Draconic Shennanigans Episode 7

Chapter Seven: In A Wizard's Tower

   

As the companions walked through the stands of dead trees they noticed between the twisted, barkless branches trunks of a more healthy hue. As their steady pace brought them closer they realized that the soil was loosing its oily, diseased texture, gradually taking on the appearance of good loam.

Kalin sniffed and wiped her nose on her cuff, the faintly acrid smell of burning finally being over taken by the comforting smell of deep rotting leaves.

"I say old boy," Ulrich called to Crowface, "Is that where we are heading?" Crowface lifted his beak, seeking to follow Ulrich's gaze, then he nodded. The top of a tower of white was just visible over the trees.

"Aye," his caw was satisfied, "There's our home."

"Oh good," Jeremiah rubbed his hands together, "Soon be off our feet."

"Not as soon as you think, good Sir," Crowface corrected with an unmistakable smile, " 'Tis further off than you think."

Jeremiah deflated, "It seems that ever since I accepted this bargain I've been walking through the most ridiculous terrain this country has to offer. None of it has the decency to be flat!"

"What's the matter, flesh man, struggling to keep up?" Kaelin thought for a moment that she was the only one to hear Hartseer's quiet murmur but a glance back at Jeremiah's darkening face told her that she wasn't.

The sight of the white tower top on the horizon was gradually covered by the growing canopy of the trees and soon Ulrich was so busy admiring the scenery that he almost forgot that the Dead Forest was a real place. Then he looked round at the faces (if you were being charitable) of the creatures walking beside him and concluded that it had to have been real.

Then the canopy peeled back as they exited the wood and the tower stood before them in all its glory. The party stopped in its tracks, even the creatures with the companions seeming to drink in the wonder of it. As tall as a mesa, brilliant white in the sun, the tower seemed at once to be architecture and a living thing that had grown out of the bedrock to reach for the sun for its sides were not straight. Instead it rippled up into the sky, turning round itself like the trunk of a many boughed tree that had, over years and centuries, reunited its separate trunks into massive pillar that could have held up creation and possibly did.

"Come," Crowface said, "You are stayed for."

Now the companions walked along a defied track through fields of ripening grain and orchards hung with fruit. Jeremiah stared as people, really honest to goodness people, lifted their heads from their work to look at Crowface and his creatures but these peasants' surprise seemed to be reserved for the companions in the midst of the beasts. Certainly none of them seemed afraid of Crowface and the other monsters, a few even lifted their arm to wave, greetings that were returned, though a several of the beasts hesitated before doing so, as if they weren't sure it was the done thing. And over all the tower, well towered, gradually dominating the whole of the sky.

As they walked closer to it they reached an outer wall and Crowface croaked to his creature's in a tongue even Jeremiah doubt he could wrap his tongue around and most of them turned back towards the woods. As they passed through the gateway the companions found themselves stepping on to a gravel road but it didn't sound like a graveled road and the surface didn't shift under their feet. Leaning over the side of his lizard mount Ulrich peered down at the surface and saw that the gravel had been pressed into a strange surface that looked like black water that didn't flow. He sat up straighter as the lizard grumbled at the shift in weight and looked about him.

Though the road was passing strange, it did seem that it had its uses, the houses had a brighter, less shabby look to them as their bottom halves weren't splattered with mud, the peasant cart that rumbled passed them moved a lot more smoothy than if it had been fighting through the ruts that such wheels usually cut into dirt roads. Ulrich found himself nodding in approval. Who ever this wizard was then he certainly seemed to run a well planned town and once again the people who were moving around on their daily business did not seem afraid of Crowface nor Hartseer.

Beyond the village or town (it was hard to tell which as they traveled straight from one gate to the next through what was obviously the main square) there was another curtain wall, thick and high, surrounding the base, or was it root, of the tower. Crowface led them through the gate and up the stairs beyond in to what was obviously the tower's private gardens. Through as they walked through them Kalin did notice something about them. Through the trees were clipped and pruned into pleasing shapes they were also fruit bearers and the plants that grew in the beds, though their flowers were pleasing to the eye, were also eatable. The gardens had been designed to be both beautiful and practical and her ear twitched as she caught the hum of a bee hive in full production.

