There were many things that Thoren was thankful for, right now the thing he was the most appreciative of was whomever had first invented the wheel. Followed shortly by whomever had had the brilliant idea of putting said wheel on a hunk of wood and calling it into a wagon. After that he would have to say that he was rather fond of the person who decided to cover said wagons with waterproof covers. At the top of the list of people he hated was the bastard that had made this particular wagon's wheels, namely the rickety left one that caused the whole thing to bounce from side to side as it turned.

  The horrible swaying and rocking aside, the fact Thoren could put his feet up and simply relax for a short while away from the cold rain was a much needed respite after the last couple days. It had been quite the surprise this morning when they had stumbled on the broken down wagon, the cursed left wheel had fallen off and the poor old man who called the wagon his own was in no shape to lift and set the wheel again. While Thoren and Fel had argued about whether they should offer aid, Phi had strolled up and repaired the cart without hesitating. Despite Phi’s harrowing appearance it would seem the old man- Roger was his name; was thrilled with the aid, caring little for Phi’s physical oddities. Roger was so overjoyed that he had insisted that he give the three of them a lift to Fulcrest as thanks. Fel had tried their usual glare and stoic attitude, but the old man had refused to take no for an answer.

  Phi was in the corner running his hands over the burnt and tattered remains of his cleric robes. “A shame, I will have to purchase some new clothing when we arrive at Fulcrest.” He muttered quietly to himself.

  Fel for their part was sitting near the open back of the wagon, looking out at the valley with a distant stare.

  Thoren scratched his head, stopping as he realized how filthy his hair was, the rain hadn’t helped at all. He wiped his hand on his robes as he felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. Gods willing, they would reach Fulcrest by the evening, and damnation take him he would not rest until he found somewhere to take a much needed bath. Looking around the wagon Thoren saw crates and boxes of produce, fruit, leathers and to his surprise even some fine cloth. Roger mentioned that he came to Fulcrest before the winter to trade on behalf of his village. Thoren ran a hand over the cloth, the quality was amazing.

  Glancing over at the dejected Phi, Thoren stood up and made his way to the canvas flap that separated the interior of the wagon from the boot where Roger sat. Pulling back the flap he saw Roger turn back, his wide straw hat sagged from the water running down it. He wore a tweed coat over a dress shirt, his white beard hanging well past his chest.

  Roger lifted a hand to his hat for a moment to lift the lip up to see Thoren. “Is there something you be needing lad?” He said with his odd sing-song accent that made his words sound like a rambling mess. It took Thoren a moment to parse his meaning.

  “That cloth in the back, where did you come by it?” Thoren asked.

  The old man puffed out his chest, whistling slightly as he beamed. “My wife, the light of me life, bless her heart, she be the one that made it! Can ya believe it?” Roger ran a finger under his nose as he chuckled.

  Thoren smiled back. “Well, you will have to give her my compliments, even back in the spire it would rival the work of our greatest tailors. Perhaps next year I will commission her for some new robes for myself.” He said with a small laugh.

  Roger’s brow furrowed. “Aye, fraid that might not be possible. Age has caught up with my darling as of late, her hands have almost no feeling left. This might yet be the last of her wares.”

  “I see.” Thoren fought to find the right words to comfort the man, his first instinct was to quote the teachings of the Court, but something told him that any verse or idiom he could come up with would feel hollow and unwelcome. “How much are you selling the cloth for?”

  A glimmer appeared in Roger’s eye. “Usually I can sell a crate for five gold coins, though with this being me wife’s last batch, I’ll be aiming for seven!”

  Thoren closed his eyes for a moment, trying to convert the gold coins that the neutral nations used into imperial chips. By his rough estimation it was around sixty four red chips per golden coin, that meant a crate went for around three hundred and twenty red chips, or three blue and twenty red chips. Reaching into his poach he pulled out a single chip, the chip itself was a rectangular piece of copper clad in a layer of nickel, a single band of gold was etched into the top. Like all chips it was roughly three inches in length and a quarter of an inch thick. Offering the chip towards Roger he continued. “I’ll give you a gold chip for one of the crates of cloth, and some thread while I’m at it.”

  Roger coughed in surprise. “Lad! What in the hells are you sayin? That chip in your hand is worth almost twenty gold coins! Listen, I don’t mind trading with you lot, you did me a kindness, but I’m no swindler! One of your blue chips would be more than enough-”

  Raising a hand Thoren continued. “I have recently heard that this very high end material will soon be discontinued, therefore I am happy to pay a premium for such a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He said with a sly grin, batting his eyes to be coy.

  Grumbling for a moment, Roger reached a shaking hand out and reverently took the small rectangular piece of metal. “Thank you, I won’t forget this.”

  “Pleasure doing business with you.” Thoren said as he let the cover fall back into place, making his way over to one of the crates of fabric. It didn’t take him long to find some nice thread. Now he could get to work.

