he stuck the length of his blade in the crook of his elbow, against the canvas shirt sleeve, tightened bicep to forearm, enclosing the bloodied metal, and, with a swift motion, drew the sword out, wiping it clean. Redness welled across the gray shirt cloth, and his vicious eyes never left the monster's. Daniel wanted it to know that it would not receive mercy, and its three eyes, wide in terror, told him that it knew.

The monster was a Pernicite, a creature of the dark. Such monsters came in many forms. This one was approximately human in size, knotted with thick, dense muscle, and had three eyes in horizontal configuration. Its entire body was covered in thick, coarse hair, and a network of horns of various size sprouted from its bald, blueish pate. These three-eyed Pernicite variations were regularly used as scouts. They could be loners, but a good Pernicite Mercenary always checked rigorously when happening upon one. Checking was not a friendly process, but a good mercenary would check anyway.

Daniel was a good mercenary.

The scout, therefore, had been roaring in anger and pain, and then in fear and pain, and finally just in pain. Despite its fearsome appearance, it now it whimpered pathetically beneath Daniel's merciless gaze.

"I can continue," he said, almost conversationally, except for the edge to his voice that he could not conceal. "The only difference it will make for you is whether the pain stops now or later—maybe much, much later."

The Pernicite scout's eyes watched the wicked tip of Daniel's blade swaying a few inches from the ground. The fact that they'd had to torture it for this long, perhaps ten minutes, was evidence of the magnitude of its nerve, but that nerve was considerably smaller now, cut down to size. It was ready to talk.

Pernicites spoke the language of where they were spawned, though whether they learned on their own or from others was unclear. Many things were unclear about them, despite much research being done by people with stronger stomachs than Daniel's: he killed them on sight, if the option were available. He already knew enough about them. They were wicked, that was as clear as a frozen winter morning.

The scout looked as though it might abstain, its wicked resolve growing like a mold infestation, but with a gentle twitch of Daniel's wrist, the sword's point began to rise, and the scout's burgeoning bravery was sliced away at the root. "Heron Lies," it cried with a weak voice. It tried to move, shift its position to something more comfortable, so that it wasn't putting its weight against the same wounds, but next to Daniel was Adam, a skillful sorcerer, holding his arms outstretched toward the Pernicite as it lay flat on its back. Waves of force emitted from Adam's forward-facing palms, binding the creature to the spot, arm and leg and head and chest.

Daniel raised the sword. The Pernicite scout watched it, wide-eyed, fanged mouth lolling open in fright, but the sword's tip plunged only into the sheath on Daniel's back, and with a quiet ringing of metal against leather, the blade slipped down until the crosspiece clacked against the sheath's mouth. "Keep talking." His voice was strained, and not just because of his disgust with these beings, but because of the wickedness of the interrogation he'd been forced to mete out. As much as he hated pernicites, torturing them wasn't desirable, just necessary.

The scout had ceased its struggling, the fear of torture abated with the putting-away of the weapon. Now it lay heaving. With every pump of its heart blood bubbled up from its many, many cuts. Felicity, a forest sprite who had joined Daniel and his crew a few weeks ago, kept creeping up and poking at the scout and its wounds, then retreating with guilty jerks when Daniel or Adam chastised her. She had four dragonfly-like wings, a long, thin, wiry tail and a cute, human face, albeit one with two little upper fang-like incisors poking over her lower lip. They went well with her claw-like fingernails and the toenails that curved until their points touched the ground, like talons. She never wore shoes. Despite her vicious appearance, she was mostly harmless, but she was also fiercely loyal and would not hesitate to take out an eye in defense of her friends.

"When?" Daniel asked the dying scout.

"Two. . . ."

"Two what? Days?"

"Yes."

"And how many are attacking?"

The scout's three eyes were barely open. It said nothing, though its lips worked a couple times. The fear and adrenaline had kept it going. Now that the worst danger had passed, it was relaxing into a sleep from which it would never awaken.

"How many?" Daniel said, one hand grabbing at the creature's throat and the other bending at the elbow to grab the hilt of his sword. Daniel could torture if he had to, but he was not an expert and had made too many lacerations. Their only source of information was diminishing rapidly. The scout's eyes were closed now, and when Daniel pulled it up by the throat its head lolled. "How many? What kind of attack? What's the purpose of it, curse you!"

When the Pernicite's tongue had fallen out and was flopping, Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "It's dead."

Daniel looked up at the young sorcerer, whose dark brown bangs fell over his eyes, not concealing but enhancing the compassion in them.

Without more information, they were going to struggle. Daniel released the monster and stood erect, releasing his sword's hilt. "I overdid it."

"Yeah," Adam agreed somberly, lifting up his cloak's hood. "I don't like it. Doing this."

"Me either, but you know what happens if we don't. You know I'm not, y'know, this kind of person."

"I don't want you to ever become this type of person," Adam replied, and there was no mockery in his tone. "That darker part of a person can grow fat and powerful on a steady diet of uncontested tyranny. If you're lucky, you die before no one can oppose you."

"I won't."

"Won't what?" Adam asked wryly. "Die?"

Daniel was not offended by the prod. "Become a tyrant." He had no taste for it. He searched his feelings regularly and always reached the same conclusion: he would happily give up all of this gruesomeness the instant he didn't need it anymore. "Trust me, I won't," he repeated. Glancing at Felicity, who was poking the expired Pernicite, he observed, "But she might."

Felicity stood from all fours to two, looking strikingly human, fluttering wings notwithstanding, and her long furry ears lay flat back like a cat's as she hissed, "Nay! A forest sprite knows no pleasures in such torment."

Adam shrugged. "She's just curious. It's in her nature."

"Yeah, well, I wish she weren't so curious about these things. I guess we'd better—" He cut himself off because he noticed Ilsa, their fourth party member. She was ten paces out, facing away, crouched on her haunches, hands pressed tightly over her ears and, although they couldn't see it from here, they all knew she had her eyes closed just as tightly. She'd been that way since the interrogation had started.

"Better go get her out of 'time out,'" Adam teased. Felicity poked the pernicite scout with her tail and blood bubbled up from three different lacerations. Daniel nodded.

He went over and gently touched her shoulder. Ilsa leapt forward with a start, lost her balance, tumbled, shrieking, and Daniel caught her around the waist. He was strong, and her collapse was halted immediately. Her mage staff, with its cyan gemstone, clattered to the ground. "It's me," Daniel said for the fourth time as gently, yet loudly, as possible. She hadn't seemed to hear him the first three.

Ilsa extricated herself from his grip, unusually testy, and adjusted her robe and waist-ribbon. "I don't like it."

"I know," Daniel replied deferentially, only a little upset at how fast she had retreated from his touch. He understood.

"Why can't you do that a different way? Why must you be such a brute? And Adam, you helped," she said, turning to him. He looked away, but rather than looking remorseful he seemed more like he just didn't want to deal with her. That was Adam, not a people-person. Turning her attention back to Daniel, Ilsa continued. "It's awful. Just awful."

Daniel's eyes were down on her sandals. "I'm sorry."

With a deep breath, Ilsa composed herself. "I am, too. I shouldn't speak to you that way. Or you, Adam."

Adam shrugged.

"I just feel so terrible about it. I wish there were another way."

"I know," Daniel repeated himself. "I do too. Maybe we'll find one."

No one thought that was likely, but the thought lifted the mood a little.

Ilsa picked up her staff and brushed dirt from the gemstone. It glowed eagerly at her touch. It was a catalyst, and it did more than allow magic to flow more easily; it drew magic from the spell-caster, like water through a high-pressure pipe, and could release it in myriad forms. For a mage with healing magic, the staff was indispensable. With it, she could directly channel salubrious magics to wounds, or create zones that would recover stamina and heal injuries for anyone inside, or heal targets at distance. Without it, direct touch would be necessary for most of her magical techniques. Given that she was a pretty young girl with strawberry-blonde hair, with big, innocent eyes and a baby-soft complexion as fair as a lily's bell, most men didn't complain if she needed to touch them.

She said, now with the subordinate voice of a student, higher in pitch, "Did you learn anything?"

Daniel nodded. "He was scouting at Heron Lies. That's where the horde will be attacking. In two days."

Ilsa knew how dangerous such a horde could be. Fear for herself, and for her companions, filled her with reluctance. "How far is it from us?"

From his dark robes, Adam produced a map; a place on the ground was cleared of twigs and pebbles, and the town was located. "Northwest, maybe a few hours' journey from where we are now."

"Is there no one closer, do you think?" Ilsa asked, her trepidation obvious to everyone. "A military base or a mercenary guild?"

"Not that I can see," Daniel said sincerely, studying the map. "Plus, even if there is, we're presumably the only ones who know a horde is on its way. We have to go anyhow."

Ilsa looked hopelessly at the map, eyes searching some way out. There was only one tactic left, and it was pathetically desperate. "What if the Pernicite was lying? How do you know for sure he wasn't?"

Ilsa only looked at Daniel's hard eyes for an instant. Light seemed to have been sucked from them. Her voice came out scolded, meek. "Oh."

"Let's head back and pack up camp," Daniel said without inflection as he carefully folded the map. He held it out to Adam. "We're going to town."​

 

[Selrisitai]

At a distance, squatting on the precipice of a grassy cliff and looking out perhaps three miles, Heron Lies was a more impressive town than any of the quartet had expected of so remote a location. It had a cobblestone road lead-in that opened up into a large foundation upon which wooden gabled houses sat, horse-drawn carriages clattered and citizens haggled in friendly back-and-forths with shop-owners.

The nearby mountains must have accounted for the materials to build a town of this sophistication, Daniel speculated, darting thoughtful eyes from one side of the town to the other, searching for signs of a mining operation.

Ilsa put a hand on Daniel's shoulder for balance and leaned over the edge of the cliff, trying to get a better look. "Do you suppose that's why that monstrous horde is coming here?"

Daniel was considering it, but not favorably, when Adam answered from inside his robe's heavy hood. "Why not? Not every pernicite is mindless."

"But they're all bloodthirsty," Daniel said, standing. Ilsa backpedaled to avoid being shoved as he turned and began making his way down the mountain. She watched him anxiously, and began to moan in frustration. "Oh, Adam, do you think he's upset with me?"

Adam was silent at first. He was not typically a talker, but there was a mischievous streak in him. "I wouldn't say that. He's probably just thinking about the cruelty he needed to express toward that scout back there. He hates doing it, even though he hates pernicites."

"And I gave him a hard time," Ilsa said, hoping Adam would contradict her.

"Well, it's good to remind him now and then. Don't want him to start liking it, do we?" Grinning he started after Daniel.

Ilsa looked helplessly at Felicity; Felicity looked back. "It is an agonizing thing. He does, lest he lose the world; he does not, lest he lose his soul."

Felicity, her back muscles shifting under her epidermis like a muscled big cat, went on ahead, long tail swaying, its knife-like tip snapping rhythmically left and right.

It was awfully quiet and still on that mountaintop alone. "I'm sorry!" Ilsa cried, starting forward. "Wait up! Daniel!"

By time they reached the village, Ilsa had apologized so profusely to Daniel that he felt compelled to apologize to her, and then she was so guilt-ridden by this that she had to say she was sorry too, and at this point Adam demanded that no one in their group be allowed to apologize ever again.

There was a sense of the society the moment they were within the town's boundaries. It evoked excitement. Felicity dropped to all fours and rushed around, enjoying the warm cobblestones on her bare hands and feet.

"I would love to have a warm bath," Ilsa said dreamily.

Daniel was pleased to see everyone enjoying themselves, with the possible exception of Adam who was, as usual, quiet and withdrawn. Daniel knew he wasn't staring at his feet though, Adam was always watching.

"If you want," Daniel said, "I'll go on to the mayor's office with Adam and you two can explore the town. It might be worth it for you to scope things out, now that I think about it."

Felicity hissed and rushed between the two men, albeit a might closer to Adam. "Nay! I would not be separated from my humans."

Forest sprites didn't always have the vocabulary to describe human concepts like friendship, but they knew what she meant. Daniel thought his scouting idea had been a good one and considered insisting, but fighting with Felicity was rarely worth it, and Ilsa wasn't going to go by herself when they didn't know the town well, nor would he want that with a horde on its way. They weren't close, but. . . .

"Alright," he said, "let's go introduce ourselves."

Adam's hood shuffled, suggesting he was shaking his head. "I suspect we're going to be dismissed."

"Why would we be?"

"Have you seen yourselves?" Adam replied with amused disdain. The other three looked down at themselves and were embarrassed at the dirty state of their clothes. Ilsa's robe, which was supposed to be white, was decidedly more of an egg-shell, with splotches of dirt and green smears of leaves where she'd fallen at some point; Felicity's claws lacked sheen and her fur was caked in dried mud. As for Daniel, dirt was the least of his concern. He unconsciously hid his left sleeve behind his back.

"Don't you think," Ilsa chirped with false positivity, "that it gives us credibility? Why, we must have been out fighting beasts right before coming into town, just look at the state of us!"

Daniel and Adam exchanged a pair of glances. Daniel wore a brown leather glove on his right hand. He grabbed his chin and looked up. "She's an optimist."

This encouraged Ilsa.

"She's an idealist," Adam said wryly.

This did not encourage Ilsa. Her voice was huffy. "Then what shall we do?"

Adam pulled his hood tighter. Felicity raked her claws on the cobblestones, not particularly interested in the conversation. It was up to Daniel. "I'd like to get it over with," he announced wearily. "Let's go straight there."

Ilsa felt somewhat vindicated.


The mayor's office was precisely in the center of town. A regal affair, it was a long white squat building, with wide steps leading to a portico that could host a small party and columns too big for an adult to get his arms all the way around. Inside the ceiling seemed higher than the building was tall, and the air was cool. Ilsa wondered if it was magic that made it so cool despite the warm weather, or something about the design of the building.

It was quiet as they walked deeper into the main hall, and they could hear Felicity's talons clicking on the tile, hear Ilsa's wooden staff, hear Adam's glass and wood charms tied to his waist clacking together.

A receptionist was at a long desk on the left. Daniel shifted toward her and his companions swooped around him like a flock of birds changing direction mid-flight, then crowded in as he stopped at the desk.

"Do you mind?" Daniel asked, trying to spread his arms. Everyone moved a few inches away, not enough for elbow room, but he didn't feel like arguing. The receptionist sat there bewildered.

Daniel cleared his throat, suddenly hyper aware of his state of dress. "Excuse me, we're a group of Pernicite hunters and we have important information for the mayor."

The receptionist, with her short, professional haircut swooped to one said, dangling gold earrings and gray vest over white button-down, swiveled her head to look at each disheveled individual standing at her once-reputable station. Her earrings swung at each turn of her head, sparkling as they caught the light. "I'm sorry, you are?"

"Daniel Warnsward. Do you want all of our names?

"That shouldn't be necessary." Opal-blue eyes went down to a pad and quill and inkwell. "Mr. Ashcloth is quite busy, but I could fit you in, say, Tuesday? at noon?" Mistaking their stunned silence for confusion, she explained, "I'm his secretary."

The quarter looked around at one another. "Actually," Daniel said, trying to exude confidence, "it's urgent. We don't need a meeting, we need to give him a warning."

The receptionist did not look like she was about to shuffle her boss's schedule. "I could get it to him." To her credit, she did at least dip her quill into the inkwell. If she didn't actually intend to deliver the message she was certainly willing to put in the effort to look like she would.

Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder. "Do we really need permission? This is life or death."

Daniel felt the weight of his sword in its scabbard. He glanced around. They had passed two guards coming in, and there were another two posted seemingly at every entrance and exit, as well as one patrolling a catwalk above. He pursed his lips. His eyes shifted this way and that. He went dead still as he played out the scenario in his head. Finally, he shrugged the shoulder Adam was touching and the hand fell away.

"Ma'am," Daniel said, "just tell him there will be trouble if he doesn't see us, can you do that?"

The lady was prim and dismissive. "I'm sure that I can."

Daniel slapped his hand on the desk, startling her, and leaned forward. She leaned back. "A lot of trouble. Got it?"

The secretary nodded nervously. "O-of course." She added, "Sir" belatedly.

"Is there trouble here?" a new voice called from behind, the kind of stuffy, severe voice that comes from men who appreciate order and are exceptional at their jobs.

The party turned to see a tall man, perhaps six feet, with a three piece suit, an ascot instead of a tie, immaculately-parted black hair and a carefully groomed, medium-sized mustache. His eyes were so dark it was tough to say if they were brown or another color, but they were intelligent and, at the moment, not the least bit amused.

"Oh! Mr. Witley!" the secretary called a little too loudly, her voice a little too strained. She was begging for assistance. "These fine people were just looking for the mayor."

"So? Did you work them in?"