Crowface led them along broad pathways of white stone to where a flight of stone steps led up to a terrace edged with fluted pillars. In the middle of the terrace a huge table with a top thicker than Jeremiah's hand span stood. Beside it, his back to them, a man with dusky skin worked. He was stripped to the waist and Kaelin winced at the sight of his skin. His back was crisscrossed with ridged and puckered scars, some of them several inches wide. Though the scars were so old they were black it was perfectly obvious that someone had down their best to flay this man down to the bones.  On the table before him something lay, something that was very obviously dead.

Its tongue, long and pointed, lolled from between its chisel like teeth, its eyes dull and cloudy. Its face, though  larger than a dog's, reminded Ulrich of a Hare but its skin was bare and leathery, a dun creamy color, mottled with dark blue blotches and an explosion of white fluff topped its head like a firework, though now it was matted and clotted with lumps of old blood. The man with dusky skin seemed to be washing the body down, his hand holding a cloth moving back and forth from a bucket at his elbow. While he worked he murmured to the being lying before him.

"And yet through all the pain and the fear you returned to me, to my hands," he observed, "Is that not loyalty? You did not have to, I had not give you any order to return to me once your task was done. I confess that I had not thought to and yet you returned of your own free choice. Is that not love? And where there is love then surely there is redemption for a damned soul such as yourself? I confess that I am not sure. This concerns me. If you have gained your redemption, if I bring you back, then surely I have snatched you from your reward. There again, if I do not bring you back and the Great Good has decided that you have not yet earned your rest, then surely I leave you in torment. How to tell? How does a mere mortal know that his friend has earned his entry into Heaven's Gates? There again I have never claimed that my powers reach to the Holy Heights so perhaps the only way to know is to try." The rag flopped into the bucket and the man picked up a long dagger of an odd shape but before Jeremiah could have a good look at its design it had moved out of sight. A brilliant flash of blood red light reflected off the terrace stones and the body on the table jerked. Its legs kicked, its head bounced off the wood as the neck flexed and with a coughing croak the tongue was sucked back into the mouth. The jaws worked and then the eyes focused on the wizard's face. The lips parted and a chirruping version of Crowface's croaking language uttered from its lips.

"Ah, so redemption's price is not yet earned," the ducky skinned man stroked the creature's now clean mane, "Still I am... pleased to have you back."

The creature chirruped again and then started struggling to get to its feet.

"Here, let me help you," the man looped his arms underneath the creatures body and lifted it from the table top, turning and lowering it to the floor, revealing the full extent of the damage done to it. Its right front leg ended in a stump of an elbow, a long line of stitches marked where its left wing had once rooted and its right ear, which should have been long and graceful to match its partner, was a ragged stump. It took a little jumping hop forward with its remaining front leg and flung out its wing to keep from chinning itself on the paving, its horny nails clicking on the pavement.

It looked up at its master and uttered a mewing noise of distress.

"I know," the man crouched down to be on its level as he stroked its head, "Unfortunately I have never been able to master the art of regrowing that which has been lost, Taloc was always the better at that discipline, though his creations always seemed to be more dead than alive to me. I did not bring you back lightly, to know what it is to fly...."

He trailed off, man and beast holding their silence for a long moment and then the thing extended its neck and softly butted against him.

"So I am forgive," he man smiled slightly and turned to view the party standing at the edge of the terrace. He started towards them but he walked slowly, keeping pace with the creature at his side, ready to catch it as it struggled to adapt to its new form of locomotion. Crowface stiffened to attention and saluted to which the man graciously nodded. He then reached out and took Hartseer's hand in his own.

"King's Blade," he said gravely, "It is a good thing that you are here. Had you heard of our troubles or did Serendipity lead you to us? I had sent a messenger to the Capital but as you can see, she was unable to get through the ranks of our enemies." The thing at his side chirruped in emphasis of his words.

"Serendipity I think," Hartseer was equally grave and gestured to the companions, "As you can see there is a new King's Special and they need your assistance in crossing the lake to reach Nether Wallop."

"I see," the dusky skinned man turned to the companions and held out his hand, "And you are?"

"Jeremiah Maat," he took the proffered hand but something in the man's level gaze made him want to squirm, especially as the man held on to his hand slightly longer than necessary.