  Thoren began cutting the fabric into the desired shapes and sizes. After a few moments he could feel Phi staring at him, obviously waiting to ask something. “Yes?” Thoren said without looking up from his work.

  Phi cocked his head. “How do miracles work?” He asked plainly.

  Putting down the scissors he was using for a moment, Thoren looked back at the man in confusion. “What?”

  Clearing his throat, Phi asked again. “How do miracles work?”

  “Uh. Why do you want to know about that?” Something in Thoren’s chest began to ache.

  “I was curious. There is little to do while we wait to arrive in Fulcrest, I thought it would be a nice way to pass the time.”

  Thoren leaned his head back as he tapped a finger. “Well.” He said slowly as he continued his work. “It is both very simple, and very complicated. All you have to do is beseech one of the Celestial Gods to grant you a piece of their power using incantations or chants. Usually in the form of psalms or verses from one of the holy scriptures.” He said, reciting the teachings of the spire that he himself had been taught from an early age.

  “Can anyone use the divine arts?”

  “Generally the only ones that can use miracles are the children of the Celestials. Though it isn’t unheard of for pure humans to be able to call on the divine. So long as one’s faith is strong enough.”

  Phi rubbed his chin. “So every time you cast a miracle, a Celestial has to approve of it?”

  Shaking his head slightly, Thoren continued. “Not every time. You first need to make a connection with one of the Gods, if they deem you worthy you can access their power any time you wish. Minor miracles use such an insignificant amount of power that most Gods don’t even notice it. If you try and cast something advanced, they might glance over to see what you need it for. If one were to try and cast something too extreme the God may deny the power needed of the miracle, or they may choose to sever their bond with the caster all together, or worse.” He shuddered at the thought of being completely cut off from the wellspring of holy power, the idea of never again experiencing the warmth of that connection was horrifying. Since the night before he had felt so disconnected from the All Mother’s power. It wasn’t completely gone, but something was interfering with his use of the divine arts. Perhaps the All Mother had sensed the inner turmoil in his heart.

  “Does that also apply to Avatars?” Phi asked.

  With a laugh Thoren retorted. “I thought you didn’t know anything about miracles? Yes, Avatar’s are the exception to the rule. Do you know much about them?”

  Shaking his head, Phi responded. “Not much, though I would love to know more about them.” He leaned forward like a neophyte eager to learn.

  “Well, an Avatar is the most trusted servant of a Celestial. Each God can only ever have a single Avatar. They don’t just have a connection to their patron God, they are literally given a portion of their God’s soul. They become nearly immortal, stronger than even a Minstella, and most importantly, they can cast miracles directly. When a normal person casts a miracle, there is a slight delay. First you have to form your desired miracle in your mind, then that request travels to the Celestial, it’s processed and if approved, the power travels back to the caster, and finally the miracle is cast. But an Avatar can simply will miracles into existence directly, just like the Gods themselves.”

  “That sounds incredibly powerful.” Phi said, his voice filled with wonder. “You said anyone could try and cast a miracle, does that mean… could I?” He said with a longing.

  Thoren sighed. “No. Hybrids are physically incapable of using miracles.”

  “I see.”

  The conversation was interrupted by the roar of distant engines, Fel stiffened up as they carefully peered out from the cover of the wagon towards the gray skies. A moment later a pair of small aircraft flew overhead, making their way southeast. Fel let out a breath they had been holding. Since early in the morning the trio had seen several of such patrols overhead. Thankfully it seemed like the airships were focusing on searching closer towards the Black Coast. Fel seemed to have been correct about the Court underestimating their travel speed, by the time it became obvious that their group was no longer in the Courts search perimeter it would be too late. By evening the trio would be in Fulcrest, one of the largest trading and travel hubs on the entire continent. From there, they could secure transport to anywhere in the continent with ease; even the Court would have a tough time picking up their trail from there.

  Thoren looked down, his hand shaking slightly. Now he was thinking about his own Empire as ‘The Court’. Why was he so determined to see this through to the end? There nothing stopping him from simply signaling to the aircrafts overhead; turning in Fel to the Celestials. If what he had heard from the Nightfather was accurate, there was something out there that posed a threat to the Empire and all those he had sworn to protect. Wasn’t it his duty to contact the Court?

  Ever since Thoren had arrived in the Black Coast something had felt wrong. He still had his faith in the Gods, but he was starting to wonder if the Court’s teachings were flawed. Blinking in surprise he leaned his head back. Just like that and I’ve started to call the Court’s doctrine into question. Have I already started down the path of heresy?

  Shaking the thoughts from his mind, Thoren continued working on the fabric, letting the work help him keep his thoughts at bay. He had cut the pieces into shapes and sizes that he felt satisfied with, now he simply had to sew his work together. Reaching into his bag he pulled out a series of round disks, each of which were around a quarter of an inch thick and two inches in diameter. The disks were magnetic, stuck together in pairs. Pulling the disks apart Thoren placed the disks on the corners of the fabric he was working on, the pairs snapped back together and pinched the fabric between them. With a gentle nudge from his gift he compelled the magnets to spread out and suspend themselves in the air.