She was about to say that she tried, but that sounded accusatory and she was not prepared to argue with the man possessing a sword and what appeared to be the muscles required to use it. "It's complicated. Why don't you walk with them? Mr. Witley? Sir?"

Mr. Witley nodded with reluctant ascented. "Very well. Follow me."

He walked, they followed.

"I am the mayor's personal aid, Falimoor Witley, and as you can imagine I'm rather busy."

"We won't waste your time," Daniel said quickly. "There's a horde on its way to this town. It will arrive within two days. You need to be ready."

To the surprise of all four members of the group, Witley didn't even slow his pace. "Is that so? Well, we'll take it under advisement."

"Sir," Daniel said, "I don't think you understand. This isn't a game or a joke."

"So you say," Witley said, stopping then and looking fully upon them. "But what guarantee do I have that this isn't some ruse, or an elaborate prank? or just bad information?"

Daniel raised his arm, showing off the dried blood. "It isn't a prank, and the information is reliable."

Adam added, "He made sure of that."

There's nothing like physical evidence to give pause to a doubter. Mr. Witley looked at the dried blood, breaking off into particles and sprinkling onto the marble tiles. Whether he was considering the truth of their statement or just annoyed at the mess they were making it was impossible to discern by those cool, deep, calculating eyes. "Alright, then. The mayor will be in his office. I'll notify him, but don't expect a frenzied response."

Ilsa's hands clapped together. "Oh, thank you Mr. Witley, sir!"

"Thanks," Daniel paraphrased her appreciation.

Witley turned, glanced back over his shoulder saying, "And pets aren't allowed in the building. It will need to wait outside." He was looking at Felicity, then he was moving away, toward a tall, finely-carved, heavy wooden set of doors.

Felicity started toward him and the others grabbed her wherever they could get a hold. "You asp! Coward! Return thence and do battle with me! I shall rend thee from ear to ear, from sternum to crotch, from—"

She rather went on while they took turns trying to cover her mouth and not get bitten. When finally she had calmed enough that they no longer needed to hold her at bay, Daniel found himself reaching for his sword. Adam frowned. The blade hissed, metal on leather, from the scabbard. Ilsa noticed as the tip cleared the sheath. Adam reached out, called upon his sorcery, but Daniel was fast. Too fast.

He took a single step, twisted at the hip, and thrust. The point took Felicity in the gut, followed through, bursting from her back. She curled forward so tightly the ridges of her spine made bumps against the flesh. A scarlet length of metal appeared in full, the crosspiece having stopped any further penetration. As everyone stared in disbelief and horror, Daniel braced and, with a single pull, withdrew the blade—and dropped it. It clattered to the tiles; Felicity fell to her knees, collapsed onto her side, heaving, shaking.

Ilsa fell upon the forest sprite, pulling up her sleeves. She did not cry out or weep. When Ilsa was healing, she was purely clinical. "Back away," she said firmly, loudly, "give me room."

Onlookers began inching forward, but retreated when they saw the scene. Someone yelled, someone screamed, footsteps beat on the floor and faded. Daniel stared at his hands. Felicity's blood trickled down in thick red beads, breaking into jagged branches, slipping down toward his wrists. "What did I do?" he whispered hoarsely.

Adam had one hand, magic primed, facing Daniel, another hand prepared to aid Ilsa, who was trying to staunch the flow of blood.

When had it happened, Daniel kept asking himself, over and over. He would never do that to his friend, this was madness. Madness! He needed to help her. He looked up to see his friend's hand facing him the way it would normally have faced a Pernicite. "Adam, I—"

"Keep him back," Ilsa said. No emotion, just facts.

"I can help—"

"Keep him back!" Ilsa called, louder, more firm. Adam put a hand on Daniel's shoulder and gently pushed until Daniel was off-balance and impulsively stepped back. Once he started he kept going.

Standing ten feet away, in what felt like a thousand miles of barren emptiness, Daniel watched his companion die, bled out, from a wound he hand inflicted with his own hands. The bloody sword lay where it fell, blood pooling beneath it upon the marble tile.

 

[Selrisitai]

The dining room table was in disarray. Soda cans, bags of chips, extra game pieces and loose packaging made a trail of chaos from red-and-white checkered tablecloth down to the ceramic tiles. Well, at least on Missy's side of the table. Even for a nine-year-old, she was untidy.

Thomas, on the cleaner side of the table, had stood from his chair with emotion. "You can't just kill one of the characters out of nowhere!"

Missy held up a triangular, cheesy corn-chip the way girls did, daintily holding it between finger and thumb. She popped it into her mouth, then, unlike most girls, spoke while chewing. "It's for the drama. Don't you know anything about writing?"

"More than you," Thomas said. He was twelve so of course he knew more, that's just how it was, though he probably couldn't have explained it very well. "Why would he kill his own friend? That's just dumb."

Missy had been fronting. Every thing her brother said made her mad. Now she showed it by also standing, though being that she was so short, the display served better to demonstrate her powerlessness than her fury. "It could make sense!"

"Then explain," he challenged.

Missy thought for a moment, and when nothing came she thought harder, faster, more frantically.

"So you don't know what you're doing. That didn't happen. Redo."

"Why do you have to be a wet blanket!" she cried, becoming a bit too loud for a lazy afternoon in the middle of the dining room. This was a problem, not because they would both get in trouble, but because Thomas himself would be the one to get in trouble.

See, they didn't get along, which is abundantly clear already, and this had been going on for some time. Years, really, in one form or another. Thomas thought his sister was an irresponsible child, and Missy thought her brother was a boring fuddy-duddy, though not in so many words.

Their parents had tolerated enough and come up with a ridiculous scheme to get them to play nice, which was to make them, well, play nice. They could choose what game to play, but they had to play for at least an hour a day, at some point after school. It was truly torture. Fortunately, they were both creative, to their own surprise, and this tabletop game was shaping up to be kind of entertaining. If only they didn't have to play with each other.

It was tempting to torment his little sister, since she was so easy to rile up, but Mom had taken Thomas aside and told him that as the older brother he had a responsibility to try to make this fun and to foster a relationship. "Foster." He didn't ask her what that word meant, but he read and felt like he understood from context: it meant that he had to do all the work, as usual, and his little sister could slack off like a useless baby. He didn't say that to his mother.

So now Missy was getting frustrated and this whole thing was going to come down on his head if he weren't careful. Thomas put his hands out in supplication, saying in a loud whisper, "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Look, aren't you too young for this kind of thing? You can't talk about all that blood and stuff."

"Yes, I can," Missy assured him with the kind of confidence only exhibited by seasoned professionals and little girls. "I can even see R-rated movies now."

Thomas knew that wasn't true because even he couldn't see R-rated movies. "Who told you that?" he challenged.

Missy thought a moment. "Riley."

"Riley?" Thomas didn't look impressed, probably because Riley was also nine, and not even a family-relation.

Missy shrugged carelessly.

"I don't think Riley has a say-so."

That was about all Missy could take. She slapped her hands on the table. "I don't wanna play this stupid game with you anyway! I'm gonna go to my room!"

Mom's expression of anger, or worse, disappointment, appeared in Thomas's mind. In a flash of panic he lost his pride. "No!" he rasped. "Please, keep playing. I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry."
Missy paused, sensing an exploitable situation. "Really?"

Thomas saw through her eyes, into her plotting brain, and said hesitantly, "Yeah."

"So you're sorry," she said.

"Yeah," he repeated.

"Sorry for what?"

Thomas glared. "Sorry for upsetting you."

"Don't you mean you're sorry for being dumb and lame?"

Thomas pursed his lips. He wondered if a ten-year-old could actually be tried for murder.
"Tommy," she sang. He hated being called that.

Thomas said he was sorry for being dumb and lame, but he said it so quietly it was barely perceptible and the words kind of collapsed into a pathetic heap at the end of the apology.

"What's that?" she asked, honey-dipped words oozing out in saccharine dollops, putting one hand behind her ear so as to hear better.

"I'm sorry for being dumb and lame!" he hissed. "And if you do that again I'm not going to care what Mom—" Thomas paused. He'd almost given his sister the keys to his demise. If she knew he was being held responsible by Mom to keep her happy, she'd become a monster. "Let's just say that punishing me won't make your hair grow any faster if it got cut."

Missy sucked in a horrified breath. She'd been to the barber recently and gotten the best haircut of her life, a short little bob that made her look sophisticated. All the teachers at school had agreed, and all the other girls were envious. Nothing could have been better than that.

Missy sat. "Alright, alright."

Thomas sat as well, trying not to grin. This little victory had put him in a good mood. "I didn't mean to kick your idea out just to be mean."
"Yeah, right."

"I mean it. If you come up with something else, we'll try to, you know, we'll try to make it work."

Missy looked at him skeptically. This concession was suspicious, and therefore required some kind of insurance. "You promise?"

Thomas hesitated. They may have been underhanded to one another, but their parents had taught them well enough that if you break a promise you would be losing a lot of respect, from others and for yourself. If you promised it, you had to do it.

Well, isn't that why they were playing in the first place? To get closer? and what better way than to build trust? Thomas grinned. "I promise."

Missy shook the dice in her hands loudly to distract her from the thought that her brother seemed kind of cool when he wasn't being a lame-o. "Alright," she said, impatient with her own thoughts, "let's just keep going."

 

[Selrisitai]

Daniel, Adam, Felicity and Ilsa stood in a semi-circle, facing Mr. Witley who stood a few steps on. No one was moving, except to look around. Confusion held each individual in a paralyzing clutch.

Felicity's ears twitched as the spell evaporated, and a clawed hand absently slipped across her belly. With an exposed incisor pressing against her pink bottom lip hard enough for the skin to fold as it strained around the point of pressure, she turned large, purple, slit-pupil eyes to her companions. They all began animated in abrupt unison.

Ilsa took hold of Felicity's arm, beginning a magical examination. The only visible indication was a gentle white glow emitting from between her grasping fingers.

Adam fell back a step and watched, but invisibly brought destructive magic to bear—just in case.

Daniel looked at Felicity, then just stared at the callouses on his palms, just beneath each finger, where his sword-hilt, held tightly, would grind against the flesh. There did not appear to be any blood on his hands.

Mr. Witley, meanwhile, observing all of this, knew that he had not been the only one to experience what he could only describe as a hallucination. After giving them all time to recover from the disorientation of whatever had just occurred—which none of them had as yet verbalized—Witley said gravely, "Follow me."

Felicity hissed, but Adam put a hand on her head and she began to purr, to which Adam responded by removing his hand again. Daniel said, "Where are we going?"

Witley took a moment to look at each member of the party, to catch their eye and hold onto their gaze until they appreciated he was addressing each of them with purpose. "Can pernicites do that?"

No one wanted to say it outright. "Only in specific situations, and with a lot of power."

"What sort of situation?"

"A group of pernicite sorcerers working in tandem. I don't see any evidence of that here."

Witley didn't want to appear stupid, and from his silver vest he withdrew a pocket-watch, which he flipped open and snapped closed several times. "Might they be—" He didn't want to say invisible. It sounded absurd. "—concealing themselves?"

"They could be," Daniel agreed, "but they're not." He hooked a thumb back at Adam's cloaked figure. "If they were, he would know, and if they were concealing themselves from him, we would all be powerless against them anyway."

"I see." Witley looked rather less comforted than Daniel might have expected. "In any case, whatever just happened was not normal. I'm a skeptic, but hardly a fool. Something like this requires our attention. Come."

"Where are we going?" Ilsa asked, holding her staff close, nearly in a hug.

Mr. Witley didn't wait. His brisk footsteps clicked on the tiles. "To speak to the mayor."

 

[Selrisitai]

Four dirty, exhausted and still bemused pernicite mercenaries stood in a crescent formation before the expensive-looking hard-wood desk of Heron Lies's mayor. Flags of the town and country were on wooden poles behind him, with heavy, dyed material folded upon itself with the weight of gravity on the expensive material. Thick curtains were drawn over what must have been very large windows, and shelves lined the walls to the left and right, holding books and statues made from various materials, including wood, metal and glass.

Daniel began to brush off his pants, but dust sprinkled onto the blue polished lapis lazuli floor and he desisted.

The group studied the room, and then the mayor himself. Whatever one might say of him, the mayor was a man who took care of himself. Thick brown hair was combed back from a strong brow, and his brow wasn't the only thing strong about the man. He had a strong jaw, broad shoulders and thick hands. As he took care of his body, so did he tend his dress. He wore a waistcoat of dark-brown with gold trim, which went down beyond the desk. Gilded rings were on several fingers. A golden necklace gave him the kind of youthful, pampered look that some women found irresistible.

His smile was even more so. "Falimoore! To what do I owe the pleasure of these fine journeyman's company?" As he said this he grinned at the disheveled group doing their best to appear at least somewhat in sorts, and failing, but the mayor was polite enough not to recognize it.

Failmoore Witley, too, treated them with dignity despite their undignified state. "Mr. Ashcloth, these are traveling pernicite mercenaries, working hard to keep our villages, towns, cities and forests safe from the scourge of foul beings who threaten our lives and our children's lives."

As he was saying this, Daniel and the rest thought he might be laying it on a little thick. The mayor himself nodded pleasantly as if appreciating every word.

Witley went on. "They come with a warning of a pernicite horde that expects to be here within two days."

"Is that so?" The mayor rubbed his chin with a gilt finger.

"Yes, sir."

"And how did they come upon this information?"

"They say that they questioned a scout a few miles southwest of here, was it?" Witley glanced at Daniel for confirmation, for he had insinuated himself as the leader by standing forward, the others a few inches behind. He nodded.

"Questioned it?" the mayor asked, rather skeptically it seemed. Adam's theory that they'd be brushed off was feeling prescient. "And why would it tell them anything?"

"Well—" Witley began, hesitating with uncertainty.

The mayor interrupted, "How, precisely, did they question it?"

"With great insistence," Daniel interjected, without raising the volume of his voice. The two politicians looked at him, and his steady gaze tolerated no confusion.

"I can see that you're serious. And you have the confidence of my aid, which means something. So what is it you'd like us to do?"

"Bring your soldiers to be bare," Daniel said, finally feeling as though they were making headway. His speech became somewhat more grandiloquent. "I will teach them what I know about such hordes, about how they attack, and about the various types of pernicites, and we'll mount a counter-offensive two days hence. As many townspeople that are willing to help will be encouraged to do so."

The mayor considered that for a moment while Daniel's words hung in the air. The longer nothing was said, the heavier the words became, until they seem to have wilted and spun lazily to the floor. The quartet looked around at one another, wondering if they were being taken seriously after all.

The mayor stood. "I tell you what. I'll appoint a portion of my guard to you, and they will help you stand against this menace."

"But, sir," Daniel started, but was interrupted.

"I understand your position, and see that you're only trying to help, but I do not want to panic my people, nor can I relinquish the full force of my guard. This town has stood here for generations, and never has a horde attacked it before. There's no precedent for it."

"A horde could be the end of this township," Daniel insisted.

"I think we can handle them, especially with your help." The mayor was still smiling warmly as he ushered them out. "I'll send you a boon shortly," he said, standing inside the large doorway while the four of them stood outside it. "Go find an inn that suits you and we'll make further arrangements then. Farewell for now."

"But—" Daniel began, but the door shut with a boom that echoed through the hall, and as an insult, the guards slipped shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the doorway and crossed their spears.

Daniel turned to his companions with a look of disbelief. They returned his look with equal frustration. Hands on hip, he said, "Now what?"

"Since you asked," Ilsa said without a hint of shame, "I'd love to take that bath."

 

[Selrisitai]

If anyone's actually reading this and waiting for updates, I apologize for taking two months to continue; however, the story is nearly completed and I should be updating regularly at this point. Thanks be to anyone reading, I greatly appreciate it, and I would be further grateful for any comments.
Thank you again.

The entire affair had been a thunderstorm in an open field. A pleasant little adventure, until the water soaks into your boots, your clothes are plastered to your body with cold rain, and the ostensibly beautiful field of fresh flowers through which you were frolicking finds you forlorn for want of any place to dry yourself within at least a mile. All of the things that had made it wondrous in the sun made it then dreadful in the deluge.

With soggy shoes and sunken chins, the quartet trundled to the grand exit. The sounds of their clothing and magical baubles, having sounded so triumphant upon entrance were now piteous, jangles and ruffling and clicking of boot-heels a dirge for their failure.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been so bad, Ilsa thought, in her perpetual attempts to squeeze any amount of encouragement from the stones of disappointment, had it not been for that strange shared illusion.

Strange? she sputtered inwardly. Ghastly, more like!

It had dampened their spirits far beyond what their failure had.

And had it been a failure? Ilsa further asked herself. They had warned the township, and although, no, they had not rallied the entire populace as had been the plan, but they'd been afforded the services of some number of the guard.