"You worship a dark and hungry god," the man said after a moment of holding Jeremiah's gaze, "If you ever wish to be free of his influence then I can teach you a different path... if you are willing to learn."

"Indeed," Jeremiah didn't quite suppress the sour note in his voice as he dropped the hand shake.

"And you are?" was the polite inquiry of the next.

"Ulrich Brekka," this reply was said with a lot more friendliness than the previous and Ulrich turned on the charm as he smiled but found himself subjected to the same scrutiny as Jeremiah.

"You are one who can say one thing and mean quite another," the dusky man said, "It was once ones such as you who made me wish to see the whole world dead. I think that it is a good thing for all of us that things happened to make me change my mind. After all, I think you are beginning to find your own redemption. I think I will be pleased to aid you in this."

Kaelin's eyes were flat and her mouth was pinched when the dusky man turned his gaze on her.

"And you are?"

"I don't give my name to people I don't know the name of," her voice was decidedly unfriendly.

"Ah, I apologize," the man bowed slightly from the waist, "I am Elisha, Elisha the Master Smith."

"Smith of what?"

"I keep forgetting," the man sounded genuinely surprised, "There is not the knowledge of my kind in this land. Some days it slips my mind as to how different these northern places are compared to the lands of my birth. As to what I smith? I suppose you could say that I smith.... life."

"So you are a necromancer," Kalin folded her arms, her gaze flat.

"No I am not," Elisha corrected but without irritation, "The constructs of a necromancer have to obey their master without wills of their own. My creations, through they are bound to my will, do have choice about how they... interrupt that will. Indeed, not a few Master Smiths have found their power to be a double edged sword when the very creatures they thought they controlled so tightly proved to be capable of malicious compliance."

"And your... creatures aren't capable of malicious compliance," Kaelin's eyebrow arched.

"Oh they are most capable of it, I chose to give them no reason to do so," Elisha smiled slightly, "After all, they have souls so surely they are capable of free will. Therefore the more sensible course is to give them no reason to hate me."

"They have souls?" Jeremiah exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Most certainly they have," Elisha inclined his head.

"That... that... that is magic of the darkest, most foul... That... that... is amazing," Jeremiah shook his head, the gesture a rejection of what he had just hear but there was a light in his eyes, a hungry light.

"Is it?" Elisha inclined his head slightly, "Perhaps it is dark work but the Great Good has ever needed his warriors and assassins to make his great plan work and did not the Prophet say that one day Hell would be empty and its doors left to rattle in the wind. Who can say that I do not do the Great Good's work by lifting these damned souls back to the mortal realm so they can work out their penance as my servants?"

"I see," Jeremiah nodded but he frowned at Elisha's calm tone and gentle demeanor.

"What's the matter?" Jeremiah felt the chill of Hartseer's metal form on the side of his face but not a breath for Hartseer did not breath, "Met someone who is not a priest but who is a lot more Holy than Thou?"

"And what would a Tinman like you know about Holiness?" Jeremiah snarled without turning his head.

"How do you think I was made?" Hartseer asked before stepping back. Elisha had turned his attention away from Jeremiah as if he had no real wish to witness their disagreement.

"Still," he rubbed his arms as if conscious that he wasn't wholly clean, "I can see that the journey here has been long and arduous for you. Please, Crowface can lead you to rooms for we have many spare where you can refresh yourselves and bathe."

"That's a point," Ulrich suddenly pointed out, "We are missing a companion, an orc crossbreed known as Thorian Vandervast. We did believe our orange dragon companion brought him this way after he took some damage in a fight we had against a few over sized spiders."

"That's understating it," Kaelin muttered.

"I know of who you speak," Elisha reassured, "He was more exhausted than hurt after the battle and he has already been give one of the rooms for his use while you are here. When I left him he was sleeping peacefully and I trust he will make a full recovery soon."

"Thanks awfully for that old boy," Ulrich smiled, "So Crowface, lead on old bean, lead on."

"As my master wishes," Crowface bobbed his head after receiving a nod from Elisha and turned to lead them through the surprisingly modest doors into the tower itself. To be sure the doors where still nearly two stories tall but they were narrower than Kaelin had some how expected.