  The fabric was now floating in front of Thoren, it wasn’t as nice as working at a table, but it made due in a pinch. He repeated the process of applying the magnetic disks to another of the pieces of fabric, this time overlapping a seam with the first piece.

  Now for the fun part.

  He grabbed the needle and thread, looping the thread and tying it in place. Reaching into his bag once more he grabbed a ring of metal, a section of the ring was missing and one end of the ring had a notched bit. Placing the ring on another bundle of thread he placed his hands in front of him. One hand was above the fabric, the other below. With a slight coaxing from his power he made the needle and ringed bundle float.

  With a breath he started rapidly moving the needle up and down, the piece of metal looked like a blur, with his other hand he caused the ring around the bundle of thread to spin quickly. It took a great deal of concentration and finesse, but soon he had the needle and ring in sync with one another, the needle coming down pulled at the bundle. Slowly, he pulled the pieces of fabric towards the blur of metal, allowing the needle to pierce both pieces of fabric and sewing them together as one.

  A smile crossed his face as Thoren looked down at his work. The act of controlling multiple moving parts in unison was something he had always loved during his training, and although unorthodox, this method had always been his favorite for honing his talents. The shock on his instructor's face when he had shown him this technique was a memory he would cherish for the rest of his days.

  Even Fel was looking over in surprise. “How in the world are you doing that?” They said, a hint of wonder in their voice.

  “There is a reason why I was given the rank of Secondus at such a young age.” Thoren beamed with pride as he spoke. A bead of sweat fell down his temple as he focused on keeping the rhythm.

  When he was finally done Thoren gave a gasp and stretched out his sore limbs. Shaking his numb fingers as he tried to get blood flowing again. Looking down, he couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear at his work. Fel had watched on and off, a genuine look of admiration on their face. Phi had politely abstained from asking any questions, the troubled look on his face showed he was still deep in thought about the subject of miracles and his inability to pursue the divine arts.

  Thoren tossed the finished work at Phi, who caught it awkwardly. “Here.” He said plainly.

  Phi looked taken aback. “I do not understand, what is this?” He sounded embarrassed as he felt the cloth. “I couldn’t possibly accept something like this!”

  “Phi, we can’t have you walking around in burnt tatters. I made it for you, don’t think too deeply on it.”

  Running his hands around the unfamiliar garb, Phi sheepishly stood up and removed the remains of his cleric's robes, turning around to place them down gently. Thoren let out a gasp at the sight of Phi’s back. The man’s flesh held several large barbed hooks that were sunk into his skin and muscle, the scaled skin was covered in deep wounds that looked raw.

  “By the saint’s!” Thoren cried as he leapt up and rushed over to Phi. Placing a hand above the wounds he summoned the power to try and heal the gruesome lacerations. The power poured through him but the wounds resisted, refusing to seal.

  Phi turned around slowly, placing a hand on Thoren’s. “It’s alright, they cannot be healed. But I’m thankful for your concern.” There was something profoundly saddening about the tone that Phi spoke with. Like he was speaking to a child about a simple fact of life and not some horrific, painful, miserable thing. “Each of these represents a time that the All Mother saw fit to spare my life, a reminder that I can still serve. One day I will be granted the privilege of giving my life in Her name.” He said with a slight smile.

  Thoren pulled his hand back. “Why would she do such a thing? Even for a creature like yourself that seems cruel.”

  “As you said yourself. I am an abomination; a twisted farce that flies in the face of Her vision for Her majestic children. Still, that even such a thing as myself can be given the chance to redeem myself in Her eyes, is more compassion than I could ever ask for!”

  There was a hollow feeling in Thoren’s gut. An emptiness. Phi was a monster, there was no doubt about that, but it still seemed unfair that his devotion and love would be answered with pain and mutilation.

  Turning away, Thoren sat back down in silence. Phi smiled as he put on the new outfit. The white robes were similar to a cassock, with the addition of a deep hood that connected with a high collar that obscured the whole of Phi’s face, aside from a few slits for air. The cassock hung low, covering almost the entirety of Phi’s body, which combined with the lack of eye holes in the hood was a rather intimidating look.

  Phi spun in place, stretching his body to see how well his mobility was. Fel gave a whistle of approval. “Well I’ll be. You mentioned that they gave you the rank of Secondus for your other skills, was it your tailoring?” They laughed slightly at their own joke.

  “Har har, very funny.” Thoren paused for a moment. “They gave me the rank for-” He was interrupted by the sound of shouting from outside.

  Each of the trio snapped to attention. Fel scanned the skies and their rear. Phi twitched as he used his extra senses to reach out. Thoren hurried to the front of the wagon, peeking through the crack in the cover to see the source of the commotion.