"You know," Daniel said with both abruptness and, as would follow, psychic perspicacity, "the fact is, even though we didn't get everything we'd hoped to get, the result is still greater awareness among these people. When the horde comes, they will be far more prepared than they'd have been were we not here."

Ilsa was excited. "I was thinking the same thing!"

"I suspect a lot of them will perish," Adam said in an unusual moment of positivity, "but fewer than would have otherwise."

Ilsa and Daniel tried to take that in the spirit in which it was delivered.

By this time they had left the mayoral office and, descending the wide, grand stoop, left the portico and its imposing columns.

Felicity had chased a rodent into some nearby flower-beds that she was almost certainly not meant to be in and, having stood from all fours, was sauntering back over to the group, presumably having caught whatever it was she'd been after, considering that her walk itself exuded smugness and self-satisfaction, when the heavy wooden doors of the mayor's office opened. Out came Mr. Witley, rushing but dignified, posture excellent, stride assured.

"Excuse me," he called, forestalling the foursome, which is a charitable statement given their trudging state. They could hardly have been called "progressing" however one looked at it. When they turned, curious, he approached, traipsing down the steps with a certain casualness, presumably to give himself time to fish something from his vest pocket, which he proffered with an extended hand as he stopped before Daniel, who had been in the back of the group and, now that they'd turned about, was in the front.

Witley said, hand still out, "Forgive me. In the oddness of the situation I forgot entirely to provide you with this boon." In his hand was a coin of some deep gray metal. While it had clearly been polished to a sheen, it was just as clearly too old for its age to be hidden by any amount of buffing or precious care. Some engraving was evident, but impossible to read. This was a coin that had passed many, many hands.


As Daniel reached for it, saying a thanks, Witley shook his head. "Never mind. After this dismissive welcome you've received, this is the least we can do. Show that," he meant to continue, but was interrupted by Ilsa, who didn't realize he was going to go on, saying, "What shall we do with it?" While she slapped both hands over her mouth in embarrassment, Mr. Witley cleared his throat and persisted. "Show that to any inn you like and, for as long as you are in possession of that coin, you shall be given free lodging and one meal a day."

They spoke for a moment longer, then Mr Witley took his leave and, after chattering in excitement at the show of respect and charity, the quartet proceeded on to find an inn.

There was a debate—a bit of an argument really—about whether they should choose the most expensive inn, the cheapest inn, or something middling. The primary arguments were as follows:
1. Let's not take advantage. The cheapest will do.
2. I don't think they would expect us to be as cheap as possible, but you're right, I don't feel comfortable taking lavish accommodations against their kindness. A moderately priced place will do.
3. If there are restrictions, they should've told us. It's not our fault, and in fact, it's rude for them to put the burden of this ethical choice on us like that. I say we pick the most opulent, magnificent place in this whole town as punishment.
4. Using my cunning and speed, a plucked a rabbit from the ground as it ran, and by my mercy did I release it.

These arguments were from Ilsa, Daniel, Adam and Felicity, respectfully. Daniel's argument won out because it was the easiest to agree with him, and also because Adam and Ilsa didn't wish to argue, though for different reasons. Felicity's was not understood to be an option.

They began their trek through town, stopping once to ask where the fairest-priced inn was. There was silence thereafter. It was Daniel's silence; the others merely sensed it. The illusion, or vision, or whatever it had been, in which Daniel slew Felicity in the most grotesque detail, weighed upon his mind. He glanced over, noticing her wings, all four them, whole and without damage. Emotion threatened to overtake him, but he suppressed it with a few deep breaths. When he felt he could speak without tears, he said, "Felicity, I'm sorry about—"

Daniel stopped himself because he was looking at Adam and Ilsa, both of whom had stiffened one after the other. They were attuned to magic. Felicity was too, but her range was farther and she could be flighty. Adam was the one who sensed something first, and Ilsa picked up on it, extended her magical senses, and caught the same information. Daniel looked between them, and when there was no immediate response he demanded, "What is it, you two?" He wasn't panicking, but adrenaline had flooded his veins and his sword-hand was clenching.

The two magic-users looked at one another. Ilsa deferred. "A pernicite," Adam said, not looking at Daniel but scanning the town, such as he could see between buildings and people and stalls. "It's big. Toward the south entrance of town. There's more than just pernicite magic, it's casting right now."

Daniel considered. That information could mean a lot more or a lot less than it sounded out of hand. Size could indicate a powerful pernicite, but could just as easily mean it was a slow, dumb, lumbering thing, easily beaten. The magic was a bit more worrisome. Pernicites could use all manner of magic, but if no one in town was screaming yet, or raised an alarm, then the magic was probably not the destructive variety. That could mean a few things, too, some better and some worse. Without more information, he could only speculate, so Daniel decided to get more information.

When Ilsa had entered her clinical role during the strange event with Felicity, she had almost become a different person. Daniel, too, slipped totally into his leadership. His expression hardened, eyes focused, mind spun with analysis. "Adam, you take Felicity southeast, Ilsa and I will go southwest. If you see it, send us a message silently through Ilsa, and we'll try to close in on it from both sides."

"Got it," Adam said, tapped Felicity on the shoulder and the two of them ran across the cobblestones, dodging stalls and slipping between passing citizens. Daniel and Ilsa mirrored them.

Adam spotted it first, as only he could have, for the pernicite was invisible. With Adam's magical sight, it could be seen as plain as day, in fact it fairly glowed. To anyone else, there was simply nothing there.

The fur on Felicity's back stood on end and she dipped to all fours, skittish and looking around.

"Stay calm," Adam said gently. "It's another scout. A bigger one, but we've dealt with them before. I'm sending Ilsa the message."

The sending was not a spectacle; he didn't even close his eyes. Adam paused for a moment, and that was it, from an outsider's perspective. In his own mind, he could hear Ilsa's voice as though she were standing next to him, acknowledging the scout's location.

Watching the scout skulk around, Adam sent Ilsa another mental message. "How near are you?"

"Seconds away."

Good, he didn't say. "Felicity, be a distraction. We're going to warm this thing up."

Felicity's four dragon-fly like wings splayed open with a reedy swish, she crouched to gather herself, then darted forward, feet churning and wings buzzing. Adam, running behind, looked as though he were strolling leisurely compared to the forest sprite's flitting pace. As she ran about, changing direction at ninety degrees almost without slowing by using her wings to always keep traction, Adam watched the scout to see what it would do. It was decidedly annoyed, trying to avoid being run into so as not to spoil its cover.

Adam thought this was most amusing. With a grin, he conjured a fireball in his right hand and hurled it. The flames exploded against the pernicite's shoulder and, losing concentration, its magical invisibility faded and the hairy, muscular, three-eyed creature became visible to all. Villagers screamed, yelled, stumbled and fled.

The creature was bigger than normal, even bigger than abnormal. It was at least nine feet tall. It gave Adam pause, and he considered calling Felicity away, but such a beast must be slow. There was no possible way in his mind that it could get a hold of her.

But it did. Felicity charged toward its feet, then as it grabbed for her she changed direction in the swift fashion she did, reaching speeds of fifty miles per hour within only a few feet. The pernicite grabbed for her. Adam watched as it happened, mouth gaping, eyes widening, as the hand snatched her out of the air. Felicity nearly disappeared in its massive paw, only her shoulders up and knees down were visible.

Whatever it intended to do, Felicity hindered it by biting it, clawing it as best she could, and her pointed tail whipped out to stab it in the chest. The pernicite grabbed her tail, but whatever horror it might have inflicted was stopped by another fireball directly into its face. The fireballed exploded, the pernicite roared in anger and pain. It drew back its massive arm and hurled Felicity at Adam, who, not expecting it, couldn't get moving fast enough to avoid being pummeled by the forest sprite's spinning body. Rolling and tumbling, their bodies tangled and limbs slapping wildly, the two of them came to a painful, skidding stop two dozen feet away.

This all happened within only a few seconds. Daniel saw the last of it, and was rushing in, terrified that his friends had been killed but knowing that the only way to stop more would be to eliminate this monster. Doubts gnawed at his brain even as he drew his sword and rushed in. No scout had ever been this powerful. If they were, hardly any pernicite mercenary would be working today, and those that were would be inhumanly powerful. Two of their party had already been downed, hopefully not killed. The beast was clawing cinders from its eyes, but it didn't look ready to die.

Something was wrong. A flash of memory came to him. The false memory he shared with his group and with even the mayor's aid. Was this happening again? or was he just hoping that this was all a bad dream?

Without having it requested, Ilsa summoned her magic, sent it through her staff and, at a distance of fifteen feet or so, cast a spell of sharpening on Daniel's sword. It would cut anything now, it didn't matter how tough, even metal would rend like a sharp knife upon a delicate thread.

He went in, ready to swing, but the pernicite turned, swiping, shockingly fast. Daniel was fast, too. He stopped on his heels, twisted, leaped away, but the pernicite's wicked claws caught him high on the shoulder and blood sprung forth eagerly, along with a stifled grunt of pain from Daniel's throat. Thrown off balance, Daniel had to take a dive, but he landed well on his other shoulder, rolled and was on his feet, sword rising.

"Be careful!" Ilsa cried.

The pernicite had followed him almost immediately. It kicked, foot scraping the ground, throwing up chunks of cobblestone and dirt beneath. Wheeling backward, Daniel tucked his face in the crook of his elbow to prevent his eyes from being pelted. It worked, but it didn't stop hard bits of shrapnel from striking him everywhere else. It hurt. He knew he couldn't look away for long, the creature was coming. By time he looked up, the scout had closed the distance again, and a long, hairy, muscular arm streaked through the air at an angle. Its limb was long enough that even though the pernicite was in front of him, the claw struck his back and raked against his shoulder and arm and the force of it smashed him to the ground. He saw black for a moment, felt nothing for a moment, but when he came to an instant later his hand was still closed on the hilt of his sword.

Felicity was suddenly there, biting at the scout's ankle. Adam behind her, limping, one arm dangling at his side uselessly, like a thick piece of rope, still mustered the strength with his good arm to cast a tethering spell. It was the same one used on the previous pernicite scout to keep it bound to the ground and unable to move. This one was much bigger, but they had hit it a few times. Maybe, Adam hoped, it could be slowed at least, to give one of them an opportunity to go in for the kill.

"Daniel!" Adam yelled.

The swordsman rolled over onto his stomach, lifted himself to hands and knees. Blood from somewhere, he couldn't tell, dripped onto the gray stones and mingled with the dirt that had been kicked up.

The pernicite began to pull against the tethers. It was overwhelming. It didn't immediately break free, but Adam impulsively shook his head, knowing with frightening certainty that he would not be able to hold it down. "Daniel," he cried again. "Finish it!" He knew the sword could cut into the creature, regardless of its strength. He just needed a moment, an instant to do it. Daniel was one of the best swordsmen in the southern counties. Adam was a realist. He knew it could be done, knew that Daniel could do it.

Grasping his sword more tightly, teeth gritted, Daniel hefted himself to his feet. Ignore the pain, shake it off, he told himself. Everyone's helping. He just needed to get to his feet and go.

"Go!" he yelled, rising to his feet with a massive effort. He turned, and suddenly noticed his disorientation had fled. With a swift shake of the head he found Ilsa, staff outstretched, cyan gemstone pulsating with healing light.

"We only need one swing!" she called to him. "Please, hurry!"

Daniel looked back to the monster and started forward, furious and determined.

"I can only get its legs!" Adam announced. He'd been struggling with it this entire time and realized that he could put more energy into the tethers if there were fewer to focus on. The pernicite didn't seem able to break free, but its upper body was unbound.

That was fine, Daniel knew the creature's capabilities now. He'd do what needed to be done. The sword was capable of cutting anything.

The pernicite suddenly broke the tether on its right leg, sending Adam stumbling forward and, for the second time, sending Felicity, who had been shredding the flesh of its ankle, sailing through the air. With a humongous leap, the pernicite launched itself fifteen feet into the air, and down it came, swinging a massive arm, upon Adam.

Adam threw up his arms and poured energy into a barrier, a dome of solid light. The beast's swing jittered as it collided with the barrier, and the light shattered like glass into a thousand pieces, and five clawed fingers struck Adam in a sweeping arc, tearing thick gashes across his robe and sending him rolling across the ground.

Daniel stared at Adam. His body came to a stop, arms splayed out, and he did no more. Breath quickening, Daniel searched for where Felicity had landed, and found her unmoving.

"How?" he wanted to know. "How is this possible!"

 

[Selrisitai]

Thomas couldn't stand it any longer. He'd been trying for the past ten minutes to make a dramatic finish to the scout, but Missy kept rejecting every killing blow and making the pernicite scout more and more powerful.

Standing, Thomas slapped the table. The dice clattered, tea and soda sloshed in their glasses and a stat sheet broke from a pile and fluttered to the floor where it swished across the dining room's tiled ceramic flooring. "Why did you make the scout so powerful!"

Missy showed no remorse or, as Thomas considered appropriate, shame. She wasn't sorry at all. She smiled. "Isn't it more exciting this way?"

"No," Thomas replied flatly. "Everyone's almost dead."

He had to get a hold of his emotions or mother would be hearing of it. Thomas didn't have time to calm himself down with a deep breath, he needed to make his sister forget the tone he'd just taken with her. Quickly, he attenuated the blow of his previous words: "It could be. I mean, I think it's a good idea, but isn't it a little too much?"

The problem with children is that they are naturally self-centered. Instead of perceiving Thomas's concession and following up with her own, Missy took it as an advantage to press. "It's more fun when they really have to struggle for it, right?"

Patience was not something Thomas had practiced much. He pressed his lips together tightly enough that the blood drained and they became pale. "I don't see it that way."

With her ideas having been stalled out one too many times, Missy was now the one getting upset. She stomped a bare foot. It smacked on the tiles. "I think you just wanna do everything your way."

"No, I—" the false start gave way to a monumental effort to not flip the table over, if Thomas could actually have lifted the heavy oak. He clutched the edge of it and left the attempt to his imagination. "Why don't we just have one of them severely injured, and the rest have minor injuries? I mean, they're supposed to be professionals." His suggestion started out with a tone that even he recognized as strained, but he found himself kind of warming to the idea as he finished.

Missy folded her arms, but she didn't complain right away, which was a good sign. Maybe.

Waiting for his sister's reply to his compromise, Thomas found himself, strangely, hoping she would accept so that he could see how things played out.

"Fine," she finally said, not sounding too happy.

Thomas let go of the breath he was holding. Good, they were making progress.

"But I get to decide who gets the bad injury."

Of course she would try to get more out of this. Oh, well, as long as it wasn't crazy, Thomas told himself, he'd accept. "Alright, alright. Just don't make it too bad."

Missy just grinned.

 

[Selrisitai]

The sensation of his sword slipping easily through Felicity's delicate rib-cage was still fresh in Daniel's mind. If it had been a vivid dream, he might have forgotten about it within a couple of hours, no matter how real it had seemed. This had been different. Everyone saw it, and remembered it.

Now it was happening again. Footsteps beat hurriedly on the cobblestone streets, and for an instant Daniel wondered where he was going so fast—but only for an instant. Another false memory had played itself out, or illusion. Illusion. . . .

He glanced over his shoulder at Ilsa, feet pattering just behind, and caught her eye. He looked forward again, and amended the consideration. Shared illusion.

The impulse was to pause, to allow the confusion and disorientation to work themselves out, but that would be irresponsible. There was no way to know if this time things would be different, or if the pernicite would be there at all, or equally terrifying. The obligation was to arrive as soon as possible, and hit whatever they found as hard as they could.

Without breaking stride, Daniel called out to Ilsa. There wouldn't be a repeat of last time.



.............................



Boots clomped across the streets, and claws skittered beside.

Adam wasn't a genius tactician; he was, however, a thoughtful sorcerer whose magic afforded him options. Even more quickly than Daniel, Adam had recovered from the disorienting transition from thence to hence, whatever that even meant, but while Daniel had firmly shifted his own confusion to determined resolve, Adam's clamped down into anger. He'd used every relevant spell given the situation, and this ridiculous pernicite—a scout no less! which they'd defeated an hundred times—overcame each one with only a little effort. Now Adam had been, by some incomprehensible cosmic force, thrust back into the same situation that he had just failed to overcome, with the same tools as before.

No, Adam realized as he neared where the pernicite had been before, he didn't have the same tools as before, he had one extra: foresight. Looking, Adam spotted the scout where it had been before, just as visible, and just as unaware.

"Come!" Felicity hissed. "We shall seize this opportunity and sneak upon our enemy, and tear out his throat while he yet believes himself hidden. He shall pay tenfold for what he did to us, until he wishes for death, whereupon we shall duly grant it, or perhaps only once we have grown bored of torturing it and—"

"I thought your kind didn't relish such displays of violence," Adam reminded her, even as his hands worked, preparing a spell.

"An exception to this axiom has occurred to me hence." So saying, Felicity lunged, to have her vengeance.