The inside of the tower was just as amazing as the outside, stone sometimes shaped by the hands of men and sometimes seeming to grow in the same style as a tree. Crowface was as good as his master's word leading them to a corridor that had half a dozen rooms leading off it, rooms that were comfortably furnished and freshly clean, private bathing rooms accessible through doors on the far side of them. Kaelin wasn't sure how it was done but it seemed that the baths were supplied by a hot spring because a constant stream of water flowed into over a stone lip in the walk but the stone bath was not over flowing on to the floor. She nodded to herself. Maybe a stay here won't be too bad.

It was Jeremiah who noticed the little offering first. On the vanity table there was a book, a very valuable book that he had been looking for since his early years of studying in the monastery. He started across the room and then stopped. How would this sanctimonious foreigner know exactly what book he was looking for? How would it have come to be lying so openly in the room he just happened to be led to?

Jeremiah glared at the book and turned his back on it. Something knocked something off the table. He heard the tinkle of breaking china. He ignored it. He went to open the wardrobe to discover what, is anything, was on offer in the way of clean clothes. It wouldn't open. He glared at the door knob in his hand and distinctly heard something giggle behind him. It was a small giggle, in a childlike voice, obviously muffled. He'd not been meant to hear it. Very well, two could play at this game.

Jeremiah turned, walked away, sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled out the book he already had. Grinning he flipped open the pages and began to speak words that made the shadows in the room curdle like vinegared milk. Six skeletons with rusty swords in hands coalesced out of the writhing shadows and dust. With a wave of his hand the skeletons started advancing on the room. As the vanity table exploded into splinters under the assault there was a load pop on the top of the wardrobe. A strange creature that seemed to be a cross between a white ferret and a red monkey rolled its mismatched eyes at Jeremiah and then it opened its mouth to reveal a multitude of needle like teeth.

"You're a meanie!" it yelled in its high pitched voice, "You are then meaniest, meaniest, meaniest meanie ever!" It stuck its tongue out and rasped the loudest, rudest whizzpopper possible before it popped out of existence. Jeremiah smiled as he let the skeletons. Round one to him. He picked up his towel and headed to the bathroom.

Ulrich was relaxing in the warm water in his bathroom when it suddenly went icy cold. With a yell he leapt up, water cascading off him, only before he could scramble out over the side he realized that the water around his feet was warm again. Cautiously he laid down again. He'd just begun to relax again when.... he yelled again as the water flushed icy cold. Glaring at the liquid round his calves, he swung himself out of the bath and reached for one of the towels. It was as stiff as a board. He looked at it. It looked like a towel should, white, fluffy and inviting but under his fingers it felt no different to a sheet of wood. He frowned and dropped it at arms length, just in case it landed on his toes but it fluffed to the floor in a soft heap. He reached for the other towel, only to discover that it had done the same. It was now completely convinced that it was a piece of wood, with as much ability to bend as an iron poker. Ulrich threw it on the floor with disgust, kicking its now soft folds for good measure as the goosebumps started standing up on his arms... and heard the snigger.

That the most disconcerting thing he'd come across in quite a long while. It also stung his pride. There was something in the room with him and it was giggling at him. He grabbed the first towel off the floor again, intending to use it for modesty's sake... only to find it was as stiff as a board again. The sniggering continued as he desperately tried to find one towel in the wrenched room that would consent to be a towel. Ulrich stopped his frantic rushing around and listened to the now helpless giggling. If he was any judge it was coming from.... over.... THERE! He span and threw the towel towards the corner. It landed on something and Ulrich jumped with both feet before he could think twice about the mess that was about to happen.  Only it didn't.

There was a distinctive pop just before he landed and his feet came down on nothing but the soft folds of the towel. He cautiously lifted the corner of the towel and found nothing. He straightened and shook the towel out. It remained a towel, soft and white and inviting. He dried himself and turned to grab that clothes he'd laid out for himself. On the top of the pile was a truly lovely sword. A glance told him that it was made with the same quality of workmanship as the one he'd taken off of that bandit and it was beautifully chased in gold. He drew it fully from the scabbard and tested its weight and balance. It fitted his hand as if made for it. He found himself grinning despite his efforts not to. Now if he turned up at his father's estate with this in hand then his half siblings could hardly say that he was a cuckoo that would never amount to anything. But... But what was the catch? This hadn't been just given to him out of hand, something was decidedly odd about how this had come to him.

