Rellen was pleased with Tavyn’s disguise. He’d dyed his hair brown and paid a local zokurios who specialized in altering appearances. The goatee was gone, and he now had a thick mustache and heavy sideburns. He’d also braided his hair back into a long queue he’d wrapped around his neck. He had an eye patch over his left eye and had changed into rough-looking, gray garments and a black cloak that spoke of someone who had little means and didn’t care. The lifeweaver had also darkened his skin somewhat, so he looked like he’d come from the southern parts of Pelinon where the sun shone more often. Rellen hadn’t even recognized him at first.

  Mygal’s transformation was even more dramatic. He’d shaved his head completely. The lifeweaver had forced his beard to grow out into a thick, bushy thing that added at least ten years to his appearance. She had also darkened his scalp, so it matched the rest of his skin. He now wore leathers of deep green, had a matching, leather cap, and a dark gray cloak.

  “You can release yourself any time, like we already told you,” Miranda said over the rain, and there was no missing the amusement in her voice. She secured them around Mygal’s wrists. He too looked a bit uncomfortable but hadn’t argued when Miranda had explained her plan. “Besides, I’m betting it’s not the first time you’ve worn shackles.”

  Rellen got an impatient look on his face. “You know perfectly well we can’t have anyone see you riding without them.”

  Tavyn made a show of looking up and down the empty, rain-soaked cobblestone path. “Who’s going to see?”

  “What do you care?” Rellen asked. “You’re getting paid.”

  “I didn’t factor in wearing shackles for the foreseeable future. If I had known, I probably would have held out for more coin.”

  “Just shut up and hold your hands out,” Rellen said.

  “Yes, sir,” Tavyn grumbled and raised them.

  “Thank you,” Rellen said. He pulled the cuff of Tavyn’s right glove down and secured the first shackle. It would lock into place, but a quick jerk would release it. He then pulled back the cuff of Tavyn’s left glove, exposing a bracelet. It was simple band of dark metal with a leafy vine pattern etched into its surface. A large but simple onyx was set into a thick ring of platinum. It was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship, and as he secured the shackle just above it, he noticed the signature mark of Ionar Tomai on either side, near the clasp. “Nice bracelet,” he said, “where’d you get it?”

  “This?” Tavyn held up his wrist and looked at it. “From my father,” he said a bit fondly. “I always admired it, so when he passed, he bequeathed it to me.”

  “I hope the shackles don’t scratch it up.”

  “I’m not worried. It’s supposed to be heavily enchanted, although I never found out how.”

  The response seemed a little odd—maybe even a little hurried—but Rellen couldn’t quite put his finger on what bothered him about it. He shook his head and focused on the task at hand.

  “Now the weapons,” he said. “Miranda, you take Mygal’s. I’ll carry Tavyn’s.”

  “I’m not happy about that either,” Tavyn said.

  “Like Miranda said, if anything comes at us, you drop those shackles, and we’ll get them to you in a hurry. Don’t worry.”

  Tavyn let out a long breath but said nothing.

  Rellen looked them over and gave a satisfied nod. “Let’s get moving,” he said. “Daylight is burning, and we have a long way to go.”

  They set off, this time two-by-two, with Miranda beside him and their “prisoners” a short distance behind.

  As the rain came down and filled the air with its drone of water on stone, horse, and rider, Rellen glanced at Miranda. In a softer voice, he said, “I figure he’ll complain the whole way about the shackles, but I think you came up with a good strategy.”

  “Thank you,” Miranda replied.

  “There’s something I want to get clear, though.”

  “And that is?”

  “This whole thing involves the Black Wyrm Clan and the Nissrans. And now it seems someone else may be driving it. I’m fairly certain that it all has to do with whatever they took from the duke. There’s a lot more going on here than just murdering nobility. As a Guardian, I need knowledge right now, more than just roping in Javyk Sukari so you can collect a bounty. I need to find out why they killed the duke, what they took, and why they took it. That’s more important than anything else, alright?”

  “Don’t worry,” Miranda said. “While we’re out here, I work for you, and I won’t forget that, not even for two hundred dakkaris. A blind man could see this is a pretty deep Vuoda hole you’re into.”