Adam wanted to grab her but his hands were busy, so he cried out, "Felicity! Hold!"

She skittered to a stop and looked back at him, ears flat, scolded.

"We're taking no chances."


.......................


"Go," Daniel said, toeing off, with Ilsa at brisk stride behind, arm extended, holding her mage staff with its cyan gemstone glowing brilliantly.

Before, they believed they could handle it with a frontal assault, their numbers and strength more than sufficient to handle one pernicite scout. They had been wrong, but there was only one tactic among the four of them that they hadn't already tried, and that was taking it by surprise and attacking more brutally than ever. Daniel's sword, with Ilsa's sharpening spell, could cut through any creature's hide, no matter how tough it was.

As a boon, a steady stream of stamina and recovery magic flowed from Ilsa's staff to Daniel's body, ensuring he lost not a single ounce of energy until they were done. It was taxing on Ilsa to use such an intense flow of magic, but it was agreed, without a single word spoken, that it would be worth it to win this fight.

One last spell Ilsa had cast upon him was Magical Sight, allowing him to see the golden energy around the pernicite that generated its invisibility. Eyes blazing with blue light from the spell, like roiling flames, Daniel closed in. There would not be a third chance. Probably.

This was when Adam's scheme revealed itself. Daniel, through his magical sight, could see any form of magic with distinction, like bright firelight in a dark forest. The pernicite's own spell of invisibility had been the brightest element in the surrounding area, but then Daniel was distracted by a red orb, which swelled into a massive ball of fire, as thick around as a rotund tree, a tail of flame flapping behind six feet long. The pernicite turned to look, just in time take it in the shoulder. The fireball exploded, throwing smoke out so thick that everything in the immediate vicinity was cloaked by gray and black billows.

Daniel stopped and threw up both hands to shield his face from the smoke and the extreme heat. Adam had decided to to unleash everything in one blast, he realized, but that might not be enough. The smoke began to clear.

Charging forward, sword held low at his left side, Daniel moved in on the pernicite. He could see its upper body, from the shoulder down to the lower rib, had been destroyed, vaporized by Adam's destructive blast. The pernicite would surely die with such a devastating injury—but no chances could be taken.

Daniel leaped, his magically-enhanced legs launching him at an upward angle with the speed of an arrow from a heavy bow. With a single slash of his sword, sharp metal cleaved muscular flesh, and the scout's head spun through the air. Daniel descended from the nine-foot leap, air rushing past his ears, and landed hard, rolling. He came to his feet casually, allowing himself to believe that the beast had been bested. If it could continue on without a head, then there was little more that could be done. As he wiped the thick purple goop from his blade—pernicites didn't have normal, red blood—the scout's three-eyed head smashed to the ground and rolled a few feet away, spurting purple viscera across the gray cobblestones.

Ilsa, feeling more confident—a feeling that seeing the decapitated head of your enemy tends to inspire—approached. The pernicite scout's hairy body was still standing, muscles tensed as though it were preparing to do something, but the only movement from it was a gentle swaying, its muscle memory maintaining the balance to remain upright.

A feeling of nausea welled in Ilsa's stomach. "Is it—"

"Dead," Daniel said with certainty, "nothing could survive this."

"Look!" Ilsa cried, pointing at the head lying on the ground. Its three eyes were still blinking, and they had all turned an angry gaze toward Daniel.

"Well, maybe they can live a little while without their heads," Daniel said, disturbed. He twirled his sword, nearing, and the disembodied head's visage turned to fear just before Daniel's sword cleaved it in half. "I don't think it can live with half a head, though." And he was right.

Suddenly they heard Adam call, "Look out!"


..................................


"No," Thomas said flatly.

"Why not?" Missy was smiling despite the contention. Or, knowing her, maybe because of it.

"No, that's stupid."

"You said!"

"Agh, but—" Thomas searched for a good excuse, but his not wanting her to do what she had in mind just because it was dumb seemed a poor reason to go back on his word. He knew there must be some reasonable way to express how his sister's logic was absurd and broken, while his own logic was reasonable and sound, but his twelve-year-old brain couldn't find it while under pressure. He cast a nervous glance at the curtained kitchen entryway and finally relented. "Alright," he said, and then inspiration struck, "but you have to roll for it."

Ho, ho, ho! He tried not to smirk. It was all left to probability. It made him feel better.

It was an acceptable compromise for Missy, as well, but she felt obligated to return a bit of snark since she'd acquiesced to his middle-ground solution. "Fine," she said with as much annoyance as she could muster, and reached for the dice. She shook them extra-long to really build up the luck.

Thomas rolled his eyes, but smirked at the childishness of it; then he frowned, then put his hands on his hips. The dice rattled. He was about to say something when she tossed the dice, but too hard. They bounced in playful unison across the table, then seemed to hang in the air as they went beyond the boundaries of the table. Clacking with fresh vigor, they tumbled across the tiled floor and finally clattered to a stop.

Missy leaped from her chair and rushed over to check what she got. Thomas watched uneasily. Unease turned to dismay when she looked over her shoulder, smiling.

"I hate you," Thomas groaned.

Missy giggled maniacally.


.................................


Daniel whirled, sword up to defend or attack, but there was no enemy to defend against, no monster to assault. The scout's nine-foot body, thick and heavy with muscle, had begun to topple. Daniel had just enough time to consider moving, and to then dismiss the idea. There was no time. He lifted his arms to protect his head, but they'd hardly gotten up before the shoulder of the beheaded pernicite smashed into his chest, smashed him downward and pinned his body to the ground.

He yelled in pain while his companions rushed to assist.

Adam was able to fetch Daniel's sword, dropped on impact, and slice away enough of the pernicite scout's body that they could, with a concerted effort, shove it off. Daniel wasn't sure if he was more disgusted by the thing's smell seeping into his nostrils where he couldn't even hold his nose, or by the discomforting weight of its hairy body pressing against his, or by his own carelessness and the dignity it had cost him.

"What terrible luck," Ilsa cooed as she gathered her robes to kneel beside him and, with a hand on his stomach, began assessing the damage.

"If you're doing an examination, go a bit lower," Daniel said, somewhat irritably. "I think my left leg might be broken."

She checked. It was. Instead of being upset, Ilsa sighed in relief. "There are things difficult for me to heal, but broken bones are easy as long as we get to them quickly."

Adam was watching while Ilsa began making repairs to Daniel's battered body, but he was also keeping watch. "Felicity!" he scolded. "Get off of there."

"But the hairy flesh of this monstrosity is filled with warmth," she reasoned. "Prithee, might I nap in its soft comfort?"

It was difficult to argue with such earnestness, but, looking at the grotesque, chopped-up body, Adam managed it. "No, you mightn't. Get down here."

Daniel began to cry out, and clamped it down in his throat. It sounded like a boot sliding across gravel.

"I'm sorry," Ilsa said with such clinical detachment that the words seemed to have no compassion, only utility. "That was the worst of it."

Daniel's teeth were gritted. "I hope so."

Ilsa did one more cursory examination of his body. Finding only bruises and cuts, she stood, satisfied but woozy, unbalanced. A foot came up to counter a slow topple, and when she was steady she brushed the dust from her robe. "I set the bone and did a superficial weld, but it will still need time to heal. I don't think I have the energy to do more right now."

"Can I walk?" Daniel asked, twisting his leg left and right and lifting it as a test.

Ilsa looked at him, held the gaze. "Carefully."

With Adam on one side and Ilsa on the other, Daniel was lifted to his feet and, together, they hobbled toward the nearest hotel, Felicity running worried circles around them.

 

[Selrisitai]

The "boon" worked exactly as was claimed, and soon Daniel was in bed resting in a room big enough for three. While Felicity stayed with him to keep a vigil, Ilsa and Adam decided to be proactive.

This issue of shared illusions was beginning to cause problems greater than just being disturbing. It was affecting everyone's concentration and lowering morale. As unlikely as it was, there was still a possibility that a group of pernicite mages were working together to create this illusion, to some presumable end.

That was the trouble of it, though. An enormous magic would be required for such shared false experiences. No one, and no thing, would put in such effort without some substantial benefit. As yet, there had been no effect other than to startle and confound the four of them.

"No," Adam said as he and Ilsa sat at a table in the main room with two cups of coffee they'd graciously secured from a waitress, "it's not just the four of us."

So far they'd only come downstairs, and had been discussing what they might do, where they might begin. It seemed impossible to know where to start on a problem already so vague. They'd done little more than have harmless, though bizarre, daydreams that ultimately hurt no one.

"What do you mean?" Ilsa asked. Her hands were warming on the mug.

"I guess I'd assumed we were the only ones targeted, the four of us, but the mayor's aid was affected, too. Was anyone else?"

"Well, no one's said anything, but then, they wouldn't, right? If they noticed something strange happen and then went back five minutes to see it hadn't after all, why would they tell anyone? They'd be thought mad."

Adam didn't think it was a great lead, but it was something. "Anyway, when we're done we'll go talk to a few people and see if we can work something out—speaking of the mayor's aid, isn't that Mr. Witley coming through the door?"

Ilsa abandoned a sip of coffee. "I believe it is. And here he comes."

He was dressed as stately as ever, and gave the whole room a boost in confidence. "My friends," he said affectionately upon approach. "What room is Daniel in? I'd like to speak to him."

Ilsa and Adam looked at one another. Why Daniel? But they both knew. He was the de facto leader, and they couldn't blame people for thinking so, since they saw him that way too; it was just impressive how quickly everyone figured it. Ilsa pulled the room key and looked at the attached wooden pendant, at the number engraved into it. "Room six," she said.

"Thank you, and please don't be too charitable. You're doing a service for our community here. Enjoy yourselves."

So saying, he toddled off to the stairs and on up to their room where Daniel and Felicity were, while Adam and Ilsa glanced around at the dessert counter and decided they could stay a few more minutes for a small treat. Doing battle with pernicites was hungry work, after all.

* * *

A knock came at the door and Felicity hissed, climbed up on the bed. Daniel grunted as she bumped against his leg.

"Who is it?" Daniel called when the pain had subsided enough that it wouldn't appear in his voice.

"It is I, Witley, the mayor's aid."

"Give me just a moment, please!" he replied, then said to Felicity, "Go open the door. Go on, you know Mr. Witley."

"Ere he utters a cross word, my talons shall open his belly."

"None of that!"

Felicity unlocked the door and, standing back, swung it open with her tail.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Mr. Witley said, looking distastefully at Felicity and her snake-like tail as it hung in the air with its wicked point swaying menacingly.

"Get over here, Felicity," Daniel said. "Sit there, please. Thank you." He was still annoyed about the injury, but tried to be polite. "Mr. Witley, no intrusion at all. What can I do for you?"

"Are you injured?" Witley, having shut the door and entered further, had just noticed the way Daniel was sitting in the bed. One foot extended, little movement of the body. He didn't have a specific idea in mind, but it seemed a bit unnatural.

"It's nothing, Ilsa will have me fixed up by the morning." He didn't want to think about it, and he absolutely didn't want to talk about it.

"That's good to hear. Amazing what mages can do these days. Healing magic, and all."

"Yeah, she's saved my hide more than once."

Witley whipped out his silver pocket-watch and checked the time. Daniel got the sense this was more impulse than impatience. "Well, I don't want to disturb your rest a moment longer than necessary. I've just come to inform you that you have full use of the town's police force. Several witnesses observed the scene at the town entrance, and to say the least, they were shaken up, and more than happy to provide whatever you might need to prevent more of those beasts from entering town in the future.

"Additionally, we've begun a collection to ensure you are paid for services rendered."

"Is that so?" Daniel pushed his hands down onto the bed, lifting himself to sit straighter. He was uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the sheets or pillows. "We do normally get pay, but it's from the Pernicite Mercenary guild, or contracts. We're going to do what we came here to do whether we're paid or not. We don't want to put anyone out."

"I see."

"That said," Daniel added quickly, "I know that Adam would be furious if I didn't at least acknowledge that the money would be helpful and appreciated, if it's not too much an imposition."

"Good, good, the townspeople will be glad to be able to return a little of the favor you're doing them. Now, don't let me take up any more of your energy, I'll be off."

Witley nodded, turned and walked out the door, closing it with considerate quietness behind.

Felicity stared at the door for a long time. Daniel saw her watching. "What's the matter? You don't like him?"

"He called me a pet."

"That he did," Daniel agreed, settling down into the mattress, golden coins skipping across his mind's eye. He couldn't help but smile at the unexpected bonus. He frowned. But without the help from the townspeople this could turn into a problem. Monetary compensation or not, the townspeople would need to be prepared. It was his duty foremost to protect. Still. . . .

A great, whooshing sigh erupted from Daniel's lungs and Felicity jumped four feet vertically, claws extended. Daniel stared at the ceiling. That extra money would be nice, though.

 

[Selrisitai]

The "boon" worked exactly as was claimed, and soon Daniel was in bed resting in a room big enough for three. While Felicity stayed with him to keep a vigil, Ilsa and Adam decided to be proactive.

This issue of shared illusions was beginning to cause problems greater than just being disturbing. It was affecting everyone's concentration and lowering morale. As unlikely as it was, there was still a possibility that a group of pernicite mages were working together to create this illusion, to some presumable end.

That was the trouble of it, though. An enormous magic would be required for such shared false experiences. No one, and no thing, would put in such effort without some substantial benefit. As yet, there had been no effect other than to startle and confound the four of them.

"No," Adam said as he and Ilsa sat at a table in the main room with two cups of coffee they'd graciously secured from a waitress, "it's not just the four of us."

So far they'd only come downstairs, and had been discussing what they might do, where they might begin. It seemed impossible to know where to start on a problem already so vague. They'd done little more than have harmless, though bizarre, daydreams that ultimately hurt no one.

"What do you mean?" Ilsa asked. Her hands were warming on the mug.

"I guess I'd assumed we were the only ones targeted, the four of us, but the mayor's aid was affected, too. Was anyone else?"

"Well, no one's said anything, but then, they wouldn't, right? If they noticed something strange happen and then went back five minutes to see it hadn't after all, why would they tell anyone? They'd be thought mad."

Adam didn't think it was a great lead, but it was something. "Anyway, when we're done we'll go talk to a few people and see if we can work something out—speaking of the mayor's aid, isn't that Mr. Witley coming through the door?"

Ilsa abandoned a sip of coffee. "I believe it is. And here he comes."

He was dressed as stately as ever, and gave the whole room a boost in confidence. "My friends," he said affectionately upon approach. "What room is Daniel in? I'd like to speak to him."

Ilsa and Adam looked at one another. Why Daniel? But they both knew. He was the de facto leader, and they couldn't blame people for thinking so, since they saw him that way too; it was just impressive how quickly everyone figured it. Ilsa pulled the room key and looked at the attached wooden pendant, at the number engraved into it. "Room six," she said.

"Thank you, and please don't be too charitable. You're doing a service for our community here. Enjoy yourselves."

So saying, he toddled off to the stairs and on up to their room where Daniel and Felicity were, while Adam and Ilsa glanced around at the dessert counter and decided they could stay a few more minutes for a small treat. Doing battle with pernicites was hungry work, after all.


* * *


A knock came at the door and Felicity hissed, climbed up on the bed. Daniel grunted as she bumped against his leg.

"Who is it?" Daniel called when the pain had subsided enough that it wouldn't appear in his voice.

"It is I, Witley, the mayor's aid."

"Give me just a moment, please!" he replied, then said to Felicity, "Go open the door. Go on, you know Mr. Witley."

"Er he utters a cross word, my talons shall open his belly."

"None of that!"

Felicity unlocked the door and, standing back, swung it open with her tail.

"I hope I'm not intruding," Mr. Witley said, looking distastefully at Felicity and her snake-like tail as it hung in the air with its wicked point swaying menacingly.

"Get over here, Felicity," Daniel said. "Sit there, please. Thank you." He was still annoyed about the injury, but tried to be polite. "Mr. Witley, no intrusion at all. What can I do for you?"

"Are you injured?" Witley, having shut the door and entered further, had just noticed the way Daniel was sitting in the bed. One foot extended, little movement of the body. He didn't have a specific idea in mind, but it seemed a bit unnatural.

"It's nothing, Ilsa will have me fixed up by the morning." He didn't want to think about it, and he absolutely didn't want to talk about it.

"That's good to hear. Amazing what mages can do these days. Healing magic, and all."

"Yeah, she's saved my hide more than once."

Witley whipped out his silver pocket-watch and checked the time. Daniel got the sense this was more impulse than impatience. "Well, I don't want to disturb your rest a moment longer than necessary. I've just come to inform you that you have full use of the town's police force. Several witnesses observed the scene at the town entrance, and to say the least, they were shaken up, and more than happy to provide whatever you might need to prevent more of those beasts from entering town in the future.

