Nar’zl perched himself in the crook of an oak bough. With a clear view of the perimeter and the box, he shimmied back against the trunk. His pupilless black voids scanned the hillside. Long tail flicking idly against the tree’s rough bark, he awaited Mistress’s arrival. The horde had finally found the stone without further interruption from the orange-skinned fleshers or their pet bear. She had seen to that, sending the Sklir to kill every single one of them and destroy their home following his report of their meddling. Admittedly, he didn’t understand all the fuss. It was just a plain grey rock with a few crystals, likely too brittle to survive a good head bashing. Regardless, she would be pleased, which meant he would receive less punishment.

  A howl echoed from across the clearing, drawing his attention. Immediately joined by several others, a gentle tremor twitched through his tree before a wave of canine fleshers burst over the hill. He rose to a crouching stance, hind legs taut, tail thrashing as he poised to spring. He yearned to engage the dogs, his fangs aching for flesh, but the magical command laid upon him by his Mistress was absolute. It was more than an order; it was a woven spell, physically restraining his demonic instincts, holding him from a direct attack. The quasit stomped his front feet on the wooden perch in frustration, gaze riveted to the unfolding chaos.

  The lives of the Sklir were expendable, but Mistress instructed him to help them protect the box at all costs. The quasit weighed his options. He could throw himself into the fray, distracting the canines. He was good at that, and the dogs seemed to wield no magic, but a single strike from one of their spears would mean his end. He glanced at the box, still safe and well-guarded, out of the fleshers’ reach. Unfortunately, it was too heavy for him, or he could grab it, turn invisible, and hide until Mistress arrived. No, his best option was to sit tight and hope the demons could repel the horde. If they lost, he could discreetly follow the box so Mistress could retrieve it later.

  A flash of green energy to his right, away from the battle, caught his attention. What’s this? Magic? A large flesher bird took flight, hurriedly rising into the canopy, away from the hillside. A twinge of uncertainty prickled in his tiny demon gut. Nar’zl made his choice. He could easily find the loud canines later if, somehow, they got the box. The quasit shape-shifted into a bat, turned himself invisible, and took off after the magical bird.

  Lunish flared her wings, pitching upward to get above the trees. The open air buffeted her face, rippling the soft downy feathers. Her eyes narrowed against the breeze, wingbeats shifting to long, powerful strokes, pushing her back toward the abbey. A warm tingle spread through her avian body. Her beak lifted triumphantly. I wonder if owls can smile? The elation evaporated when Tsuta’s voice whispered in her head.

  Watch out. We think the familiar is after you. He can fly. Don’t lead him back to the abbey. Good luck!

  Lunish rotated her head over her shoulder, scanning the treetops in all directions. Nothing. Maybe they were mistaken. She maintained course and speed, tuning her superior hearing into the sounds around her. The low whistle of the air, streaming through her wings. The sigh of the breeze, the whispering treetops. All normal. Wait. What was that? She redoubled her concentration. Out of place up here and not far away, an occasional high-pitched squeak was almost drowned out in the ambient, white noise.

  She looked back again, still nothing. Am I imagining it? No, there it is again. The same faint squeak, almost like…a bat…an invisible bat! Her owl heart began to race. What if it is the familiar? Outrun him? Fight him? First, she needed to be sure.

  Spying a dense stand of maple, Lunish banked right and went into a glide, her talons brushing the tops of the crimson leaves. At the center of the thicket, she retracted her neck and pitched down hard, diving through the uppermost branches. This time, there was no mistake. Something else had crashed through the treetops behind her, no more than twenty feet back.

  She jinked left, then right, twisting and weaving past the blur of branches and trunks, listening intently for any signs of pursuit. In the quieter shadows of the forest, she could hear it more clearly, smoothly pacing her. The owl turned her head, trying desperately to catch any glimpse of her pursuer, recovering just in time to avoid a rocky outcropping. How do I shake him if I can’t see him?

  Nar’zl kept his eyes locked on the flesher bird. It was bigger, but he was nimbler. He scissored back and forth across her trail as the two twisted through the dense hillside in a dangerous aerial dance. It had tricked him into revealing his presence by diving into the trees, but no matter. As long as he kept it in sight, and it didn’t turn into a straight-line race, the quasit knew he had the advantage.

  The poison instinctively dripped from his fangs, begging for the bird’s soft flesh. Bat-like lips stretched into a contemptuous snarl. He hated this cursed bond, inhibiting his burning instincts for blood and death. It would have been so delicious, watching it flutter helplessly, feet in the air, talons twitching as his venom coursed through its veins. He imagined the satisfying crunch of his jaws coming together through its feathered throat.

