Word of the discovery spread through the city of Dawn like a bushfire, leaping from one set of ears to the next and leaving in its wake a world set ablaze. In its wake, some saw only the bleak desolation to come. But, just as new shoots find nourishment in the blackened leavings of the flame, there were those who looked ahead to the new growth. There was danger here. But also opportunity.

  The courtyard outside the City Lord’s manor was a simmering stew of tension. The Lord was touchy today, even more than usual. He was always irritable. But his mood followed a familiar cadence, starting from a grumbling snappishness when he arose each morning, hungover, then gradually improving as the day progressed and he gradually wore down the symptoms of sobriety, reaching a zenith of debauchery in the early hours of the morning. Over the years, his typical courtiers and hangers-on had learned to avoid him until well past noon, and the requests for favors never started until the moon was at its peak in the sky. It was a well-worn system.

  But he was beyond irritated today. Twitchy. Distracted. Most just saw it as a sign to save their requests for tomorrow. Those who knew him better were more concerned. The Geomancers who guarded the Lord were on alert, their eyes turned towards the city. Darlish, despite his reputation, had not achieved his position as Lord by happenstance. He had a gift for sensing danger before it approached. When the twitches set in, the guards were wary. It usually meant trouble was coming. Either that, or the Lord had fleas again.

  When the messenger arrived, covered in sweat and gasping for air, the guards had followed his every move with flinty eyes. The young man had to force his way through a press of bodies that gathered around Darlish, who lay at their center, dazed and grumbling under the unrelenting sun. Several empty bottles lay discarded around him, the sour smell of cheap wine and bile permeating the air.

  “Lord Darlish!” the messenger called, trying to get the senseless rodent’s attention. His large, hairy body twitched, almost convulsively, sending a wave of trepidation through the Geomancers.

  “Wha…?” Darlish grunted, staring at the messenger with bleary, blood-shot eyes. “What is it? Who sent you? If it is that she-devil in the market, you can tell her to fuck right the hell off. That baby looks nothing like me.”

  “Ahhh…no, my Lord. I have news from the city. Amazing news,” the messenger said, carefully muting his reaction to Darlish’s comment. “It’s a Jewel! A Jewel of Farandway has been discovered. Here, in the Valley of Dawn!”

  A wave of murmurs passed through the crowd, most excited, some nervous. The Geomancers all turned to look at their Captain, whose own eyes were locked squarely on Darlish.

  Darlish’s reaction was subtle. A slight widening of the eyes. A strange ripple that passed through his body. He didn’t react for a long moment, almost as though he hadn’t heard the messenger. Then he yawned, a dramatic, overly loud expression of unconcern.

  “No kidding? Never heard of that happening before. Who found it? If it’s some random Travelers, get the word out to them. I’ve never seen a Jewel of Farandway myself. I’ll pay them a good bounty to bring it to my manor.”

  Darlish’s words were casual, as though he wasn’t really that interested. But the Geomancer’s knew better. They were tense, and a few had let their hands wander to their weapons.

  “It was a party from the Omen Faction, my Lord. The Jewel is on its way to their stronghold now,” the messenger said, his face flushed with excitement.

  “I see,” Darlish grunted, and some of his casual indifference sluffed off. His red-rimmed eyes darkened, his shoulders slumped. “Well, fuck.”

  Dolarth Oathbreaker, Chieftain of the Burning Brand, watched the courtyard below his residence with disdain. The new batch of Orcs the home worlds had sent him were a pitiful crew. A few could fight, but all were stupid. Not that he expected anything else. The bullshit the elders fed them all when they were young, that being sent to Farandway was some great honor, was a lie, and one that Dolarth himself had seen through even as a welp. This was where they sent their misfits, their liabilities, and their weaklings. Or their traitors. Tribute must be paid. But Farandway had never cared for the quality of the offerings. Only that an offering was made.

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  An arrow streaked across the practice yard, passing dangerously close to a pair of scuffling morons who wouldn’t have lasted more than a moment in a real battle, before plunging deeply into a practice dummy designed to look like a human. The wood of the dummy’s chest splintered under the force of the impact, and the arrow quivered as it stood out proudly from the target.