"Additionally, we've begun a collection to ensure you are paid for services rendered."

"Is that so?" Daniel pushed his hands down onto the bed, lifting himself to sit straighter. He was uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with the sheets or pillows. "We do normally get pay, but it's from the Pernicite Mercenary guild, or contracts. We're going to do what we came here to do whether we're paid or not. We don't want to put anyone out."

"I see."

"That said," Daniel added quickly, "I know that Adam would be furious if I didn't at least acknowledge that the money would be helpful and appreciated, if it's not too much an imposition."

"Good, good, the townspeople will be glad to be able to return a little of the favor you're doing them. Now, don't let me take up any more of your energy, I'll be off."

Witley nodded, turned and walked out the door, closing it with considerate quietness behind.

Felicity stared at the door for a long time. Daniel saw her watching. "What's the matter? You don't like him?"

"He called me a pet."

"That he did," Daniel agreed, settling down into the mattress, golden coins skipping across his mind's eye. He couldn't help but smile at the unexpected bonus. He frowned. But without the help from the townspeople this could turn into a problem. Monetary compensation or not, the townspeople would need to be prepared. It was his duty foremost to protect. Still. . . .

A great, whooshing sigh erupted from Daniel's lungs and Felicity jumped four feet vertically, claws extended. Daniel stared at the ceiling. That extra money would be nice, though.

 

[Selrisitai]

Thomas sat back in his chair, kind of slumped, and didn't say anything. Missy looked at him furtively, then openly. When still he said nothing she shrugged with the sort of drama only nine-year-olds could muster. "What?"

"Huh?" Thomas said as if awakened from a deep reverie, which annoyed Missy though she wasn't sure why. "Oh, no, it's fine."

"Tell me."

"I was just wondering if it was too boring of an end to the day."

Perhaps owing to her previous annoyance, Missy sensed, welling up from her tongue, a remark liable to start an argument, but she was unable, and furthermore did not wish, to stop it. "Maybe if you'd have let me do what I wanted it would've been more interesting."

"I did let you do what you wanted."

"Nuh uh."

"Yes, I did."

"Barely."

Thomas was no longer slouching in his seat, but now leaning forward over the table. "Don't be such a brat."

Now Missy was leaning forward, completely shocked by the consequences of her words. "Then maybe don't be such a raining, uh—on my parade." She'd entered the expression she wanted from a grammatically non-ideal angle and couldn't manage to bring it around.

Thomas laughed.

"I don't wanna play this dumb game with you anyway!"

Just then Mother walked in and the siblings went quiet. They waited what seemed interminably for her to speak, to see if she'd noticed their squabbling, even though she started talking the instant she entered the dining room. "Alright, kids, time for bed."

They both interjected, "No!"

This accord was unexpected, to say the least, and they looked at one another in surprise, then concern, and finally, with the absurdity of it setting in, they both laughed. There was something about their agreement that felt surprisingly good, to both of them.

"Too bad," Mother said, looking at their game setup, with its cardboard playing field and character sheets and dice as though it were the schematics to a ballistic missile. "Clear this all up and put it away."

This was bad. It might be possible to put it all away and bring it all out again tomorrow, but going on memory alone, there was almost no way they could get everything set up precisely as it had been today. Their game would be ruined. It was imperative that this course of action be prevented—yet, what could Thomas do? He didn't dare beg his mother for anything while his sister was present, he was supposed to be a role-model for her. There was some semblance of an argument in his head, but it wasn't coalescing and now his mouth was going, words sputtering out incoherently, albeit calmly.

To his surprise, Missy came to the rescue. As the younger sister, and the "baby" of the family, she could get away with a lot, including shameless acts of pleading, begging and even throwing a tantrum, if the circumstances were right. Her arsenal of manipulations was deep, and here she brought every ounce of it to bear.

It began with wide eyes that, Thomas was impressed and befuddled to see, glistened wetly against the warm halogen light-bulb. Next was a big, childish frown sure to melt any adult into acquiescent puddle. Finally, there was the voice, cloying and obnoxious to Thomas, but to their parents it was like a charm.

"But if we put it up now, our game will be ruined," she practically sobbed, and Thomas tried to appreciate that, for once, this was being used on his behalf instead of against him. "Can't we keep it up just one night? Please, Mommy?"

Mother's defenses, Thomas saw, were clearly shattering. When she looked at him, Thomas tried to appear to be in solidarity with his sister, without revealing that he thought his mother was a sucker. This involved keeping a straight, perhaps mildly reverent expression.

"Oh, alright," Mother finally relented, a pleasant little smile on her lips that told Thomas that she was under Missy's spell. "But your father isn't going to be happy in the morning when he wants to sit at the table and eat breakfast."

Thomas was a little concerned about that, though not too concerned since Mother was giving permission. Still, he didn't like when his father showed any displeasure.

Missy, though, Missy didn't worry at all. "Daddy," as she would call him, a personalized spell wrapped in a single word, wouldn't fair any better against her charms than Mother had.

* * *
The siblings went down the hall, Missy out in front where Thomas had yielded the lead even though they'd normally have fought so viciously that they'd have grinded their shoulders down the length of the hallway. Thomas went right, into his room, and Missy went left into hers. They began their nightly routines, some of which was the same: they both got into their night clothes, his pajamas and hers a nightgown; they both brushed their teeth and both said their prayers.

Most of their routines, however, differed. Thomas took off his shirt and flexed in front of the mirror; Missy sat in front of hers and brushed her hair. Thomas leaned in close to check for a hint of facial stubble, which had yet to grow in; Missy likewise leaned in, looking for pimples, zits, boils or blemishes, finding as usual only perfect skin. Thomas then leapt onto the bed, performing a somersault but only achieving about half, and landing on his head, jaw squishing into his larynx and the moment of the crash freezing him in place for a moment, breathless, until he could uncurl himself and splay out pathetically, red-faced and gasping for breath.

Missy sat on the edge of her bed and took up a pen and her diary and wrote scandalous insults about every one and thing she disliked.

Then the lights were extinguished and the siblings lay in bed, eyes open, imagining scenarios involving the same four characters.

* * *

It was a testament to Mom's consideration that when her prediction about Dad's grumbling came true, she not only refused to gloat at her children about having been right the evening before, and not only did she ease Father's feelings with balmy words, but she didn't even so much as fib to him about the situation. This was, of course, projection on the part of the children, as they were young enough to see an angry person as someone to avoid, to flee or to fight, and Dad's wrath felt particularly terrible even though he'd never raised a hand or voice against them.

Dad stood hunched over the kitchen counter, looking rather as put out as his complaints purported. "I'd like to sit at the dining table to dine, is that too much to ask?"

To which Mom assured him, "It's for a good cause, Noah. You'll be thankful when your children don't hate each other in ten years."

Dad wasn't impressed, but his murmured response was less insistent than before, showing that he'd relented.

Thomas didn't want to push his luck by sticking around, but he had to make sure of something. He tried to be casual. "Don't forget, me and my friends are going down to Larry's after school."

"That's right," Mom said in a remembering sort of way. "Be back by five."

"Yes, Ma'am." That was all the conversation he needed. Thomas scarfed his food, swept his backpack off of the dining table chair and headed for the door as soon as he could. Missy ate quickly too, but that was only because she always did, wolfing her food down like a starving dog. It was a wonder their parents still found her so cute. After she was done, she took the time to hug both parents and exchange "I love you's," and finally she showed up outside. As she shut the door, Thomas was already walking his bike up the driveway.

"Hang on!" she called as she rushed to fetch her own.

Thomas stopped at the sidewalk and waited, which was a little different than his usual response, which would be to rush on ahead and laugh as she tried to catch up. Something felt different today. As Missy got on her bike and began to work hard at the pedals, really putting her muscles into it so as to get to him before he abandoned her, Thomas was struck by his sister's personhood.

It was an odd feeling. They'd ridden together, five days a week, for the last year when their parents had allowed Missy to come along, but in all that time, Thomas had never seen his sister as—well, as anything. She'd been a nuisance, a distraction, a burden, and occasionally a bit of company he might have been glad to have, but never a person and barely even a sister, whatever a sistered was supposed to be. He realized he'd never thought about it, despite all the movies he'd watched and comics he'd read where family was everything; to him, Missy was a pest at worst and an innocuous presence at best.

"What are you looking at, dummy?" Missy said aggressively. Well, Thomas would normally have thought it was aggressive.

Maybe it was just defensive. "Just waiting for you to catch up," he replied without any particular inflection.

"You catch up," his sister challenged as she pedaled past.

It wasn't difficult. He road behind. Missy might have been trying to outrun him, and failing, but maybe she was just trying to hurry. It was difficult to tell.

Thomas's bike was black, with flame stickers on it that he couldn't remember where he'd got them. No pegs, unfortunately, but it did have a five-speed gear system. Missy's was a deep-purple single-speed, but Thomas had given it a ride when she wasn't around and it was pretty good, not that he'd ever admit it to her.

About a mile down the street they spotted Missy's best friend, Riley. She was standing at the end of her driveway on her own bike, with her Mom accompanying. If one wants to know what type of girl Riley was, he need only consider what type of girl needs her Mom to wait with her for her friends to arrive, and more specifically, what kind of girl would prefer that.

Riley was platinum-blonde, usually pigtailed, had plastic red-rimmed glasses with a strong prescription, and her bike had streamers coming out of the handlebars. And training wheels. It wasn't that unusual to still have training wheels at nine, but it still seemed a bit weird to Thomas. Missy didn't really think about it at all.

"Hi, Mrs. Mews," Thomas called. Missy copied with a "Hi" of her own.

"Hey, kids," Mrs. Mews called back, giving a tap to Riley's shoulder. With a smile she pedaled forth, joining them on the sidewalk, riding close to Missy with Thomas still bringing up the rear.

"Be safe, now," Mrs. Mews called to their backs, waving.

"We will," everyone replied.

Missy and Riley talked between themselves while Thomas, who usually tuned them out entirely, listened. There was something about his observation of Missy earlier that had him intrigued with his own perceptions. What is it these two talked about? How had he not noticed before? He couldn't, he realized, think of a single thing that Missy was interested in.

"Are you going to do ballet next year?" Riley was asking. "My physical therapist says my ankles might be good enough by then. Then we could do it together!"

That's right, Thomas recalled. Riley was one of the most fragile people he knew of. Bad eyes, weak ankles, and she followed Missy around like a puppy. Well, if Thomas were a girl, and as vulnerable as Riley, he'd probably want to hang around Missy, too. She was fairly tough for a girl.

"Nah, I'm gonna join the wrestling team," Missy said dreamily.

Thomas laughed.

Missy threw an evil look over her shoulder. "What's so funny?"

Thomas had responded habitually, but he realized he didn't really want to upset his sister. "Well, you'll want to start lifting weights," he said, trying to sound sincere.

"Whatever."

Crisis averted. For now.

* * *

For Missy, school was a nightmare. Sit still, obey orders, don't eat too much, don't run in the halls. Was this was it was like at Auschwitz? They'd learned World War II history, but she couldn't recall most of it, but school had to be at least as bad as the holocaust, she knew that for sure. When the bell rang her desk was nearly toppled with the force of her departure, leaving Riley scrambling to pack her things to catch up.

Thomas didn't find it nearly so bad. He was good at it and liked most of his teachers. Today he'd spent a chunk of the final class gazing out the window thinking about Daniel and what other skills he might have, or what kinds of fun he'd have with his friends.

The bell rang and Thomas was sluggish getting up. Samwise, one of his two friends, came up, dragging his backpack on the floor by the strap. "Thomas, c'mon, let's get out of here before your annoying sister catches us and wants to come too."

Right, if Missy came she'd prevent them from getting up to any real fun with her blabbermouth. He gathered his things and they made their way outside where Marshal, his other friend, was already waiting at the bike racks—with Missy, and Riley in tow. Samwise slapped his own face and Thomas groaned.

"There he is!" Missy called in an accusing tone directed at Marshal. "I knew you were waiting for him!"

"What?" Marshal said as though confused. "Oh, is Thomas over there? What a coincidence, I just happened to be standing around here. I wasn't waiting for him!"

"Liar!"

Riley stood by cringing.

"Forget it," Thomas said. "Missy already knows anyway."

Samwise threw up his arms, "You told her? Idiot!"

Thomas was more embarrassed than angry at the insult. He smiled nervously. "I didn't really have a choice, everyone was there and I had to make sure we were good to go."

"I did my part," Marshal announced. He would accept no part of blame for anything, having done his duty.

"Well, we wanna come too. Right, Riley?"

"Right," Riley replied in a whisper that was almost inaudible. Thomas wondered why Missy even bothered asking Riley anything since she was going to agree no matter what.

"You can't let her come!" Samwise yelled. He was the dramatic one.

"You have to!" Missy yelled back.

"Yeah," Riley said at a conversational volume which was practically screaming for her.

"No way," Marshal said, though being so close to Missy, who was known to physically attack under the right circumstances, he was hesitant and kept glancing at her to see if he needed to flee.

Thomas stood there amongst a throng of expectations. He really only had one effective ploy, but if he used it incorrectly it could cause more problems than it would solve. "Alright, listen," he said, beginning to pace with his hands in his pockets. Everyone watched. "We all want to have a good time, right?"

Everyone nodded or said yeah.

"If I wanted, I could just go home right now and no one would—"

"That's not fair!" Missy interjected.

"Let me finish! I'm saying I could go home and no one could stop me and then no one would have fun, right? So here's the deal.

"Guys, Missy can come, first of all."

Samwise and Marshal groaned. Missy put her hands on her hips and made a sort of smug tilt of her head like she'd just beaten them at their own game.

"And Missy," Thomas continued, now addressing his sister and, to a much smaller extent, Riley, "you don't try to boss us around, and you don't tell our parents anything that happens. Got it?"

"But what if—"

"Got it?" he repeated, stern this time.

Missy made a face and looked at the ground. "Alright."

"And finally," Thomas said, looking at his friends who had begun to gloat with their own dances of victory, "everyone try to get along."

Thomas didn't know what suddenly made him the mediator, but he was noticing a lot of meanness that he hadn't before, including his own.



True to her word, Missy didn't pester them, or at least not much, and she never threatened to tell their parents about their shenanigans, even when Thomas was running down the aisles, like he shouldn't have been, and knocked over a display and sent bags of chips scattered across the floor. Of course, she didn't help him as, shrouded in shame, he picked everything up and put it back in its place, but you couldn't ask for perfection.

When Missy didn't have enough money to get a drink, Thomas bought one for her, and then for Riley. His money was running low at this point and he wondered why he was being so generous. Then he recalled last night, when he'd made compromises that resulted in Missy yielding, and thought that maybe it was all going to be worth it at some point.

Maybe it was worth it even now. Between the drinks and the rowdiness and the dynamism of the group of five, they all seemed to have more fun than usual. Missy's eagerness to compete with the boys led to bike crashes, arm-wrestling matches and drinking contests, some of which she won, some of which she caused, and some of which she lost spectacularly.

When she lost at arm-wrestling, she seemed upset at first, but all the boys complimented how well she'd done and it cheered her up right away.

"You know, Missy," Samwise said as they all began to gather their bikes in preparation to head home, "you're not so bad, sometimes."

"Thanks," she replied, smiling. As much of a brat as she was, even Missy knew a compliment when she heard one, and also knew how to take it.

Thomas found this compliment to be positive and nice—but another part of him felt something else. What was it? He couldn't tell. Angry? Defensive? Maybe protective?

Where'd that come from?

 

[Selrisitai]

Feet pounded across the floorboards. Doors opened and slammed. Backpacks were hurled through the air and landed who-knows-where, and who cared? Hanging out had been fun, but it was time to get back into the RPG.

Thomas had taken his socks off and flung them, while Missy, in her impatience, didn't bother with such formalities and just left them on. As it turns out, it's difficult to get traction on a hard-wood floor in your socks. The siblings burst out of their rooms and began running down the hall toward the front door. The dining room was to the right of it, and that led into the kitchen farther along.

Thomas was out in front, bare feet sticking to the floor easily and he took an extensive lead. Missy ran in place for some time before she began moving, and by time she was up to speed Thomas wasn't moving anymore. Mother had come out of the doorless dining room entryway, hands on hips.

"Where do you think you're going?" Mother said, and Thomas knew immediately that he'd be doing chores for the next hour.

"Look out!" Missy shouted. It didn't give Thomas much time to turn and an instant later he bounced forward as Missy crashed into his back and fell to the floor. "Ow."

Thomas reached a hand down to help her up and Missy, in a shocking display, leaned back on her hands for balance and started kicking at him.

"Hey!" he exclaimed as he pulled his hand back. "What're you doing?"

"What are you doing!" she answered.

Thomas got a bit mad. "I'm trying to help you up! What do you think I'm doing?"