  “I think I’d rather dig into the holes of an entire clan of Bhirtas’Vuoda, neck deep in river muck and fighting them every step of the way. Angry water goblins are nothing compared to the Nissrans, and at least I’d know what I was dealing with.”

  She looked at him thoughtfully. “Are they really that bad?”

  “Crazed, blood-thirsty butchers is the only way to describe them, and I’ve only dealt with them once. My brother says that nests of them are popping up all over.”

  “What are they after?”

  “We have no idea. It’s been a hundred years since the Nissrans have been more than a nuisance. Usually, it’s just small groups here and there that get wiped out pretty quickly. This feels different. Bigger and maybe more organized. It seemed clear the ones I dealt with in Calamath wanted to replace the baron with one of their own.”

  “That doesn’t bode well,” Miranda said.

  “No, it doesn’t.” Rellen shook his head. “And if they’re trying the same thing in other places, it means they have a much larger plan than just gutting people and drinking their blood.”

  Miranda was silent for a while. “And you think Dancer and maybe this Javyk fellow are involved with the Nissrans.”

  “That seems to be the case.”

  “Then you need to infiltrate them the way they tried to infiltrate Calamath, and I think I know a way.”

  “How?” Rellen asked. He had some ideas on what they would do once they caught up with the caravan, but he wanted her input. Miranda could be fiendishly devious when she wanted to be.

  “Well, travelling as bounty hunters with our prisoners in shackles gives us a good cover story. We’re delivering them someplace to the south, and we can be vague about it, but that’s not enough to get you in with Javyk and Dancer.”

  “How do we do it then?” Rellen asked.

  “We travel as a married bounty hunter team—one that fights a lot.”

  Rellen gave her a confused look. “How will that help?”

  “When we join the caravan, we link in near Javyk and Dancer. If we fight, loud and nasty for everyone to hear, then you’ll have a reason to storm off. It seems to me that men like to commiserate over shrewish wives, whether you’re married or not. It’s in your blood.” She gave him a patient smile that only a woman could fully understand.

  Rellen nodded his head. “That’s good. If the two of us are at odds, I may be able to create an opportunity to embed myself with them. I’d have to play it by ear—maybe even open the door to joining the Nissrans or even betraying you for the money. After all, who doesn’t like a little extra coin?”

  * * *

  The sun had reappeared, peeking out from thick, swollen clouds that lazily trundled by overhead. Xilly now reclined against Shaddeth’s neck, her haunches perched against the saddle horn. There was only about thirty minutes of daylight left, but the rain had, thankfully, stopped. They’d passed a wide, open field beside the highway where the caravan had stopped several nights earlier. It was probably about ten miles ahead of them by now.

  Rellen eyed the edge of the forest up ahead and spotted another open area, much smaller than the first. Such rest areas were normal along the King’s Highway, providing a relatively safe camp site for travelers to bed down for the night. It was generally unwise to camp in the thick forests that lined most of the King’s Highway. The forest gave predators easy cover, and any buffer was better than none between travelers and the edge of the trees. The most common hunters were vellish. They were easily the deadliest predator in the forest. Usually likened to cats because of the shape of their bodies and heads, it was a loose comparison at best, and only if one imagined a four-hundred-pound cat stepping out of the absolute worst, hellish nightmare possible.

  Adults were usually about twelve feet long from nose to tail, with six fiercely clawed paws, a mouth full of sharp, bone-crushing teeth, and a prehensile tail barbed with a venomous stinger. They usually hunted in twos and threes, coming in at their prey from multiple angles. The worst part was that they had a strange hypnotic power. If a vellish could stare into its prey’s eyes, even for a few heartbeats, it caused the prey to freeze or even fall over. Once that happened, one of their companions came in for the kill from the side or the rear.

  “We’ll camp up there,” Rellen said, pointing toward the clearing. On a whim, he pulled out the Eye of Tuluum and held it before him, wondering what it might do. It leaned forward and to the left, pointing southeast at a steep angle. He glanced in that direction, peering into the forest. “What’s out there, you little bastard?” he said softly.