Regretfully but deciding to ere on the side of caution, he put the sword into the wardrobe. That way he could come back for it later, if he had the chance after asking about its origins.

Kaelin was undisturbed while she had her bath but afterwards her sharp ears picked up the fact that she wasn't alone in the room. It was a quiet snuffling, rather akin to a hedgehog that woke her first. She turned round expecting to find a bundle of prickles that had somehow made it into the room sniffling along the skirting board, only there was nothing there. She sat up slightly, frowning. The snuffling made its way round to under the wardrobe. After a moment, Kaelin slid off the bed and landed on her knees, peering under the wardrobe. The snuffling stopped in an instance. Kaelin moved forward, not taking her eyes off where she had heard the snuffling last. As she crept close to the wardrobe she started sniffing herself, drawing in long, deep breaths, trying to scent out what it was that was under there. A clot of dust rammed itself up her nose that hard her eyes watered. Kaelin lurched back on her heels, both hands clammed to her face, eyes streaming.

"Ah..." she gasped, "Ahhh... Ahhhhh......Choooooooo!"

The force of the sneeze seemed to turn her nose inside out; it certainly made it stream like a tap. Kaelin struggled to her feet as she tried to stem the flood and stumbled to the bathroom. It was a while and a lot of undignified noises later that Kaelin came back out of the bathroom, holding a cool, damp towel to her face to try and ease the ache. The towel flopped to the floor as she heard the muffled sniggering. There was something in the bedside cabinet and it was having a right good giggle at her expense. Kaelin craned her neck forward and narrowed her eyes at the cabinet. It was the sort that had a small key hole just below the little knob that opened the door. Kaelin narrowed her eyes some more and twisted her nose sideways. The thing in the cupboard seemed to be getting a grip on itself. Kaelin crouched and then leapt. She slammed her hand down on the door of the cupboard and then, by main strength and sheer narked offness, she lifted the cupboard into the air and shook it until her arms gave out. Something inside it yelped as she started and she heard a pop just before she clunked the cabinet back down and straightened to catch her breath. She swung round as another pop sounded from the bed.

There on top of the covers were a perfect set of black fingerless gloves, the sort of gloves one of her teachers had once referred to as 'climbing gloves'. After a moment, Kaelin picked them up and turned them over. They looked as if they would fit her perfectly. Kaelin pressed her mouth as she turned the gloves over and over, then she stuffed them in her belt before heading out of her room.

Thorian Vandervast stretched and turned over with a groan. He felt like many people had been at him with meat tenderizers while he was a sleep, just about every muscle in his back was an individual pain and all of them were demanding leave of absence all at once. He turned over again and then realized that he was in a bed. Despite the protests of just about all of him he sat up quickly. The room was cool and white and the bed soft, the only concerning thing was that he couldn't remember how he'd got there.

"Stupid spiders," he muttered as he reached for his trousers, trousers that had been brushed clean, "One of them must have bit me." Trousers and shirt were not difficult to put on, despite aching muscles but he only had one half of his boots on when the other half started playing silly beggars.

He reached for his second boot and it jumped out of the way. Thorian blinked and reached for it again. It jumped out of the way again. Thorian sat up and scratched his ear a moment. The boot stared back, without eyes to stare with. Thorian launched himself in a rugby tackle that jarred every aching muscle and the boot still managed to jump out of the way. Thorian had never been able to understand why people said that boots had tongues when they obviously didn't have mouths. He understood it now when this boot blew what was unmistakably a whizzpopper at him with its tongue.

Slowly Thorian stood up, frowning at his boot. He grabbed the edge of his bed and lifted it, every screaming muscle forgotten as he lifted it high and brought it down on his boot with all his strength. The frame twisted and groaned at the treatment and a joint popped but when Thorian lifted the bed again the boot wasn't there. There was a pop behind him and there was his boot. Beside it was his battered old broadsword but it wasn't how it had been. The blade had been definitely polished and resharpened and it was in a new scabbard, something Thorian knew he hadn't had.

"That's strange," he admitted and stared at the boot. After a moment he picked up the sword and buckled it on but he left the boot on the floor.