Missy looked taken aback, but she couldn't let go of her preconception. "No you weren't." The words sounded uncertain of themselves.

"Yes, I was. Do you think I'd do something with Mamma here, even if I wanted to?"

"I don't know."

The question wouldn't be answered, his sister's response was just a way of shutting down the conversation. He put his hand out again, more annoyed this time, but she took it and he hauled her up.

Mother was watching silently, trying to decide if this was an improvement over their normal interactions. It was too early to tell, she decided. "Alright, kids, chores first, then you can play."

Missy started to complain, "Do we have to?"

Thomas normally would have let her whine until she got in trouble, and then he'd grin about it, but right now that was not an option. She was required to play the RPG, which meant she had to stay out of trouble. "Hey," he interrupted her plans to whine, to her evident confusion, and he kind of enjoyed the way she recoiled and her head went back and she got a double chin on her childish face. "Let's work fast and get back to the game early, okay?" A moment of cleverness came. "Whoever finishes their chores first gets to implement whatever idea they want first."

It was a bit of a challenge, and Missy liked challenges. She also liked adding weird ideas to the game, Thomas knew. She smiled. "Alright, let's do it!"

Trash bags shuffled as they were removed and the bins re-lined.

Backpacks were unloaded and contents put away, beds were made, rooms were cleaned and clothes thrown into the hamper.

Dinner was served and Father complained again about the loss of his precious dining table.

"It's for bonding, dear," Mother placated again.

"They better bond fast. I want my table back. It's a man's right to be able to sit at the dining table he spent so many years working to afford, am I wrong?"

"You're not wrong, dear," Mother agreed, and she meant it.

Food was eaten and the table cleared.

Soapy water splashed high as impatient hands scrubbed with vigor.

"Slow down!" Mother called from another room, apparently having x-ray vision.

Missy grumbled over the last few dishes. Thomas came behind with the mop and cleared the mess before anyone got in trouble.


* * *


The time for the game was at hand. Intentionally, Thomas had lagged on his chores so Missy would finish first. They plopped themselves down into their seats with the eagerness only children were capable of displaying, no ability whatsoever to savor the moment.

Missy picked up the dice and began to shake them. "I can do whatever I want, right?"

It's worth noting how fast Thomas went from excited to apprehensive. He'd been so busy feeling proud of himself for generously handing his sister the win that he'd forgotten that she was a weirdo. He needed to be nice, though: he'd said what he'd said. The smile he put on was noncommittal but not too bad. "Right, go for it."

"Oh, I will," she said as a bout of megalomania enraptured her. The dice shook in her hands with violent enthusiasm.


* * *


Adam and Ilsa had turned up nothing. No evidence whatsoever seemed to exist that they had been charmed, a blow to their primary theory. Magic always left some kind of residue, always, just as water left wetness and the wind scattered leaves into a different orientation. If it had been there, they would have seen it, there was no doubt.

They weren't able to replicate the illusion or to find any remnants; there were no fading wisps of magic or, discovered after having walked the parameter of town, divining circles, runes or any other sort of magic paraphernalia or symbology. It were as though they really had experienced a completely natural, or at least non-directed, shared hallucination. Neither Adam or Ilsa believed that to be the genuine case, but that was the only conclusion they could manage to arrive at, other than equally speculative ideas about pernicite spellcasters who were simply that adept at magic, capable of powerful magics cast invisibly and without traces. Whether more or less believable than the "natural hallucination" theory, it was a scarier possibility by orders of magnitude, so it got little discussion.

It had been a long day. They told one another good night, then stopped by Daniel's room to bid him the same, just poking their heads in the door, and then went off to their respective rooms.

Adam sighed, pressing his door closed with a gentle click of the latch. He stood there for a time, thinking, or doing what would normally result in thinking, but he'd already spent so much time mulling over the details of the situation that his brain simply refused to tolerate another minute of speculation on it, and that was that. Instead he just stared across the room for forty seconds.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, which was a simple but, compared to what he usually got, luxurious comfort, he began to pull his boots off. Socks came next, then he began pulling the robe up over his head when the knock came at the door.

"Who is it?" he called, piling the robe onto his lap. Despite being a sorcerer, Adam's body was well-muscled. In his occupation the money wasn't always available, so he and the others often did odd jobs, including heavy manual labor, to get by. It benefited to keep in shape.

"Felicity," came the soft reply.

Adam knew he'd been tense when, upon hearing the voice, he relaxed. This day had been a real pain in the backside. "Come on in."

The knob turned, slowly, then the door was bumped ajar but not far enough to start swinging open. Adam watched with a flicker of concern. Then the door was pushed—Adam heard Felicity's claw-like nails scrape the wood—and it swayed inward on creaking hinges, revealing the catlike forest sprite, sitting on her haunches, peeking out from behind the door-frame.

Adam stood and his robe fell to the floor. "Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Are you coming in?"

"Yes."

She didn't come in.

"When?"

"Now."

"Alright, then. Come on." Adam was becoming irritated. What was the matter with her?

With the same bashful manner in which she hid behind the doorcase did she also make her way into the room, on all fours as she sometimes did, with her head down. Once all the way in, she sat and did no more.

"Can you close the door?"

With a leg she reached back and pushed it closed.

Adam pursed his lips. Irritation was boiling up to an angry frustration now. "And can you stand up? You're making me uncomfortable. What do you want?"

Felicity stood, kept looking down, and Adam grabbed her shoulders and only barely resisted shaking her. "What is it, Felicity?"

"I am smitten. Would'st thou deign, 'pon our next adventure through town, to honor me by taking hold of my hand, and so joined, proceed together in ostentatious union?"

This could not have been farther from any sort of response he might ever have expected. Brain overwhelmed with potentials, likelihoods and indescribable emotions, no answer of great wit was forthcoming.

"What?" Adam said.

* * *


"What?" Thomas said.

Missy was thrilled at the response her idea had evoked. "Isn't it a good idea?"

"It, it's something. There's no way a forest sprite is going to be into a human." Thomas's brain was still trying to wrap around the fact that this was happening. He suddenly looked annoyed. "And what do you mean, 'adventuring through town'?"

"I'm telling you, it'll be romantic! Plus the stakes are raised now because love is at stake."

"You know you're my sister. And I'm controlling Adam."

"So?"

Thomas felt like it was weird, it certainly made him uncomfortable, but the fact that his sister saw no issue made him feel like it'd be more weird to push the issue. "Whatever."

"You said I could, anyway, so you can't back out or you'll be an Indian-giver!"

"Fine, fine, I'm not an Indian-giver. Just try not to do anything weird."

Missy was offended even though she couldn't even conceive of what he really meant by the word weird. "I won't."

Well, she would, actually.


* * *


The nature of a forest sprite could seem fickle, but in fact it was quite consistent. Some seasons were times of waiting, some were times for doing, and some were times of remaking oneself anew. Felicity, as did all forest sprites, acted in accord with the season, trifling, treading or changing. With an autumnal spirit, she had become smitten with Adam, with his powerful magic and grave reticence. Never before had she taken a mate, and it was seldom for forest sprites to do so, particularly of human kind, but with fall the trees changed, the animals too, as did the air itself. Felicity could sense now that it was her own time.

Of course, it was summer at this time, so if not fickle then she was certainly impetuous.

"Might we make haste, and become one?"

Felicity was on two legs now, sauntering in a way Adam had never seen her do, and Adam was cowering on the opposite side of the bed, in a way she'd never seen him do. The covers had erupted and become an ugly pile by the time he'd rolled across it and scrambled to the other side. "Listen." His voice croaked. With a clearing of the throat and a straightening of his posture, he continued. "This isn't exactly the time for it, alright? We've got hallucinations we can't explain and a pernicite army incoming."

"Prithee," she said with a disturbing, to Adam, mix of sincerity and desire as she leaned over the side of the bed across from him, hands sinking into the sheets, "have us joined in advance of the coming battle, that we might die as one."

"Why do you assume we're going to die!"

"Should we."

Was that a question? A quirk of her anomalous syntax? Adam needed to shut down this conversation. "I'll consider it, but in the meantime we need to get some sleep, so toddle off to your room, alright?"

Withdrawing from the bed and sinking to hands and feet, she padded over to the door, somehow still sauntering even on all fours. "Very well."

The door closed, leaving Adam alone with a horde of thoughts as worrisome as any made up of pernicites. He wanted to put it out of his mind. He'd seldom thought of the eventual time when he would settle down, there was too much to do, too little security for him in this life—though the prospect of being with someone who was facing the same dangers had an appeal.

No, no. Adam dove into bed, tangling himself into the blanket. It bore no thinking.


* * *


Missy may have been a tomboy, but she was, Thomas was realizing, still a girl. A strange girl, too, he thought. There was something about playing out that romantic scene, where one of the characters was a magical creature who was only partially human, and where the two players controlling the characters were siblings, that made the whole thing embarrassing to enact. Worse than embarrassing, disturbing.

Thomas couldn't verbalize any of this. To him it was just a feeling.

"Well, Tommy?"

He'd been staring blankly. The loathed name Tommy, which to him sounded like a kid's version of his more sophisticated real name, shocked him out of his stupor. "What?"

Missy was still cheerful. "What's next?"

"Anything but that."

"Boys just aren't romantic, that's the problem."

Thomas didn't know enough about romance to be offended, and his lack of offense was offensive to his sister.

She crossed her arms. "Let's just go to the next day."

Emotions were rising, at least on her part. If Thomas weren't careful, things were going to go sideways, and then Mother was going to be on the warpath.

Alright, he told himself, girls are just girls, and this is just a game. It's fine. The forest sprite creature controlled by his sister wanted to date the wizard controlled by himself. That was fine.

He tried telling himself it was fine a few dozen more times. Eventually it just had to help, otherwise he wasn't going to make it.

Despite these tremendous efforts of restraint, trouble arose only a short time thereafter, and not in a way Thomas could have anticipated.

 

[Selrisitai]

As the siblings created a routine of playing their role-playing game in the evening, it was becoming less distracting during the day. At school, Thomas could focus on his classes again, and Missy could focus on anything except her classes, which was the standard for them both.

It was between classes that things were different. The two of them said "hi" if they passed in the hallway, or would wave if they only saw one another at a distance. It wasn't much, but they were two grades apart, so it was about as much interaction as they were likely to get, no matter how friendly they were. At least, that would have been true if not for what happened.

Thomas found himself looking for his sister the next time class let out. He saw her talking to three other girls, one flanked by two others, that he only vaguely recognized. The final class of the day was starting soon, so Thomas decided he wouldn't bother going over there or trying to get her attention, but before he turned away, he noticed something. Nothing specific had happened, but there was something in the body language that didn't seem right. As he watched, the girl out front put a hand on Missy's chest and shoved her to the ground.

A rage Thomas didn't know he was capable of roared to life in his body, exploding from the chest and spreading to his limbs in a shockwave of adrenaline. "Hey!" he shouted, though in the bustle of voices his own was swallowed up.

Angrily, he began striding over, a couple times shouldering other kids hard enough to send them stumbling, but he didn't acknowledge it. The three girls eventually spotted his approach, and they swayed back almost as one.

Thomas went directly to Missy and, with a grip on her upper arm, helped her to her feet. "Are you alright?"

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine," Missy said as if embarrassed, but Thomas hardly picked up on it.

He looked at the three girls, not sure what to do with his rage.

At first nervous, the lead girl regained her composure. "What are you gonna do, call the teacher?" The other two seemed less certain, but tried to take their cue from her.

"If you touch my sister again, I won't wait for the teachers to get involved."

"Whatever." She turned to walk away. "Loser," she added as her two friends looked back with expressions bearing both apology and concern that he would follow. He started to, that prissy girl was going to learn a lesson.

Missy took his fist in both of her hands, forestalling him. "Don't!"

He looked at her, wondering why she—Missy of all people—would stop him.

"You'll get in trouble. Anyway, I let them do that. I could've attacked them myself if I wanted to."

"Why didn't you?"

"Well, it's better sometimes to just let them get away with a little. Then they might not do a lot."

"Or they'll do a lot more," Thomas snapped, biting on the words like a dog tears meat from a bone.

"It's fine," Missy cooed, trying to placate him with a nonchalant smile. "I promise. It's not a big deal."

He let it go then, but as he sat in his next class, he had something new to worry about that had nothing to do with games. She'd said it wasn't, but it was a big deal. If she didn't care, he still did, and felt he had to. Doubts crept in, though, when he had time to let them. Was it really any of his business? If Missy said it was fine, it must be fine, right?

Had she stopped him because she was protecting him from getting in trouble? Was it really because fighting them would make things worse? Or was Missy scared of something else?

The school bell couldn't ring soon enough, and problems languished unsolved on Thomas's worksheet. Homework was going to be a pain tomorrow.


* * *


Outside, fetching their bikes, Missy was watching her brother with compassion. He was obviously preoccupied with what had happened earlier. "You know, they acted all big, like they didn't care, but they didn't come near me for the rest of the day." She didn't mention that although no one else had done anything yet either, there was a chance they might at some point. Those three didn't like being told what to do.

Thomas couldn't help but grin as he pulled his bike free of the bicycle-rack and swung a leg over the seat. "I guess I scared them, huh? I kind of scared myself."

"I don't know if I've ever seen you so angry."

Thomas sat on the bike, leaning on the handlebars with outstretched arms, and pondered. "I guess," he said as if to himself, "that I care about my sister."

Missy slapped him on the back hard enough to make him jerk as if shaken from a nightmare. "Don't worry, they're just jealous of me."

"Yeah, because you're actually a good person."

He'd said it with such bitterness that he half-expected to be chastised, but instead Missy just looked at him. He could feel her eyes on his forehead, and when he looked, she was tearing up. He was confused. "Sorry, I meant—"

"I know," Missy said, drying her eyes on her shirt sleeve. "I know what you meant. I guess my brother really does care about me."


* * *


Missy and Thomas froze when Mother swooped toward them before they'd managed to close the front door.

"Are you two almost finished with your game?"

She didn't mention the dining room table, where their game was. Her voice strained for casualness. Her teeth were clenched when she spoke though. Thomas was getting a flight-or-fight response.

He fought. "I, I think so."

"Yeah," Missy chimed in, Mother's appearance so disconcerting that she was actually hiding behind her brother and peaking out as if gazing upon a wandering tyrannosaur.

Mother smiled. When someone doesn't smile with their eyes it can suggest mirthlessness. Mother used her eyes way too much and it made her look unhinged. "That's wonderful!" she announced. "Your father will be very happy." She leaned in so they could see the red veins of her sclera. The words came out each with their own full-stop punctuation. "Very. Happy."

Thomas resolved to finish the game this night or convince Missy to quit.

Mother wandered off toward the living room sighing at the walls.

Thomas came in with two sodas, head on a swivel. Missy wasn't allowed to have soda except on special occasions, and Thomas never went against his parents' rules.

He cracked one open. While Missy's eyes tracked every movement, Thomas slid the can over to her. Her hands snapped closed over it. Head dropping back, her hands came up and poured a bobbing stream of dark-brown sugar-water directly, it seemed to Thomas, into her throat.

"Geez, slow down," Thomas chastised, but he admired the technique anyway.

Half of the soda drained, Missy slammed the can to the table and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "So gooooood," she drawled. Thomas thought that even tomboys should have limits on their brutishness.

"I have a feeling I just did something bad," he mused. He'd wanted to celebrate the final evening of the game, even if it meant feeling guilty all night, but now he was considering unforeseen consequences.

"You disobeyed Mamma and Daddy," his sister explained.

"I mean something even worse. Maybe they know something about giving you soft drinks that I don't. Maybe you'll turn into a monster."

"Oh, come off it." Missy hiccuped, blonde hair bouncing. She rocked back on her heels and caught the edge of the table to not fall over. "Nothing's gonna happen."

The board was all set, the dice were on the table, the information sheets with their scribbled details and half-erased pencil mistakes handy, and there was nothing left to do but play out the conclusion. The room was quiet, and the siblings sat.

The warm dining room light seemed unusually cozy this evening. It lay in peaceful reverie over every thing like a blanket. The air itself was warm and filled with invitation. The siblings looked at one another and smiled without knowing why.

Missy picked up the dice without Thomas even telling her she could go first. He figured there was no reason, he always let her go first. It had, he realized, become a point of pride.

The dice sat in her upturned palm. "You go first," she said.

"You sure?" Thomas appreciate the gesture, but it sort of damaged his integrity.

"I always go first."

Maybe this was her moment to show integrity. Thomas recognized, or thought he did, that it wouldn't be fair to deny her this act of selflessness. He took them and gave a nod of respect. "Let's finish these pernicites off."

"Yeah!"

 

[Selrisitai]

A broad perspective is the privilege of those with time on their hands. Filling bellies, pocketing coins, acquiring shelter and considering future prospects can all be assessed, organized and tended to in due time; but as the generous days dwindle, that privileged vista narrows. Full stomachs and jangling pockets must be eschewed in favor of a defined focus upon the task imminent.