  “I don’t see any Celestial ships.” Fel chimed in quietly.

  Phi whispered. “There are eight adult humans moving closer towards us, many of them seem malnourished.”

  Thoren could see some of the approaching men and women, as Phi mentioned they looked gaunt and filthy. Their leader was a large man with a woodcutter's axe, the man was barking at Roger to raise his hands and get down from the boot of the wagon. Roger glanced back, making eye contact with Thoren the old man nodded with a placating smile.

  “There’s no need to shout, young man, my hearing ain’t gone yet.” Roger said with a smile as he got down and made his way towards the bandits.

  Fel moved to the other side of the canvas flap to watch. Phi was tense, ready to step in if the need arose.

  As Roger moved further away Thoren could no longer make out what was being said. Roger seemed to be jovial, trying to make banter with the bandits. Their leader shook with rage as he pointed at the wagon and whispered something. Roger for his part put up his hands to calm the bandit leader, pulling out some gold coins from a pouch and offering them to the large man. The bandit punched Roger in the face, knocking the old man down into the mud.

  Something changed in Phi and Fel’s demeanor, a switch was flipped, both were about to launch from the wagon and bring their unholy wraith down on these unsuspecting fools. Phi no doubt wanted to protect Roger, Fel most likely wanted the obstacle in their way removed by any means necessary. Either case would end poorly for those unfortunate souls outside. Thoren placed a hand on Fel and Phi’s shoulder, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll handle this.”

  Before they could protest, Thoren threw open the canvas flap and made his way onto the boot of the wagon. The bandits looked shocked as they readied their weapons. The leader was turning a shade of red that was usually reserved for specific fruits as he prepared to yell some threat or another at Thoren. Thoren for his part nonchalantly hopped down into the mud and walked towards the towering man. There was a part of him that was worried, he could hardly feel his connection to the holy power of the All Mother, but even without the divine arts he was more than capable of protecting himself.

  As he came closer one of the bandits lowered a makeshift spear towards him, the point of the rusty knife that acted as the spears ‘head’ was poking him in the arm slightly. Rolling his eyes he pushed the spear away as he continued towards Roger, reaching down to help the man back to his feet. “Are you alright?” Thoren asked, ignoring the growing frustration of the would-be bandits.

  Roger nodded, a trickle of blood running down his nose. “Aye lad, twas simply caught off guard by that half-assed cheapshot.” The old man glared at the bandit leader.

  “Why don’t I take over these negotiations, you go sit down. One of my companions will look you over to be safe.” Thoren said as he clapped the old man on the arm. Roger turned to walk away, the spear wielding bandit barked in anger as he tried to jab the tip of the spear towards Roger. Thoren scowled. Raising his hand he pulled at the metal in the spear as the knife flew towards him. The bandit yelped as the sudden twist of force caused him to fall, Thoren now held the spear in his hand as he turned back to the bandit leader.

  “Do you have any idea how close you came to dying just now?” Thoren asked calmly.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The bandit leader blinked in shock. “Are you out of your mind you snot nosed brat?! What are you talking about?” He screamed in rage, spittle flying from his lips.

  Thoren frowned as he reached up and wiped the excess saliva from his face. “I know the world is devolving, but toothbrushes still exist, you know. To answer your question, you see that wagon? Right now there are two very dangerous, unstoppable forces of destruction and carnage in that very wagon. If I had not stepped out here to talk to you they would have already ripped you all to pieces without breaking a sweat.”

  “Is that so?” The leader said slowly. With a jolt the man reached for Thoren and grabbed him around the neck, pulling a dagger up against his face as he knocked the spear from Thoren’s hands. “Now your friends can’t do shit!” He laughed.

  With a sigh Thoren continued. “Do you know what I am?” He asked, annoyed.

  The leader glanced down. “I dunno, some cleric or something. The fuck does it matter?”

  Thoren’s eye started to twitch. “I am a Secondus of the Celestial court-”

  “I don’t give two shits about you Imperial dogs! What are you going to do, pray at me?” He laughed with a booming voice as his henchmen joined in.

  “I would love to do that, but that isn’t in the cards at the moment. See, all of my fellow members of my rank rose to their positions through decades of faith and devotion to our cause. Do you know how I got to my rank at such an early age?”

  The leader scoffed. “I dunno, your parents are rich bastards that paid for it? Maybe your mother used her ‘assets’.” He chuckled.

  Thoren smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “I was given this rank because of my martial prowess.” Thoren hooked his foot on the fallen spear, kicking it into the air as he smashed his head into the bridge of the leader’s nose. Slipping from the now loose grapple Thoren grabbed the shoddy spear and proceeded to whirl around like a cyclone, erratically swinging the spear as he spun wildly. The blade howled through the air as he came to a sudden stop. The assembled bandits were frozen in place, looks of dread on their faces. As they looked at each other they noticed red slits on each of their necks, blood trickled down from the thin cuts.