  Dolarth followed the path of the arrow back to the one who fired it, unsurprised to see it one of his newest recruits. Kilth. A rare exception to the rule of mediocrity in his forces, and a fine figure of a female besides. She had been sent to keep his idiot nephew alive, at least for a while, though why anyone from the home clan cared if Grundar lived was a mystery. Dolarth was glad to be free of the fool, his nephew’s string of failures providing the necessary excuse to banish him from the Faction. It wasn’t a permanent exile, much as Dolarth would have enjoyed that. But it didn’t matter. By the time his nephew was allowed to return, Dolarth planned to have drawn Kilth into his own inner circle.

  “Chieftain,” a sibilant voice came from behind. Dolarth turned to find that the other new addition, Trenton, has snaked his way into the room, somehow unnoticed until he was only a few feet away. Dolarth suppressed the pang in his chest, somewhere between rage and fear, that washed over him at being surprised. Dolarth did not like surprises. Truthfully, he didn’t much like Trenton. But the priest had his uses.

  “What is it,” Dolarth said, trying to keep his voice level. He must not have hidden his emotions as well as he hoped, for Trenton drew back slightly.

  “I have just heard word from the city. A rumor, but on so many lips I fear it must be true. The streets are buzzing with the news that a Jewel of Farandway has been found. Here. In the Valley of Dawn.”

  A shiver, and this time Dolarth could not suppress it. A true surprise. The worst kind. The unprecedented kind.

  “It is probably something else,” Dolarth muttered, his mind reeling. “Some crystal that an idiot Traveler misidentified.” Even as he said it, Dolarth knew that was impossible. He had never seen a Jewel of Farandway. But the artifacts were supposed to be impossible to mistake for anything else.

  “I checked as best I could before bringing this to you, Great Chieftain. It’s not just the common rabble saying it. The Jewel was found by members of Omen, and I have confirmed through my sources that the find is genuine.”

  Another surprise. Not so much at the Jewel’s authenticity this time as at Trenton’s claim to have sources keeping tabs on Omen. The priest was still new to Farandway. How could his spy network already reach so far?

  Then the true import of Trenton’s words settled in, wiping away all other thoughts.

  “Omen? Omen has the Jewel?”

  “Yes, Great Chieftain. I am certain of it.”

  Dorlath turned from Trenton to look down again on the orcs bumbling below. Omen. His guts twisted inside, and this time there was no rage. Only fear.

  “Call in my commanders for a war counsel. And have the guards around the compound doubled. This will get ugly.”

  It still didn’t make any sense. Not here. Not now. Jewels didn’t form in the Valley. Not ever. It was a training zone. A safe zone. A place to plan and prepare. The true prizes of the game world did not appear here.

  Yet something inside Sentry rung like a bell at the news. It felt right. She couldn’t explain it. But, somehow, it was almost like she had known this would happen.

  It meant changes to her plans. She had expected to spend at least a year in Dawn, building levels, recruiting a party, and charting her course. But some opportunities needed to be seized when they presented themselves, and this was one of those. She needed to escape this reality. She needed to get home. For that, she neede five Jewels. And one had just been practically dropped in her lap. She needed to get it. That was all there was too it.

  A part of her mind, deeply buried and ignored, was trying to scream at her that it was impossible. She was too weak, too new to this world. She didn’t have the allies or the resources. And the Jewel was currently in the hands of Omen, the most powerful and most secretive of Dawn’s Factions. This news would disturb the carefully maintained balance of power in the city. The other Factions could not allow Omen to rise any higher than they already had. They would all want the Jewel. It would be war. In the midst of what was coming, the desires of one puny Traveler would mean nothing.

  The thoughts were there. But they were feeble things, unable to distract Sentry from her purpose. None of it mattered. She needed that Jewel, and either it would be hers or she would die. And she had no intention of dying.

  There was a problem, though. She had no idea had she would even begin to go about acquiring it. Fighting was clearly out of the question. Fighting was all she knew. But, for this, she would have to find another way.

  Those thoughts propelled her, as if guiding her, as she marched across the city, treading a path she had taken before, though never with this same sense of conviction.

  That something inside her, the thing that had pushed and prodded her for her entire life, was what told her that this was her chance. But that wasn’t all it said. It whispered that there was a way, but it would require a road she could not walk alone. A road paved in secrets and deception. Subterfuge.

  Sentry rounded a corner and saw the Traveler’s Retreat, its dilapidated sign swaying slightly in the breeze, on the trail ahead.

  She trusted that feeling inside her. And it told her that, if she was to succeed, she needed something.

  She needed Nathan Sutton.