Adam stood erect atop a hillock on the outskirts of town with his arm outstretched, as though to cast judgment on all of the land that lay beneath. The sleeve of his dark robe dangled heavy below his wrist.

It was in his nature to be pessimistic. He doubted the words of the pernicite scout they'd tortured; he doubted his ability to detect the alleged approaching horde; he doubted that they could fend it off if it did arrive, or that it would matter if they did.

But he never allowed the doubts to assuage his willingness to try. He had a duty, doubts notwithstanding.

The horde was reportedly to arrive tomorrow, time unspecified. If it was a group of any appreciable size, it would be within a few miles by now, and if that were the case, Adam should be able to detect them by extending out his magical senses. In the same way the seemingly trivial arm-hairs alert with frantic urgency when an ant crawls across the skin, so too did his magic senses, directed forth like a cone of light squeezing out in a shaft from between the leaves of a tree, send back warnings at the touch of dark sorcery. If the horde was within ten miles, he would detect it.

If he couldn't, Adam had considered the possibility of a portal generated near the village to let out the pernicites directly, but such a portal would require immense power, the preparation and charging of which would be as or more detectable than the pernicites themselves.

Nothing tripped his beam, no dark magic returned alarming vibrations.

One could get the impression, Adam thought, that the world was a good place.

He thought they weren't coming. Be that the case, this entire venture will have been a waste of time, but at least no wasted lives. Still. . . .

He poured more energy into his senses, spread them further, focused more intently. If it was there, if there were even a fraction of pernicite aura, he wanted to know about it. It could mean the difference between victory and slaughter.

Five still, stiff fingers twitched, drooping sleeve bouncing with the movement. Adam's brow wrinkled up and tension lines appeared at the corners of his eyes.

That's it, he told himself. It is indeed a pernicite horde. Is it getting bigger? The aura is swelling!

A streak of panic died with a realization.

No, it's not growing in size, it's just getting closer.

It was confirmed; the horde was coming. He lowered his hand and looked out at the grassy plain, green and peaceful, and at the upraised mountain that overlooked even this hill, free of evil and pernicite scum. The horde would be arriving tomorrow though, to render this placid little vale into tumult.

It was coming, and it was multitudinous.


* * *


Moving with urgency, Adam returned to the inn to see Felicity sitting outside the entrance on her haunches, staring into the ether.

Here we go, he thought.

This hadn't been the first time the sprite had been kicked out of a building, something usually done by one of her own party members, usually due to her own behavior. She had a lot of energy and it could be distracting, to put it lightly. Incidentally, this is why Adam hadn't allowed her to come along with him, he needed to concentrate. Her recent, disturbing displays of affection were no help, but she was bad enough even without them.

Purple cat-eyes darted, detecting movement. Felicity leaped up, wings fluttering, and hovered with her feet inches from the ground. "Adam!" Landing, she came forth to meet him, explaining excitedly the ruthless and unfair manner in which she had been ejected from the inn by her cruel companions.

"Alright, alright," Adam droned in his typically low, dour voice. "You can come back in with me, but try not to pester anyone."

The sprite grabbed his arm at the elbow and lay her head on his shoulder as they walked in. Adam's neck was stiff with tension. He wondered if this "season" she spoke of earlier would last long.

The inn was lit with wall-mounted candles that burned unnaturally bright in their brass sconces, undoubtedly a magical augmentation. Warm yellow light illuminated the entire middle of the room, leaving only the corners darkened. A few tenants and visitors milled about, some sat here or there, but it was a sparse group and it was easy to spot their two party members, doubly so because a few moments after Adam entered he heard the sound of Daniel slamming his hands on one of the tables. Undeterred, Adam approached, complete with Felicity arm-attachment.

Adam took great joy in silently assessing the situation, from which much could be gleaned with the eyes alone: A map of the town was spread out on the table, with some loose papers beside. Scratchy writing, as well as small, messy diagrams had been scribbled out in ink. Splotches, Adam noticed, were signs of hasty dipping and slinging of the quill. In further evidence of careless haste was an ink-pot with black ink painting the rim and one side, as well as a dotted trail along the table and a quill laying freely on its side with its tip still wet. A small puddle was forming on the wood-grain and soaking black into the brown edge of a leaf of parchment.

Ilsa, Adam imagined, would be scrubbing that table clean before the proprietor reconsidered their unpaid lodging.

Daniel's hands were both on the tabletop, his shoulders hunched, his blood-shot eyes seeing only some frustrating vision in his mind that his companions could only guess at. Ilsa was holding her head and dancing around nervously as though she needed to relieve her bladder, which she sometimes did when she was fretful.

"Behold!" Felicity declared. "A curse is upon them. Canst you break it, my love?"

"It's not a—what do you mean, 'my love?' Since when are you calling me that?"

Felicity hugged his elbow more tightly. "Doest the affectionate term suit thee?"

"Nay. It's inappropriate, we're not even the same species."

"I can adapt! Prithee!"

"Let go of my arm!"

Daniel turned a wild eye to the pair of them. "Report!" he barked.

Adam wouldn't normally allow himself to be ordered in such a tone, but he had already perceived by the state of the table that his companion was under a great deal of stress. He didn't answer the question though. "What's wrong, Daniel? Might as well tell me now. I'll know eventually and you'll wonder why you wasted time keeping it to yourself."

Their leader pinched the bridge of his nose with a gloved hand, then tore off the glove in fury and, showing monumental restraint, tossed it onto the table with a casual flick. It wouldn't have been surprising if he'd argued, but he needed to speak on the issue at hand, and in any case, he knew that Adam was correct. "Do you know how many guards there are in this town?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Six. We don't know the precise nature of this pernicite horde yet, but by time we do it'll probably be too late to create an effective strategy. With so few men, we need more information to make a plan that has any relevance whatever."

Adam was still trying to ease his arm out of Felicity's grasp, but she wasn't taking the hint and would reset her grip any time it loosened. Ilsa, meanwhile, was not happy with Felicity's return and subsequent ruckus, as it was upsetting Daniel. Ilsa gave her a look, to which Felicity hissed and nuzzled her face into Adam's robes with only her slitted eyes visible, glowering from behind his shoulder.

Adam struggled to collect his thoughts. "It, it's a reasonable amount of, um, amount of guards for this, uh, this size of town. They seem pretty peaceful." He shook Felicity off with a sudden violent toss of his arm. She let go. He glared at her. As soon as he looked back to Daniel she reattached herself.

"Reasonable for this town," Daniel said, with no indication that he recognized what was occurring between the two beside him, "yes, but for a horde? If I put them in the cardinal outskirts, that's one per side and two left over. We could cover fewer sides to increase manpower in the remaining groups, but if the horde flanks us it could be a massacre.

"The four of us could split up, one per corner, but as someone who doesn't use magic, I'm not nearly as effective by myself." He was looking at Ilsa when he said this. She took it as the compliment it was and stuck out her tongue: Sorry I'm so good at my job you can't fight without me.

Leaning back in his chair with a visible effort to relax, Daniel closed his eyes, letting his arms dangle with his fingertips touching the floor. An attempt at utter surrender to peace. Daniel spoke breathy words from the darkness behind his eyelids. "What about your investigation? Maybe it's not a horde at all, but a gang, or a cluster, or three uppity pernicites and a flock of dust moths."

"Ew, I hope not!" Ilsa interjected. Dust moths were giant moths that dropped billowing clouds of silken dust from their wings. One was a nuisance, but a flock passing overhead could require days of cleanup. Some dancers used it to give their skin, clothes or hair a glittery sheen. The idea made Ilsa shudder.

Daniel was still relaxing in his chair with his eyes closed, and could feel himself calming. "Give me good news."

"The horde's definitely there. It's moving toward us at the right pace, and it's big."

A vein popped up on Daniel's forehead, and his right eye involuntarily twitched. Felicity's ears perked when she saw it. Daniel kept his voice purposefully low as he attempted to drag some modicum of positivity from this mire of disappointment. "How big?"

"Discomfortingly."

"He said to give him good news!" Ilsa protested.

"I can't help what kind of news it is."


* * *


Several tense minutes trundled by, thick and taut. Daniel's frustration was an aura on its own, radiating outward like heat from a campfire, but not nearly so comforting. He was hunched over the table, continuing to study the map, consider the enemy and invent plans. Everyone could see by the jumbled creasing of his brow that none satisfactory had yet presented. By unspoken understanding, no one was willing to disturb the quiet, lest Daniel's tenuous patience be shattered.

Like a lightning bolt from a blue sky, Adam abruptly reached down and pulled a corner of the map toward himself to see it. The parchment crinkled and hissed and Ilsa gasped.

Adam looked up and gave her a disdainful glare. "What? He's not gonna stab someone." When Ilsa looked away, her expression shrouded in guilt, Adam added, "Well, not a second time, anyway."

Daniel scowled. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Adam!" Ilsa scolded.

"You're right," Adam said, studying the map, "there's just not enough manpower with us and the guards alone."

"Solutions," Daniel said under his breath, trying not to strangle anyone.

"By the way, did you do this map?"

"I did," Ilsa said.

"It looks great. Clean lines, easy to read. You should do the maps more often."

So pleased was she that Ilsa performed a glissade inches above the floor and transitioned into a landing pirouette. "Thank you!" she called, twirling.

"Can we focus?" Daniel snarled through gritted teeth. The stress was eating him alive.

Chided, Ilsa clasped her fingers behind her back and looked down at her feet where there was no more dance. "I apologize, you're right."

Daniel looked over from around his muscled arm still stretched out to the table, and saw Ilsa's thick, dark-brown hair hanging down over her face like a luxurious veil, forlorn and beautiful.

Now it was his turn to feel guilty. He stood and waved a dismissive hand. "No, no, I'm sorry. I shouldn't snap at you just because I'm in a bad mood. "

"If it helps you protect these people," Ilsa replied, delicate eyebrows curved down in passion, "you can snap at me as much as you like!"

"I never wish to raise my voice at you in anger or frustration, Ilsa." Daniel's hands came down gently upon her shoulders and squeezed with reassuring, masculine firmness.

It was all Adam could tolerate. "We have a room, you know. It was free, too. If you need it, that is, I'm just saying."

The couple separated and both of them flushed with embarrassment to Adam's immense satisfaction.

Felicity had, up to this point, finally found something better to do, but now she zipped over and attached herself again to Adam's arm. "If they have a room together, you and I should have one as well!" she insisted, looking up at Adam with big, shimmering, pleading eyes.

By way of completely, thoroughly and insistently avoiding a response to this expression of desire altogether, Adam said, "What about the townspeople? Weren't they supposed to join us?"

"Support us," Daniel corrected, more relaxed now, his frustration only surface level as he sauntered over to the chair again only for Felicity to immediately crawl over to it on all fours, climb atop it and sit there as if she had no clue that she might be doing something annoying. Daniel altered his trajectory without stopping and instead looked at the map again. "There's no expectation that they'll take up arms."

"Did you ask?" Adam wondered.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I just don't feel it's my place."

"Hey, you're doing it for them," Adam observed. "Are they gonna reproach you for trying to save their lives?"

Daniel thought about it. "I guess not."

Ilsa was quietly trying to shoo Felicity from the chair, but Felicity was pretending not to notice. Adam grabbed her by the ear and tugged until she hopped down with a whimper of protest. Ilsa smiled apologetically, not liking the method, but unable to scold Adam when he was doing something for her.

Daniel sat.

Adam fought with Felicity who was now hugging him so she'd feel better about having been manhandled by him. "You have to, uh, you have to give the people a choice, Daniel, right? I mean, they saw the creature, half the town was out there helping clear it out. I overheard a couple people discussing the possibility of eating it."

Felicity made a disturbing retching noise.

"They saw it," Daniel replied. "No one's been volunteering to aid in the fight."

He was being a defeatist, Ilsa thought, but she wasn't ready to say so.

"Do they know they're needed for it? Probably they assume we can take care of it alone with the guards."

Daniel was near convinced now, and became quiet. Luncheon had ended and many of the customers, scant as they already were, had dispersed.

Ilsa touched his arm, spoke gently. "Go. Ensure the people know how they can help."


* * *

The table was cleared and inkpot sealed with a cork. Ilsa and Adam, possessing proficiency in multiple forms of magic, set out to purchase a few items to aid them in spellcasting and the construction of magical traps. With the money they'd collected from around town, Adam reported that he could make as many traps as he had time for. It should pare the enemy numbers and give them a significant advantage. "These go off right, we may not even need help."

Daniel needed to rouse the people and, if successful, provide preparatory tutoring in what little time remained.

That left Felicity to clean the ink-stains from the table. She was provided a bucket of soapy water and a couple of rags with which to do the job. She did it, muttering all the time.
"Peradventure this ink soaks into my fur or hair, who shall provide succor? I am a spirit of the forest, a creature of wind and freedom; does a leaf clean tables? or a stag beetle mix soap and water?" She began to tear up. "Who among my companions still possesses a tittle of affection for my personage, a being born of the forest mist and grown with divine sunlight into a fluttering, sovereign wight?"

The innkeeper tried to ignore it when Felicity leaped belly-first onto the table and began spinning herself in despairing circles, ululating forlorn lamentations of abandonment.


* * *

Ilsa was an apothecary, not a soldier. That didn't mean she couldn't set magical traps; it meant that she hated doing it. Adam assured her it was for a good cause and she didn't resist, but unhappiness remained. She preferred to stay unhappy about it. If she got used to it then that would be worse.

Meanwhile, it was one of the few things in which Adam found unmitigated glee. The only thing better than planning and preparing his traps, or imagining their brutal successes, was watching them at a safe distance when they were triggered. Ilsa tried not to look at him too much when he was thinking about it, his eyes became wide with madness and he'd been known to drool in anticipation, like a starving man dreaming of steak.

Daniel watched the people milling about the marketplace. There were a good number of them, so it was a good time to talk. The sun was still high, and spirits were the same. If he were going to do it, now was the time.

He hesitated. Not every skill transferred across similar applications. Daniel was courageous in battle, comfortable speaking to people, and as a strong, capable man as a whole, he was not easily intimidated or given to doubt his abilities. This was true of most circumstances, but public speaking was its own pernicite.

A wooden stand was selling tomatoes, and crates were haphazardly piled beside it. The product was selling well, and only a few remaining looked edible. Manning the stand was actually not a man, but a woman, young and pretty, but not flamboyant, wearing a plain dress with an apron over the front. The skirt flared only the slightest bit and her hair was pulled back and covered with a bandanna. She looked over curiously when Daniel grabbed a couple of the empty wooden crates next to the stand.

"Um, excuse me, sir?" she said. Daniel could see her head poking out from around the stand's front counter, a loose tuft of hair curling around to stab her in the eye. She pursed her lips and sent it away with a puff of air.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said, holding up the crates, "may I borrow these a moment?"

"Well—oh, are you those pernicite mercs?"

Mercs she had said. Daniel thought the term sounded rather more brutal and transactional than he'd have liked, but he wasn't going to argue with someone he was asking a favor of. "That's right. These, um, these are for the cause."

"Really?" she was surprisingly enthusiastic about this revelation.

"Really."

"So I'll be helping to defeat those sick, disgusting, ghastly beasts?"

"Um, yes." He wouldn't have put it that way precisely. . . .

"Then yes! Please, uhm, take some more, I insist!"

"That won't be necessary, I just need a platform to address the people."

"Oh, hang on!" She came around the stand holding up her skirts like she was about to go wading through ankle-deep mud-water. "Kenneth, Jarell, come here!"

A couple of strapping young men approached. After a quick explanation from the woman, whose name was Linda and who turned out to be a maiden of some popularity around there, the two men set to work.

"No, really," Daniel tried to protest, but a few minutes later he had not just a box, but a veritable stage made up of at least twenty wooden crates that had held all sorts of items, from hand-tools to hand-carved toys to fruit picked by hand. All emptied of their contents, aligned and stacked until Daniel was shoved by a crowd up onto the platform at least four feet high.

Now he really felt like a fool. Looking around, he could see that a crowd had gathered. People were waiting with eager faces to hear what he had to say. The realization came then. These people weren't reluctant to help at all, they were keen. Not everyone saw pernicite mercenaries as noble. They were just brutes, men who loved violence and exercising power over others. Free lodging, taking up collections and ordering people around were all standard for people like Daniel and his group.

These people, though, they saw something else. He dare not think that he was seen as a hero—but perhaps?

With renewed enthusiasm and a puffed chest, Daniel spread his arms out to symbolically gather the entire mass of people together, all equal under his gaze.

"Ladies and gentlemen, as you may all know, a pernicite horde is on its way. We thought it might be a mistake or a lie, but my good companion Adam, a great sorcerer, has detected it with his considerable magic. They will arrive tomorrow, just as we believed."