  “Now, shall we discuss this like adults?” Thoren said with a smile.

  The bandits screamed in rage as they charged forward. With a sigh Thoren pulled with his gift, ripping the metal weapons from each of the bandits hands except for their leader. With a flick of his wrist, Thoren launched the weapons behind him. The leader continued his charge without hesitation, bringing his axe down in a clumsy strike. Twisting his feet in place Thoren dodged the axe with ease as he brought the butt of his spear into the temple of the large man. Thankfully the other bandit’s seemed too engrossed in watching the fight to try and interfere.

  The leader let out a groan as he stumbled back. Shaking his head, he took a cautious stance as he tried to regain the tempo of the fight. Thoren knew that if he took too long that Fel would burst from the wagon and beat the piss out of the bandits in the blink of an eye. He had a hunch about these bandits and if he was right he would prefer not to harm them too much.

  It was time to end this.

  Thoren tossed his spear away to his side, opening himself up completely. Despite his obvious weariness, the bandit leader leapt forward with a wide swing. Thoren crouched under the axe’s blade as he rushed close to the man. Channeling his bio electric energy into his fingertips he quickly struck either side of the man in the joints between his shoulders and his collarbone, the man’s arms went limp as he dropped the axe. His face turned pale as he looked down at Thoren. For his part, Thoren quickly spun around to the back of the large man as he delivered a swift kick to the back of the man’s knee, driving the bandit to the ground as he plunged another charged strike into the man’s spine.

  The bandit fell forward into the mud, his body now completely paralyzed. His face contorted into a look of pure panic as he began screaming and begging. Between the sobs and gasps the man asked for mercy. Thoren knelt down on his haunches as he cocked his head at the man. “Relax, I don’t plan on killing you. If I wanted that you would have already been dead. You’ll regain feeling in your limbs in a minute or so. For now, let's start over. I’m Thoren, what’s your name?” He asked politely.

  The man’s breathing was slowly returning to normal as he started to wiggle his fingers, his face changing to one of relief. “I’m sorry sir, my name is Gordon, we’ll do anything just please don’t hurt us!”

  “Gordon, what happened to your village?” Thoren asked, testing his hunch.

  “How did you know?” Gordon’s eyes were wide with fear.

  Thoren pointed to the pile of makeshift weapons. “You and your friends here are using farm tools as weapons. This time of year you should be back home trying to prepare for the coming winter, yet here you are, malnourished and trying to prey on the weak. My gut tells me that something happened to your village, leading you to do something drastic.”

  The other bandits were standing around sheepishly, their will to fight washed away by Thoren’s one sided display of violence. One of them muttered out loud. “We had to do something, the famine left us with nothing.”

  Gordon was slowly able to sit up, wiping the mud from his face with sluggish hands. “We have nothing for the winter, about a month ago the fields turned caustic for some unknown reason. Without the harvest we have no food, no money, we have nothing. All of our remaining supplies are being used to feed the children and the elderly, but it won’t last. Hunting has been harder and harder lately, we’re lucky if we get a rabbit.” There were tears stinging the man’s eyes as he spoke.

  “How far is your village from here?”

  “About three days on foot. Over that mountain there.” Gordon said as he pointed towards the east. “Truth is, we grew desperate sir, the mountain trail that leads our village will become impassable once the snow starts. Which could happen any day now.”

  Thoren ran a hand through his hair, stopping again as he felt the grease. “How many other people have you robbed Gordon?”

  Gordon looked away anxiously. “This was our first attempt honestly.” He muttered.

  “Well, the All Mother has smiled on you this day then. So far, your crimes are thankfully minor. Although I think you would all do well to offer Roger, the man you struck, an apology.”

  A voice from behind drew Thoren’s attention. “Well, considering the situation ya folks are in I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same in your shoes lad.” Roger said with a smile as he walked up. “Sorry to eavesdrop, but it sounds like ya be needing some supplies to get through the coming winter. Perhaps I could offer some of my wares to help you folks in your time of need!” He said, offering a hand to Gordon.

  The large man stood on uneasy legs. “Sir, we have nothing to offer you!”

  “Well, perhaps we could write up a contract. You folks could pay me at a later date when you are able to!” Roger clapped Gordon on the shoulder.

  “We don’t deserve such kindness after what we did to you sir! We should just return home.”

  Roger’s face grew dark. “So that’s it!? You turn around and limp home empty handed? What of your families, of those that you sought to provide for? Are you prepared for what coming home with nothing means? To watch as your family withers to naught but skin stretched taught over their bones? When your friends and loved ones die will you have the strength to bury them, or will you succumb to the gnawing hunger and fall into madness!” There was a haunted look on Roger’s face, his eyes staring through Gordon and into the depths of his own past.