  The niggling specter of self-doubt reared once again in the gnome’s mind. They were all counting on her to get the stone to the abbey, and here she was, playing cat and mouse with an invisible demon and failing. She pitched sharply left, skirting around a steep stone face jutting out from the hillside, the sound of the demon’s wingbeats now obvious among the ambient noise of the forest. She needed separation. Spying a crevice in a high rocky outcropping, it struck her, and something snapped. That’s it…cat and mouse! I’m not the mouse! I’m the predator, time to start acting like it!

  She took a wide loop away from the hillside, weaving among the deciduous trunks. It stayed with her as she circled, repeating her previous route. This time, she stayed low and tight to the rock face before the sharp turn. As she banked, momentarily out of sight, Lunish shot skyward, climbing desperately towards the nook. Braking hard, she folded her wings, coming silently to rest twenty feet up, between the slabs of grey stone. Swiveling only her head, she sat stark still, listening. The demon burst around the corner and paused, flitting back and forth below her perch, its wingbeats uncertain, searching.

  Lunish judged its distance from the rock face by sound. Surrendering herself to the raptor’s animalistic instincts, the druid launched herself backwards, out of the crevice. Gravity accelerated the owl’s sleek bullet form toward the ground below. At the last minute, she twisted into a half-roll, silently extending her wings. Talons out, beak flashing, she tore into her invisible pursuer.

  On contact, talons clamped to the invisible prey, raking soft tissue. Her beak stabbed the seemingly empty air again and again as the two avian fighters tumbled to the forest floor in a splash of brown feathers, dead leaves, and demon blood. The creature squirmed and squealed, twisting to get away. Its flesh tasted sour, almost rotten. Black ichor stained her beak. Why doesn’t it fight back? The hesitation was momentary. Powerful raptor claws violently ripped in opposite directions. The squirming stopped. With a muted pop, the corpse in her talons was gone, and the owl, yellow eyes piercing the wooded shadows, stood alone in the leaf litter, chest rising and falling in deep, even swells.

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  Back on the hillside, the three friends crouched low behind rocky cover, eyes glued to the plains and the mysterious, vertical, shimmering puddle hanging unnaturally just above the swaying summer grasses. Three gnolls, eager for the upper hand, immediately charged the arcane structure, spear tips high. Its surface flexed with slightly more elasticity than water in response to the stabbing weapons, bending inward before the pointed iron tips penetrated its shimmer, disappearing beyond. The attackers pulled back, muttering and gesticulating in uncertainty. Finally, one lifted his spear in a rallying cry, let out a roar, and charged the shimmering surface. Like the spear, an initial resistance caused the surface to buckle inward before the gnoll disappeared, accompanied by the sound of deep mud squelching beneath a boot. His two comrades hesitated, holding their spears defensively aloft, reluctant to follow.

  “What in Gond’s name is that?” Bird breathed to the others.

  Tsuta’s tone was cautious, “I think we’re looking at a Plane Gate. I believe that’s how the demons were dropped on our outposts.”

  “But that gnoll just went through in the opposite direction,’ the tabby objected.

  “They do work both ways,” Glynfir confirmed. “It looks exactly as I’ve seen it described in text—like a vertical pool of water.”

  “I want a closer look at whoever comes out of that thing. They’re likely the ones behind all of this. We can end this right here. Cut off the head of the snake.”

  “Agreed,” Tsuta confirmed.

  The cat pointed to a similar erratic stone rising from the forest floor, twenty yards from the edge of the grasslands. “There!”

  Bird looked first at the wizard, who nodded in agreement, then to the raging battle on the opposite side of the clearing. Satisfied with the distraction, he turned back to his friends, tipping his head toward their destination. “Follow me, stay close.”

  The three skulked downhill, keeping the cliff drop on their left. Flitting from one hiding spot to the next, they slid behind cover, backs to the stone. Bird held his hand up to the others, listening for any sign of recognition or pursuit. Satisfied again, he gave a confirming nod, and all three peeked above the rocky lip.

  Across the clearing to their right, the corpses were piling up. Spear shafts bristled skyward across the forest floor, wooden gravestones marking the final resting place of combatants on both sides. The attackers' gains were modest, claiming less than fifteen feet from the lip of the swamp. Two ambitious gnolls had broken through and made for the box. Their bodies now lay prone at the feet of the demon triumvirate defending that position.

  Tsuta, closest to the plains side of their huddle, hissed at the others. “Something’s coming through!”