Out in the corridor they met up with Crowface, who looked at Jeremiah's frown and Thorian's lack of a boot with confusion but he none the less lead them down and out of the tower to a difference part of the terrace, part that was surrounded by roses bushes. Elisha and Hartseer were stood by the wall, quietly discussing something but Elisha turned as the companions approached and stepped forward. Hartseer remained by the wall. Elisha frowned as he noticed Thorian's lack of a boot, then he looked more closely at the others.

"Have you been disturbed?" he asked with concern.

"My boot was playing silly beggars," Thorian admitted, "And someone left me this." He displayed his repaired sword in its new scabbard.

"I have to admit that I had some issues with the bath," Ulrich cautioned, "And they also left me something of a present."

"I had something snuffling around in my room," Kaelin's sullen expression didn't give much away, "And..."

Elisha held up a hand to stop her and turned to the table. He picked up a pitcher of water and began to pour it into the glass at his place. He poured and poured and poured and poured and yet the glass did not overflow, in fact it didn't seem to be filling up at all. Elisha set the pitcher down and picked up the glass with an unreadable expression. There was a load sniggering from one of the tables around the edge terrace.

Without changing his expression Elisha's arm shot forward, hurling glass with unexpected force and the source of the sniggers. The glass shattered with the force of a bomb. There was an outright laugh and a pop and the small, red spotted, white creature that had yelled at Jeremiah appeared at the other end of the table to were the glass had exploded.

"Got you that time, didn't I?" she laughed, doing a little jig on the spot.

"Felicity, what have I told you about pestering guests?" Elisha's tone was forbidding.

"I paid 'em, didn't I?"

Ulrich frowned at the little creature, recognizing that her accent was extremely similar to a certain Dippler the pie man.

"I always pays 'em," the little thing continued, "I always pays 'em, if they plays. I don't pays 'em if they don't feed me." She stuck her tongue out at Jeremiah and made an indelicate noise at him, before switching her attention back to Elisha. "It's not my fault if I can'ts pay yah, yah won't let me know if there is anything yah needs and yah seems to want even less. How am I suppose to pays yah with nothing?"

"Enough Felicity, you have had your feed, so now you can leave us alone," Elisha stated.

"Oh alright, if yah is insisting," the little thing said, blew one more whizzpopper at Jeremiah and with a final pop, disappeared.

Elisha drew a deep breath and sighed it out.

"I apologize for her behavior and if she caused you any distress," he turned to his guests, "As far as I can tell she never means any great harm. Felicity is mischievous, not evil, but she is sometimes carried away with her own cleverness."

"Can't say I've ever seen anything like her before,"Thorian admitted.

"She is a chest weasel," Elisha smiled slightly as he explained, "A small creature of the fey that feeds on the irritation of others and therefore seeks to increase that irritation by the playing of practical jokes and small illusions."

"Turning my bath water cold on me didn't seem like a very small illusion," Ulrich interrupted.

"That one again," Elisha rolled his eyes, "Did she also turn your towels to wood?"

"How did you guess?" Ulrich's tone was dry.

"It seems that her well of creativity must be running dry if she is repeating all the old tricks," Elisha smiled again, "Though she is being truthful when she says that she always pays for the food that we give her. As for how she creates that which she pays with I have yet to understand it. At least I hope that she creates it and that she's not stealing it from some where else."

"So she's the one that left me these on the bed?" Kaelin took the climbing gloves out from under her belt and held them out.

"May I?" Elisha asked before taking them from her hand. He studied them for a long while and then nodded.

"These are of the quality that Felicity pays her debts with," he confirmed, "I would imagine that you will have many years of work out of them if you chose to keep them and that they will be resistant to many different types of damage. Just what did you do to convince her to give you such treasures?"

"Trapped her in the bedside cabinet and shook it until she rattled," Kaelin admitted.

"That is a novel approach," Elisha admitted, "And one that I will have to remember. Now, shall we eat before the cook's hard work begins to spoil?"

The food laid out on the table was mostly vegetables but there was what looked like a roast lamb laying delicately presented as the center piece. However, just about all the food was served in already bite sized pieces, a mercy for which Jeremiah was truly grateful as it meant that Kaelin didn't have an excuse to make the usual mess that she did at the dinner table. Even Thorian seemed to sense the mood of the meal and brought out his set of flat wear. 