  “What did you say?” Miranda said, turning his way.

  “Oh, nothing,” Rellen replied, slipping the Eye beneath his tunic. “Just playing around, actually.”

  “What was that?”

  “It’s called the Eye of Tuluum. It’s an artifact of some kind. I’ve been using it to guide me toward trouble on my Guardian patrols, but to be honest, the thing is a mystery to me.”

  “How long have you had it?”

  “A few months. I found it in a nuraghi, actually.”

  “You should be careful with that thing, then. Good rarely comes from a nuraghi.”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Rellen patted the hilts of his falchions. “I got these in a nuraghi. They’ve served me well for years.”

  “True enough, but I wouldn’t set foot in a nuraghi if you paid me.”

  Rellen grinned. “I bet you would if there was enough coin in it.”

  Miranda tried not to smile and failed. “You’re probably right.”

  They reached the clearing and led their horses off the cobblestone road. The grass was wet, the ground soft. They quickly dismounted and found a wide, flat area devoid of rocks.

  Rellen said, “You two tend to the horses, and we’ll go try and find at least partially dry wood for a fire.”

  Tavyn and Mygal nodded, releasing their shackles so they could work more easily. Rellen and Miranda each drew a blade and set off for the trees. They entered the forest, searching for any deadfall they could use for a fire.

  “Go hunting, little one,” Rellen said, turning to Xilly.

  I’ll stay close by, she replied as she leapt from his shoulder and flapped off into the forest.

  “She’s remarkable,” Miranda said.

  “She really is.” Rellen stepped over a log too large to be useful. “Do me a favor. Keep an eye on Tavyn, would you?”

  “Of course.” Miranda gave him a look like he was stating the obvious. “You know I keep an eye on anyone I’ve just met. What do you want me to look for?”

  “I can’t put my finger on it. Maybe it’s just nerves after the whole Calamath Nissra thing.” He turned and faced her, a serious look on his face. “And if you start to think I’m getting paranoid, say so. Alright?”

  “As if I wouldn’t,” she said, her head cocked to the side.

  “I knew I could count on you. That’s why I asked Corwyk to track you down.” Then it hit him. “I think I know what’s been bothering me.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Coincidence.”

  “What do you mean? Not that I believe in them.”

  “Exactly.” The more Rellen thought about it, the more it made sense. “Of all the people in Svennival who could have tracked you down, and I’m talking overnight, it was the one person who had led Mygal to Dancer.”

  “I see what you mean,” she said. She looked thoughtful for a bit as they continued their search. “I could argue it either way.” She turned to face him. “Sure, it’s a coincidence, but while I’ve never worked with Tavyn, I know of him. As far as I know, he is what he seems to be—an information broker. He was in the right place at the right time, and he’d already been working with Mygal. I like Mygal by the way. He’s quiet. Friendly.”

  Rellen chuckled. “Don’t be surprised if he makes a pass at you—and keep your guard up. He’s an erkurios.”

  “You know nothing like that would work with me—at least not with a man.”

  “I know that, but he doesn’t.” Rellen picked up a chunk of solid-looking wood a couple feet long and thick enough to burn for a while. “And if he does try, don’t kill him. I’ve actually started to like him…” he let his voice trail off.

  “You’re not letting someone in past that iron-clad guard of yours, are you?” She had a curious look in her eye. “I thought you’d sworn you’d never do that again.”

  “I did.” Rellen paused. “I think he’ll make a decent Guardian with a little time and seasoning. I’m mentoring him.”

  “It sounds like you are letting someone in,” she said.

  “Maybe I’ve grown older.”

  “Maybe,” she said a bit dubiously.

  “Alright,” Rellen said, sensing she was calling him on it. “Maybe that conversation I had with Stevar hit me harder than I thought—for the better.”

  “You’ve always been too guarded,” she said. “I bet you can count your friends, and I mean real ones, on one hand. The rest are just people you like to drink with.”