  The surface of the shimmering portal shuddered, undulating, bulging, and retreating, threatening to expel contents from the other side. A skeletal hand clutching a scepter pierced the surface, followed by a second. Despite the sunny sky, a billowing, dense cloud of shadow oozed from the rippling magical barrier, swelling to shroud the area in front of the portal, pushing out in all directions. A chilling fear radiated up the hillside when a desiccated ballerina, ghoulish and regal, emerged from the shimmering curtain, gliding forward with measured magical momentum, inches above the ground, chin held high.

  Dressed in a tattered combination of chain mail and robes, the skulls of tiny unidentifiable beasts adorned her breastbone, both shoulders, and the length of a sash-like belt. What little remained of flesh and skin, held in place by the armor, was black and rotted, dangling futilely from the bright white bones beneath. Her lower half was covered in long, torn red robes, billowing hypnotically despite the still morning air. An aura of white mist rose in steamy wisps off her body, curling and vanishing into the surrounding air.

  The two nearby gnolls turned to flee, back toward the dwindling horde. They took three steps. With a flick of her bony finger, a clap of thunder echoed through the hills. A wave of force pulsed from her epicenter, flattening the high grass in a twenty-foot radius, leaving the two gnoll corpses in a broken and battered heap in its wake. She turned her attention to the melee on the hillside.

  Paralyzed with fear, the three cowered behind their stony cover. Bird felt Glynfir’s grip on his shoulder tighten as they looked on in a combination of awe and horror.

  Long, wiry white hair fluttered beneath a delicate platinum crown of spikes, each anchored in a blood red ruby. Her face was skeletally gaunt. High, thick cheekbones framed gaping black voids, the long-abandoned homes of facial flesh. Her eyes, glowing red bulbs of energy floating in empty sockets, scanned the hillside before coming to rest on the box.

  Not a single command was uttered, at least not audibly. Silent instruction issued, the three Sklir on protection duty turned back to the box. Handing off his spear, the first picked it up. The remaining pair guarded the flanks as the trio strode calmly toward their mistress. Satisfied they were safely on their way, her malevolent gaze shifted slowly toward the ongoing fracas. For their part, the gnolls fought on, undeterred by the spectacle of her arrival. Still holding an advantage in numbers, they pressed in on the demons, snapping and howling.

  The red embers burning inside her skull flared momentarily, and she raised the scepter. In a bright flash, three bolts of lightning shredded the grassland from the rod’s stone tip, racing up the hillside. Cries of anguish replaced the din of battle as the electrical energy leapt from one body to the next. Gnoll and demon alike collapsed in a wave of scorched, smoldering flesh, the lightning ripping through the landscape, leaving the odor of burnt wood and cooked meat, then stillness and silence returned.

  Smoke lingered over the battlefield in a haze, rising lazily into the blue sky above. Glynfir cocked his head. Eyes narrowed, he puzzled through what he had just witnessed. Looking at his companions, he noticed the fur on the back of Bird’s neck stood straight up, and Tsuta’s face was bloodless and ashen. The three Sklir had nearly reached the portal as her head turned slowly back toward their concealed position, and her eyes pulsed again.

  Her jaw didn’t move, but the words boomed directly in the wizard’s mind, raspy and guttural, the tone commanding.

  Don’t think yourselves clever or hidden, little ant. Shall I raise my boot again?

  “Run!” Tsuta hissed.

  As they scrambled from cover, Bird barked at the wizard, tipping his head toward Tsuta, “Get him out of here, don’t worry about me.”

  Grabbing the monk’s shoulder, Glynfir spoke the single command word, igniting a shimmering rectangle at his back. Pulling the monk with him, they tumbled through the dimension door, materializing well up the hillside, twenty feet from the trail. The bald monk got to his knees, peering through the woods, catching glimpses of Bird, on all fours, racing toward them at a dizzying speed. The cat bounded along erratically from tree to tree, disappearing and reappearing in full stride, only to vanish again behind cover. Raising his gaze to the plains, he could just discern the spectral corpse, preceded by the box-carrying demons, retreat into the shimmering surface of the plane gate before it imploded in a flash of purple.

  The pair retreated to the trail, quickly joined by Bird, his chest heaving from exertion.

  “I think that was the original Red Queen,” he gasped, doubled over, gulping for air. The cat lifted his head when he got no reply. Their faces were grim. Tremors vibrated through Tsuta’s hands as he spoke.

  “More than that,” he said flatly. “She’s a Lich. The most powerful and ruthless of all the undead.”

  Glynfir let out a long, slow breath, his head shaking from side to side. “She’s going to be really pissed when she opens that box!”

  The Glimmerstone Enigma?

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