  Thoren looked back to the wagon and saw Fel’s dissatisfied glare. Perhaps he should try and hurry this along. He reached into his pouch and pulled out five golden chips and handed them to Gordon. “Here, this should cover what you need.”

  Gordon was taken aback. “This is far too much sir!” He tried to hand the chips back but Thoren pushed his hand away.

  “You mentioned your fields have grown barren, yes? You’ll need this money in the spring to try and help your people find a new home. If Roger doesn’t have everything you need, you could also try to make it to Fulcrest and grab anything you’ll need for your village.” Thoren said, looking over the valley. “As a holy warrior of the Court I don’t have much need for money, truth is I’ve never had the chance to spend it for myself.”

  After another fifteen minutes the wagon was back on the road, bumping along towards Fulcrest. Though now it was noticeably lighter, Gordon and his fellow villagers had made the most of Thoren’s money to buy as much as they could. Thankfully they had a cart of their own to transport the goods back to their village. The would-be bandits had tried to pledge themselves to the All Mother and the Celestials above. Thoren had been quick to set them straight that he had helped them for his own beliefs and not in an attempt to convert them.

  The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. Before long the road shifted to paved stones, the valley ended as the landscape flattened out, the sparse buildings or huts were replaced by stables and farms. In the distance Fulcrest could be seen in all of its glory. The free city was one of the largest trade hubs in the world, the city itself was divided into three districts, each separated by the two great rivers that converged before flowing into the ocean. On each of the riversbanks were the business district and the residential district, each with their own sprawling cityscapes and ports. In the middle of the great rivers was the third district, the royal district, an island of gold and stone where the aristocrats called home. It was from there that King Rowen the Lionhearted oversaw the whole of the city. The city's separate districts were connected by three huge bridges that spanned the rivers below.

  The city of Fulcrest had immense political power due to its location; the two great rivers that converged here, Proxima minor and Proxima Major, ran the whole of the continent. The elder and younger sister as they had come to be called. The Empire and the Cabal needed the trade routes offered by Fulcrest to function, it was a delicate dance that had been respected even during the chaotic wars of the past. While Fulcrest had no large standing military of its own, the treaties in place meant that any hostile action taken against it would be met with the combined might of the Empire and the Cabal.

  The sun was starting to set as the wagon made its way towards the city gates of the residential district. The trio had considered making their way on foot, or trying to sneak in, but since Fulcrest was a neutral city, they decided to forgo the caution, plus, if they wanted to secure travel from here it was vital that they have the proper identification from the city guards.

  Thoren still had a lump in his throat as they pulled up to the line to enter the city. He felt a growing anxiousness everytime the wagon crept forward. Soon he heard the voices of the city guard calling for Roger to pull up. Roger could be heard joking with the guard, whom he seemed to recognize. The guard laughed with Roger as he asked him the standard questions. Another of the guards looked into the wagon from the back, holding a lantern up to see inside. The guard looked over the trio. “Evening, would you mind stepping outside of the wagon for a moment while we go over your entry paperwork.”

  Fel, Phi and Thoren made their way outside, the guard turned a bit pale as Phi and Fel towered over them. Clearing his throat he continued. “Uh, do you folks have any identification papers on you?” The man stammered slightly.

  Phi raised a hand. “I’m afraid my papers expired some time ago.” He said in his usual soft cadence, the guard seemed surprised at the gentle tone that Phi spoke with.

  Fel reached into their pocket and pulled out a sealed letter with the Ebontide sigil on it. Handing it to the man they said. “We are on official business on behalf of the Black Coast, this letter should suffice as identification for the three of us.”

  The guard took the letter and opened it, quickly skimming the letter his eyes went wide. “I’m afraid this could take awhile to authenticate, would you three be willing to wait in the gatehouse while we get this sorted out?”

  “I understand.” Fel said, gesturing for the man to lead the way. The guard turned and walked the three of them towards the gatehouse. As the trio passed Roger they gave him their thanks for the ride and wished him well.

  Thoren leaned over to Fel as they walked behind the guard. “The hells was on that letter?” He whispered.

  Fel sighed. “Just calling in an old favor.”

  Over the next three hours a total of six scribes, three authenticators, and what looked like a captain of some sort all made their way into the gatehouse to look at the letter and each time they responded with ‘I have to grab my supervisor.’ When the door opened again, Thoren was standing up as he readied to chew into whomever entered the room next. He stopped half way as he saw one of the most beautiful women he had ever laid eyes on walk in the room. She was tall and thin, with long scarlet hair, she wore a rather simplistic dress with a shawl pulled around her. If Thoren had to guess the woman was in her early thirties. As the woman stormed into the room she cast her shining blue eyes down at Fel. The eyes were a dead give away, she was a child of Seru. A pair of guards in platemail took position by the door as well.

  “What is your business here?” The woman demanded, her cold blue eyes swirled with power.