  She knew him well. Not as well as his brother, but well enough. He knew she was right. What she didn’t know was that the only two people he truly trusted was her and his brother. Rellen let out a long breath.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  “Maybe.” She gave him a wink. “Let’s get back to it. I want to be sitting in front of a fire before it gets too dark. The vellish in this area get pretty big, although they tend to avoid the highway.”

  “Right,” Rellen said, and went looking for more wood.

  * * *

  A fire crackled and popped, the damp wood releasing a good deal of white smoke and steam as it burned. Rellen and Mygal both sent brief reports to the king, and then they sat down to dinner. Their meal consisted of hard tack and jerky, which went down quickly and with a good deal of water. All the while, Tavyn and Mygal traded stories of what it was like growing up in the underbelly of one of Pelinon’s larger cities.

  It became almost a contest between the two of them: who could come up with the most ridiculous or brutal story? Who was the most dangerous criminal they’d ever seen and the most corrupt constable? Rellen listened with keen interest.

  He’d heard stories like them before. Many of the people he’d served with in the military came from the rougher or less-fortunate places across the kingdom. As he listened, that same old feeling hit him… a feeling of guilt, even helplessness. He’d served with those people… bled with them, and watched far too many die. Early on, as an officer, he’d done his best to protect them. As the deaths stacked up, he’d put in a formal request to join the scouts. On his own, he didn’t have to carry the burden of keeping them alive or the guilt when he couldn’t.

  Eventually, the clouds gave way enough to expose large swaths of starry sky. The stories dissipated with them, and an easy silence settled around the campfire. It wasn’t long before Mygal reached into his saddlebags and broke out a wooden flute. Without a care in the world, he began playing a tawdry tavern song, and as the notes flowed out into the forest, Tavyn began to sing along. A few verses in, even Miranda began singing along, a smile upon her face.

  His three companions ran through a few more drinking songs, and then Mygal started in on a ballad Rellen had never heard before. It was soft and soothing, and as the music flowed over them, Xilly fluttered in out of the darkness and landed on the ground beside him. Her belly looked like she’d eaten her fill. She yawned, crawled into his lap, and curled up. Rellen stroked her back a few times, letting his fingers run over the bony ridge that ran from the crest of her head, down along her back, and over her tail.

  “Where did you get her?” Miranda asked.

  “A place you never heard of,” Rellen said. “Between Calamath and Sabatar.” He glanced down at Xilly. “And she wasn’t the only remarkable thing about that very unremarkable village.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I met an actual Strakhanni—the old warriors of legend out of the mountains. I couldn’t believe my eyes.”

  Miranda gave him a dubious look. “You’re joking.”

  “I’m not. I saw the tattoos and what they could do. He fought a wall of brigands, and as he did, the tattoos lifted off his body and fought with him.”

  “They were supposed to have died out a hundred years ago.”

  “He was the last one, apparently,” Rellen said. “In the end, he faced the entire gang and released the magic in those tattoos all at once. It consumed him and them.” Rellen scratched beneath Xilly’s chin. “Xilly was originally bonded to him, but she’s been with me ever since.”

  “When was that?”

  “About a month and a half ago, but I feel like she’s been with me forever.”

  Xilly jerked up and went rigid, her tail straight out and her back arched as she sniffed the air.

  Rellen! Her urgent call shook his mind. Vellish!

  “Everyone up!” Rellen shouted as he rolled to his feet. He came up with a falchion in his hand. Xilly leapt away and flapped up into the darkness.

  “What is it?” Miranda said, yanking the filigreed silver saber from its sheath.

  Mygal and Tavyn both jumped up and drew their weapons.

  “We’re being stalked,” Rellen said. “Xilly says there’s vellish out there.” He peered out into the darkness that lay beyond the edge of the weak campfire light. He could just make out the rumps of all four horses, but they seemed to be standing completely still. “The horses are paralyzed, otherwise Shaddeth would have done something by now.” Something padded across the grass to his left, away from the road. “Backs to the campfire!” he shouted. “Keep your eyes focused on the stinger.” He reached for one of his poison gas vials and cursed. He’d used the last one in the cemetery. He peered into the darkness, trying to see the monsters that now stalked them. A shadowy shape slipped past, just at the edge of the firelight.