Someone in the crowd said something like, "What!?" and another said, "You don't know about the horde? We've been hearin' about it for nigh-on two days already," to which a rude reply was given, and returned.

"Everyone!" Daniel interjected, projecting his voice as firmly and loudly as he could. "Please, heed me for a moment more!"

The argument didn't so much stop as it just got quieter and more passive-aggressive.

Good enough, Daniel decided. "With just my four companions and the six guards, there simply won't be enough of us to defeat this pernicite menace without some difficulty."

Someone in the crowd, a woman, shouted, "So you can't do it?"

"I believe we can," he replied quickly, "but it won't be clean. I expect casualties."

A murmur arose in the crowd as people began to feel their personal safety cracking.

"I can't demand anything," Daniel went on. "You owe me nothing. It's not for me that I ask all of you to join in this fight, but for your town."

The implication rolled across the crowd in a wave of silence.

Now it was time to be direct. "I am asking that anyone with fighting experience, or a strong back, take up arms and aid us in battle. If you cannot, or will not, I understand. I'm here to protect you, not make demands of you, but there is no other way that I can see.

"If you want to join, come find me. I'll be doing a short briefing on what to expect, what to do and how best to do it in one hour. If you have any special skills you think might help, please notify me."

Much of this Daniel thought up as he went. He'd not intended to do a seminar, but it seemed the right thing so he'd said it.

Finally he said, "Thank you, everyone," and stepped down. Immediately he began disassembling the stage by lifting crates and returning them whence they'd come. He'd have helped anyway, but he hoped that his show of workmanship would garner some respect.

When all of the crates were gone, Daniel looked around to see that the people were, too. He put his hands on his hips.

Adam came from behind. "Good speech."

"Only if it had worked," Daniel riposted.

"Hey, I didn't say whether it was an effective speech."

Felicity had made her way outside during the speech and came running up, wings fluttering, and made circles around the two men.

Ilsa approached next, clapping her hands like a child about to be served dessert. "How wonderful! The people must surely have been galvanized after such inspiring words."

Adam shrugged. "I guess it affected someone, at least."

It was the increasing noise that alerted them to an increasing number of people in the marketplace. Not just voices, or footsteps, but the clattering of shovels, of pickaxes, of swords and sheathes and daggers and slings. The sounds increased. Swords clashed as men practiced sparring, warming themselves up, or banged on shields with clubs. Shouts of challenge and encouragements filled the air, charging the crowd with excitement.

"Young man." It was the elderly gentleman from the day before who'd haggled with Ilsa. He was holding an old scythe that, despite its apparent age, had also apparently been well-kept, stored in a dry place and its blade oiled regularly. "This here's our home, so if there's protecting needing to be done, we'll be happy to do it. We aren't some big city full of cowards who don't know what hard work even is. We know the difference between the moisture on a peach and the sweat of a brow.

"And anybody that says different ain't a man, and ain't a good woman either."

Daniel was smiling, swelled with pride. Adam was pleased within the darkness of his robe's hood, but would never have admitted to it even in the face of torture. Felicity was fluttering in elation and Ilsa was dabbing her robe-sleeve against tearful eyes.

It would be a transient and slapdash course, but Daniel would do his best to get everyone as prepared as possible. He had one hour to create the shortest tactical briefing he'd ever made.

 

[Selrisitai]

There had been one hour of preparation before the cursory training. Daniel felt like a schoolteacher preparing a lesson plan, doubly so with Ilsa eagerly helping. He told her that maybe she should have been a schoolteacher, and she said that if she had been he would probably be dead, and he agreed that maybe she shouldn't have been one after all.

It took almost the full hour, much of which was spent arguing, but in the end the two agreed that the heat had tempered the sword, and the resulting plan of action was better than if they hadn't disagreed at all. There were still points of contention, though.

Daniel sat staring at a particular portion of the plan until Ilsa, seeing his agony and knowing why, decided to yield on her own stance, as much as her conscience allowed. "Whatever you decide, I'll support you."

"If they let down their guard to help the fallen, it'll only end up with two dead instead of one." Daniel had made the point many times already, and in the same way, among others.

Ilsa had disagreed in as many ways. "I understand," she said now. There was a particular argument she had not made, but it hung implicit in the air: What if one of their own party fell? Would Daniel stop fighting to drag Felicity from the battlefield?

Daniel didn't want to answer that question because they both knew the answer, and it would make him a hypocrite. He would rather die than leave any of his friends to bleed out—but sometimes being the leader meant giving orders that were correct, even if you knew that you yourself wouldn't follow them. At least, that's what seemed to be the right thing to do, as long as Daniel didn't think about it too much.

There was nothing more to say. He stood and gathered the sheafs of paper while Ilsa remained behind to clean up. It was time to address the townspeople.




* * *




Adam shouldn't have been with Felicity while setting his magical traps. They required concentration, sometimes immense concentration, and having a flitting, energetic and, in recent development, clingy forest sprite buzzing around him was not only distracting, but dangerous. If he did something wrong it could blow up in his face now, or fail to blow up when triggered by a pernicite later.

He took her with him anyway. She had no preparations to make, and Adam was, in a deep, quiet, unspoken part of his heart, afraid that he would not see her again after this battle. As confident as they acted, Adam and his party of pernicite mercenaries, they had never before engaged in such blatant warfare. Only Daniel had any experience with it at all, and even in such experiences as he'd had, they had not involved the mounting of a meager defensive maneuver against a horde of vicious pernicites.

They had knowledge, yes, and they had skill, but they didn't have the manpower and there was no reason to think they wouldn't be overwhelmed within minutes. Seconds, even.

Adam's brow dripped with perspiration, but even still, he struggled to shoo away Felicity when she placed her palms on his back and leaned on him and looked over his shoulder to see what he was doing, and made cooing sounds of curiosity and awe. A moment came when he could rest and he swept an arm back. "Alright, will you get off of me? I'm trying to concentrate here."

Felicity fluttered back from his hand and came forward again, like a shooed fly from a puddle of spilled honey. "Prithee, allow my hand to set forth upon your workbench, that I might prove myself worthy."

"For the tenth time, there's nothing you can do. Why don't you stand guard in case something tries to jump us?"

"Oh! How splendid! No pernicite insect shall escape mine eye, and upon sight, they shall know my hand, and do no more."

"No," Adam said quickly. "If you see something, you rush straight to me, silent and swift. Understood?"

"As you say." She then went out ten feet and began making a circuit.

That would not likely last long, Adam supposed, as forest sprites were prone to distraction, although there was something to be said for their loyalty and sense of duty. She may forget her instructions in five minutes, or she might adhere to them for hours.

As for the trap, it was a simple matter. Certain material could be magically charged, or would resist magic, or could be used to hold magic in place, unable to escape. Combining these in the right away, one could make a kind of petard, albeit, to Adam's pride, a much more potent one than that which the mundane hands of man might concoct. As he applied the final touches and made an assessment to ensure everything was just so, Adam allowed himself to think that these devices would decimate the enemy, and make their assault of no effect. It was possible, however improbable. That was enough to keep him going.

Hefting his bag of paraphernalia, Adam looked over to see Felicity, marching around on her pernicite vigil, fluttering at times, swinging at the air or rocks or trees to test her claws, and being quite, rather and most assuredly alive. He shook the bag in his hand, feeling its weight. He was alive, too.

"Come on, Felicity," Adam called, glancing to judge the time of day by the sun's arc. "Let's go to the next site. We're gonna put these down until we can't see."

Dragonfly wings buzzing, she slammed into him, wrapping both arms fully around the crook of his elbow. He let her.




* * *





Ilsa thanked the innkeeper and left him peering at the newly cleaned table. She thought she had been pretty thorough, but she wasn't going to wait around for him to find fault with her work. There were other tasks that needed doing.

Out in the afternoon sun, Ilsa took one last stroll through the market, looking for a stop-root plant. She knew they grew in this area, so why, she wondered, did no one have any on hand? It was an ingredient in one of her spell-traps.

When she had given up and was heading toward the edge of town to find it herself, Ilsa was stopped by a familiar young woman, around the same age as herself, wearing an efficient, medium-brown dress with a skirt whose hemline hung near the ankles. With her hair in a bandanna she looked both workmanlike and, with her rounded forehead so exposed, a bit like a child.

"Hey!" the young woman called, approaching from a distance that required her to shout. "It's me, Linda."

Ilsa was relieved. Linda had given her name before Ilsa had to admit to not recalling it. "Yes, I remember. Thank you again for your help with the boxes. Daniel was awfully nervous."

"It was my pleasure," Linda insisted with a conspicuous excitement. "In fact, that's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Oh?" Ilsa didn't have time to talk, and glanced out toward the forest, but she also couldn't imagine dismissing someone asking for help. Especially someone who had helped her.

"Well, you see, I'm not fond of pernicites. They're rascals."

"Yes," Ilsa agreed, but what an understanding, she thought.

"I'd see them all slaughtered, but I'd rather do it myself, you know?" Linda made a few awkward jabs into the air that showed no proficiency in form.

Ilsa's impatience was replaced with a fascination, lightly tinted with discomfort and streaked with a mild confusion. "I suppose if any of us had the power—" She didn't finish her sentence in part because she wasn't even sure what she was supposed to be replying to.

"When I helped Daniel earlier, it was the most exciting thing I've done in months. And isn't he dashing?"

Ilsa pursed her lips and tried to sound neutral. "Yes."

"So I was wondering if there was any other way I could help. What do you say? My folks won't let me take up arms, even though I know I'd have more kills than anyone on the field. I mean, except you and the other mercenaries, of course."

This girl—Ilsa couldn't complete a thought about her. "Well," she said with a perturbed smile, "unless you have Ignition training of some sort. . . ."

"Oh, come on. Surely there's something I can do!" Linda looked at the wicker basket slung over Ilsa's elbow. "I can carry this for you!"

Ilsa couldn't really stop her from taking it, and after a moment of flustered consideration, decided that maybe she didn't want to. It could be useful to have someone along, even if it were only a gopher.

"Alright," Ilsa said pleasantly, as she always tried to be an example of poise and politeness, "I would appreciate that. We're heading eastward to the forest to gather some stop-root."

"Oh, what's that?" Linda asked eagerly, following tight on Ilsa's heel.

"It's a plant that has a cardiovascular effect on humans and pernicites. It can be used medicinally, but in our case—"

"It's going to be used like a poison, right? Right?"

The eagerness was bordering on glee. Ilsa nodded. "That's right."




* * *





"So what are you doing there?" Linda was asking.

They were in the forest now and had gathered the necessary plants. They were abundant, and according to Linda they weren't for sale because if anyone wanted them they'd just go pick them. It was likely that some of the villagers knew of their medicinal properties, but Linda herself didn't because she was much more interested in pretending to not be interested in the strapping local boys, and in picking fights she couldn't win and wouldn't even start, and arguing with her parents about what she was going to do with the rest of her life.

Ilsa kind of envied her. It seemed like there was no choice for Ilsa, not anymore. Continue on, or betray the people of this land, leaving them to the pernicite menace. At least she had her friends. . . .

Ilsa turned to the question at hand. "I'm going to imbue this leaf with a magical trigger. If a pernicite steps within a yard of this, the stop-root oils I'm dripping will be super-heated into steam, which the pernicites will then breathe in."

"What will that do?"

"Either they'll become lethargic, or they'll fall asleep, or they'll perish."

"How splendid!"

"I suppose."

Linda never grew weary of hearing about misfortune befalling pernicites.

"Are you sure," Linda asked, "that I can't fight? The mayor says that most of us women are going to be in the mayor's office with the kids. My brother's such a little brat, I can't imagine any of us will manage to stay in there with him for more than ten minutes."

"Even adult fighting men can have trouble with pernicites," Ilsa advised. She was still on her knees, ensuring all of her preparations were correct and would activate properly.

"But what about you? You're an igniter."

"A medical magician. I'm not going to fight."

"Then will you be with us in the mayor's office?"

"No, I'm going to be out there with my magic, protecting the fighters, bolstering their physical skills and healing them if necessary. It's going to be very dangerous."

Linda was quiet for an unusual moment. "Are you scared?"

Ilsa stood, brushed the dust from her robe and started off. "Come on."

"Well?" Linda called, rushing to catch up.

Ilsa wondered how this girl could be this naive, and envied that naivety. As she came abreast, Ilsa looked over and smiled a plaintive smile. "I'm terrified." A thought came to her. "But not as much for myself as for the ones I love. If I died protecting them, I think I could live with that. Or, I mean—"

The two women laughed. It felt good to laugh, like a bit of warmth on a cold, cold evening.

Linda nodded. "I get it. I guess I'd just be in the way."

"But you've helped already, more than once. All of us, when this is over, will have you to thank, Linda."

"You know, you're right," she replied, looking up at the sun angling in through the tree leaves, scattered beams of light glittering overhead. "I'm kind of a hero."

Ilsa didn't know if she'd have gone that far. . . .




* * *




Two hours could be an eternity wherein the sun hangs in the sky refusing to budge, where the hands on a spring-and-cog clock hold thorough study of each second before ticking on to the next.

These ensuing two hours were in total opposition to that leisure pace. Every time Daniel glanced at the sky, the sun had somehow darted several inches along. It urged him to rush, but duty insisted otherwise: if he was going to prepare these townspeople, however marginal the benefit of doing so might be, he was going to do it right.

Daniel had actually thought he might not have enough to say to fill up the two hours, but now that he was here he had so much to say that it felt like he needed another two. Not only was he teaching the townspeople what not to do and what to do, and how to do it, but he wanted to go through some drills to get an idea of what kind of people he was working with. Drifting there in the back of his mind was the conversation he'd had with Ilsa. He never fully acknowledged it, but was unable to entirely forget it. When the time came, would he side with Ilsa's compassionate perspective, or would he tell it exactly as he thought it had to be: don't display an undefended back to the opponent in an emotional, panicked attempt to save a fallen fellow.

He felt it could wait. There was still so much yet to be done.

To Daniel's surprise, the town was largely built up of nomads, ex-soldiers, journeymen of all sort and even some one-time bandits. A few knew rudimentary magics. Daniel began developing strategies for how to organize the people so that they could cover for one another. By the time the two hours were up, he had a respectable long-range, medium-range and close-range squad, a medic team, and scouts.

The last twenty minutes was spent in vigorous sparring, and there was no holding back, except in the weapons used, which were sticks made from the soft wood of a welper tree: it wouldn't break bones, but it stung like fire when it licked the flesh. The town square was filled with the yelps of sweaty, motivated men popping one another back and forth, getting mad, then laughing, but always earnest in their attacks.

When almost everyone had at least two thick red lines on their skin to prove their efforts, Daniel called for a cessation, and as they fell in line for his final words, he knew the time was coming.

"Gentlemen," he called. Beards and clean-shaven faces, young and old, looked on with respectful silence. Smiles, grins, smirks and mirth seemed to be on every face. It wasn't, as Daniel initially thought, flippancy: it was camaraderie. These men knew the dangers, but the opportunity to fight for their town, and for their loved ones, was a positive force.

"Gentlemen," Daniel said again. "Tomorrow is going to be a fight, but make no mistake, we are going to prevail."

He hadn't intended it, but the statement elicited a roar of approval, a cry of victory before the fight had ever started. Daniel waited for it to subside.

"I don't know which of us will fall, if any. I don't know the precise size of this horde, and I don't know how many we will be able to forestall with our traps that we've set up in the forest. But I know pernicites, and I know the sharpness of my blade and the skill of my team.

"Well, I knew all of that before, but now I know the strength of this town, the fierceness of its men, the passion of its women. I know, too, what you fight for."

Adam approached then, trying and failing to shove Felicity off of him. Daniel looked and got a distracted thumbs-up. Then Ilsa approached and stood flanking him at his left, with a look of warm encouragement upon her beautiful visage.

Daniel turned again to the crowd of men who seemed to be in even higher spirits than before. "Men, if you see someone fall, I know it will be tempting to rush to them, but I don't want anyone here presenting their backs to an enemy. If you can, try to get the attention of one of our medical magicians; if you can't do that, then try to get someone to help you move him from the fight.

"If you have the opportunity, get him yourself. I know that all of you will do what your conscience demands, I only ask that you please try to be intelligent about it. Now, go, be with your families tonight. Love them. Tomorrow, you'll be out here," he spread his arms, "fighting for them."

When Daniel turned, Ilsa had tears in her eyes. He hugged her.

"Prithee!" Daniel heard Felicity calling from yonder.

"Alright!" Adam replied. "Just get off of my face! Hug me normally!"

That night, the quartet might have slept poorly, but with all of the work they'd put in that day, hardly stopping for a moment mentally or physically, each of them fell asleep within ten minutes of reclining upon the inn-bed's sheets.