  Fel pulled out the letter and held it out, the woman snatched the letter and crumpled it without looking. “I know what it says! I’ve had it read back to me nearly a dozen times now. I want to know what you are doing here!?” There was a bitterness to the woman's voice that caused a shiver to run down Thoren’s spine.

  Standing at their full height, Fel towered over the nobel woman. “If you know what it says, then you know I don’t have to tell you anything more.” Their voice was unwavering, their eyes unblinking.

  Despite the terrifying visage of Fel, the woman didn’t falter. “That little glare of yours won’t work on me. You come to our city claiming to call in some favor from nearly eight hundred years ago and expect us to bend over backwards to accommodate. This is an overreach on your part, when the King-” The woman stopped as the door swung open, a middle aged man in a silk tunic peered in.

  “There you are Samantha, I see you beat me to our guests.” The man had a warm smile as he entered the room.

  Fel bowed slightly.

  Phi looked at the old man and cocked his head.

  Samantha turned to the older man. “My lord, I was hoping to take care of this on your behalf. You should be in bed resting.”

  The man walked up and looked over the trio. “I heard there was a commotion at the gate and figured I would handle it personally.” He said with a smile as he chuckled. The man turned to Samantha as he looked at the crumpled letter in her hands. She reluctantly handed the letter to him who in turn unfolded the letter and read aloud. “I owe you my life, should the need arise simply show this letter to my descendants and I vow that they will do their utmost to repay the debt that is owed. Signed, Queen Beatrice the second, in the thirty fifth year of the second age.” He stared at the letter for a long moment.

  “I am cashing in the debt that was owed.” Fel said.

  Samantha shot daggers at Fel. The lord for his part simply folded the letter and gently tapped it against his hand. “What would that mean for us exactly?” He asked.

  Fel looked the lord in the eye. “I require private lodging for myself and my companions, as well as food and supplies while we stay in your city. We ask for your discretion if anyone comes asking for us. We will also need safe transport when we leave the city.”

  The nobleman’s eyes grew serious. “On paper that isn’t much, aside from the part where you’re asking us to lie to the Celestial Court on your behalf. Siding against them in a public fashion. Such an action could put our nation at risk.” He said as he stared at Fel. “All for some favor from hundreds of years ago, do you have anything other than a piece of paper to prove your claim? I understand that our nations are close, but this is too much to simply barge in and make such demands.”

  Phi stepped towards the lord, towering over him as Phi lowered his head slightly.

  The nobleman looked up at Phi and raised his eyebrow. “May I help you?”

  “You’re going to die.” Phi said sadly.

  The faces of Samantha and the lord twisted in fear and shock. The guards in the room leapt forward, their platemail armor clanking as they ran, thrusting their spears towards the unmoving Phi. Thoren held out his hand as he magnetized the guards armor, the plates that made up their suits of armor seized in place as the guards fell to the ground trapped in their own unmoving platemail.

  “Phi, you can’t just walk up to someone and tell them they're going to die.” Thoren spoke like a tired parent. “Why would you say such a thing?”

  Phi looked at the guards then back to the grimacing lord. “I’m sorry. But you have masses forming in your lungs. They appear to be cancerous.” There was a genuine sorrow to his voice as he broke the terrible news.

  Samantha stepped forward. “What nonsense is this? You come here demanding outlandish favors then make ridiculous claims when you don’t get your way?” She shouted.

  “Have you had trouble breathing as of late? Or perhaps passing blood when you use the bathroom?” Phi asked the lord.

  “Are you-” Samantha started but was quickly rebuked by the lord holding a hand up.

  The lord spoke softly, his face growing pale. “My physician said it was merely a viral infection. Gods above and below, are you sure?” Trailing off as he spoke.

  Thoren took the chance to let the guards up, walking around to offer them a hand to their feet and apologizing for the incident; and for Phi’s lack of tact. The men grumbled but seemed uninjured. Phi pulled back his hood, revealing his visage. The locals in the room gasped in surprise, the guards flexed as they tried to bring their weapons up but a firm hand on their shoulders from Thoren made them understand the futility of such an action.

  Phi turned his unblinking, milky white eyes towards the lord. “You broke your left wrist, it healed but the cast was improperly shaped and the bone shifted slightly. One of your ribs on the same side has had a fracture at one point. You are missing your appendix as well.” The lord looked at Phi with horror. “I can see inside living beings, I can see the cancer in your chest. I am sorry to tell you.” His face shifted to something close to sorrow. As close as Phi’s face could anyways.

  “You are correct about my old injuries. Even the one the public was never informed of. While I am thankful you told me, this doesn’t change the matter at hand. The subject of this mysterious favor.” The lord seemed to be taking the terrible news well, or perhaps the reality of the situation had not hit him yet.

  Fel stepped forward again. “You wanted proof, yes?” They reached into their bag and pulled out a necklace, tossing it to the lord.

  As the nobleman looked down at the necklace his jaw dropped slightly. When he spoke his voice was monotone as he turned to leave. “Samantha, see to it that they are given anything they need.”

  Samantha blinked in surprise but didn’t question it, instead she turned to face Fel again. “Why is it that every time someone from the Black Coast shows up, my life is made all the harder.” She groaned. “I’ll find you somewhere to stay tonight, we can discuss your other demands tomorrow. Luck be with me, I need a drink.” She grumbled as she stormed out of the room in a huff, her guards following after her.

  Thoren scoffed. “Who was that guy? He didn’t even introduce himself.”

  Fel smirked. “That was Rowen the Lionhearted, King of Fulcrest.”

  “Oh. Shit.”

  Sure enough, within the hour the trio was shown to a small house in the area by one of Samantha’s aid’s. The sign that listed the building for sale was being removed as they walked in the door. Soon they were given their privacy and each retired to their own room. Thoren was filled with more and more questions about Fel and their history, but by now he realized that he wouldn’t get any satisfying answers from them. Though now that they had made it to Fulcrest, he would finally get an idea of where they were heading and maybe why.

  As he entered the small room on the second floor he found what he had been looking for. A proper bath.

  ◆◆◆

  Samantha walked into the private chambers of her king. Rowen sat in his chair with a glass of whisky, slowly spinning the liquid in his cup as he stared into the fireplace. The king had a haunted look on his face as he stared into the dancing flames. Before she could speak Rowen said aloud. “The doctors confirmed the masses in my lungs, chances are I will have to go to the imperial capital in the hopes of treatment.” He said, gutted.

  “I’m sorry.” Samantha said as she walked to the side of her king, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. Rowen reached up with his free hand and held her hand, gently squeezing as he trembled.

  “Have you considered my proposal?” He whispered.

  Sighing, Samantha lowered her head. “I…” She struggled to form the words that she felt in her heart.

  “You still love your first husband too much to accept? Or perhaps it’s the age gap? Samantha, if I die-” He was cut off by Samantha pulling her hand back.

  “You’ll pull through! You have too!” She sobbed as she wiped her eyes.

  Rowen stood from his chair. “I have no heir Sam, when I die-” He held a hand up to stop Sam from cutting him off again. “-When I die, there is no one to take the throne. Those vultures in the guilds and the other nobles will descend, and in their endless feud for the crown they will tear the city we built together apart stone by stone. I’m not asking you to love me Sam, I just want you and Sadrina to both be safe when I’m gone. Without the power of the crown, there is nothing stopping that lunatic from bribing or stealing you both back to Seru!” He put a hand on Samantha’s shoulder, his eyes were filled with guilt.

  She grabbed Rowen’s hand and pressed it to her cheek. “I do love you Rowen, so does Sadrina, you’ve helped raise her into a fine person. But I can’t be the wife you want, I can’t forget about him.” Tears fell down her face as she spoke.

  Nodding slowly, Rowen swallowed a lump in his throat.

  “But.” Samantha continued. “You’re right, we worked too hard to have Fulcrest be brought to ruin by those jackals. I will think about it, when you return I will have an answer for you.”

  Rowen smiled meekly. “Thank you, I know it isn’t an easy choice to make.” He cleared his throat as he gestured towards the far wall. “Now come, there is something else I want to show you.” He led Samantha away from the fire to a wall with the royal portraits of each of the previous rulers of Fulcrest. Pointing up at the portrait of the late Queen Beatrice the second he spoke. “The necklace that the stranger gave me earlier is the matching set of my own necklace. For centuries my family had thought it was lost, but now it’s been returned out of the blue. Notice anything familiar?” He said as he nodded to the painting.

  Samantha looked up at the painting. It was a group piece, the Queen sat on the throne with her most trusted advisors on her sides. There on her left was a familiar face, unnaturally tall, white unblemished hair framing a pale face that was both handsome and beautiful. They had the exact same glare that the stranger from the Black Coast had earlier this evening. This was more than just a passing resemblance. “Gods above and below. Not again.” She said as she held a hand to her mouth.

  “Again?”

  Wasting no time, Samantha ran to her own chambers next door and frantically looked through her albums of photos. She snatched one of them and ran back to Rowen. He looked at the aged photo in confusion. Samantha held the photo up next to the stranger in the portrait.

  Rowen leaned forward, squinting as he tried to see what Samantha was pointing out. “Is that from when you and Sadrina first came to Fulcrest? What does a photo from fifty years ago have to do with…” He stopped as he finally noticed. “Old Gods take me… Is that?” He trailed off as he stared.

  The photo was of Sadrina playing with her friends at the daycare in Fulcrest when she was young. There in the background was a scrawny teenager that looked out of place, they had sickly pale skin with white hair that framed a face that was both beautiful and handsome. A familiar glare was leveled towards the camera. The same glare that the portrait had, the same glare that the stranger had.

  The pair looked at each other slowly. A sense of dread fell on them as they tried to understand what was happening, and what they just let into their city.