"It's not bad," Thorian said after a few mouthfuls, "Though I'm not sure of the flavors."

"The previous owner of this house did have a generous supply of spices that he seemed to have hoarded for his own use," Elisha admitted, "Though not as varied as the spices of my home. The cook does her best to mimic the flavors of my youth and she is improving quite well."

"It's not bad," Thorian said again, nodding as more food disappeared.

"You know, there's what that chest weasel thing could give you," Kaelin looked up, "Some of the spices from your old country. Where is that by the way?"

"Far to the south from here," Elisha admitted, "And I thank you for the suggestion about Felicity. It may even stop her pestering me so much if she knows what she can pay me with, although I have never seen her create food. It will be interesting to know whether she can."

"You where also saying about your home..." Ulrich said with interest.

"Not much of a home. Not for me. Some, like your friend," Elisha nodded to Jeremiah, "Learn the ways of the Master Smith for the sake of power, though it is a dangerous path, not only because of the inherent dangers of the trade but also because of how other men view us. In the land where I come from others see the Master Smiths as threats to be put down, tools to be used, potion ingredients to be harvested and some even consider our... pieces to be aphrodisiacs. As I said, our path is a dangerous one where I come from and not one to be taken up lightly."

"So why did you take it up?" Ulrich asked.

Elisha smiled, "When your only choice is between possible death and certain death then which do you choose?"

"Ah, I see," Ulrich nodded.

"Possibly you do, possibly you do not," Elisha said, "But at least you are trying, which is more than I received from the people of my own country. It is passing strange that the people of my country believe that all north men are barbarians and heretics but I have found north men to be much more... accepting than the people of the south."

"So how did you wind up here?" Kaelin asked.

"It was an accident," Elisha admitted, "And a mercy from a dying friend. I originally intended to travel back to whence I came but having learnt what I have through my travels I decided that I'd rather stay where I can be the hand rather than just the tool that is held."

"Why tinman," Jeremiah asked suddenly, "Are you not going to join us?"

Hartseer lend back on the wall and the expression in his glass marble eyes was almost bored.

"I do not breath, I do not drink, I do not eat and my weight would probably break any seat I tried to sit upon," he said with the air of tired calm, "Therefore what need would I have to join you at the table?"

"Ah but do you not miss the joys of such simple pleasures?" Jeremiah smiled as he took a bite and chewed it slowly.

"I have walked this world for four hundred and ninety seven years," Hartseer informed him, "If I had not become accustomed to this existence then surely I would have run mad long ago? And I still have my memories of what I once had. They do not betray me. That is one of the blessings and the curses of my being what I am."

"Hartseer has been telling me of some of the troubles that have beset you," Elisha interjected, "Both on your travels and the reasons for your travels. I concur that there is a worrying pattern to these events. The damned souls are good fighting beasts, it is what they have been created for since the method was first discovered but even they have struggled against these beings that have been plaguing us."

"Giant spiders you mean?" Ulrich asked.

"Them and others," Elisha said, "Indeed the distorted creatures are not much of a threat on their own. They are, after all, only beasts that have been tampered with physically. So far I have not seen anything that suggests that their wits are anything but those of rude beasts. No, the ones that have been giving us trouble are the ones that walk as men. I am not much familiar with the beings north men call elves, they do not seem to live in the lands to the south, a fact for which I have my own theories but these new ones that have the color of dead fires seem to be a breed apart from their kin. They have a cruelty that is beyond the arrogance that is apparently common to the elves and they are making pacts with beings that I have even less knowledge of, things that look like men but fight as beasts akin to the damn souls I create."

Kaelin stopped chewing and then managed to swallow through a suddenly dry mouth.

"Are there many of these new men-beasts?" she asked.

"Unfortunately there seems to be an ever growing number," Elisha informed her, "Some seem less inclined to fight, more as if they are being driven on by a will beyond their own but others are fully committed to the battle. They are the ones that concern me most as they seem capable of matching a damned soul in open battle and I am not sure that I will be able to use their remains for my work even before decay sets in."

"You think you are going to be out numbered in this battle?" Jeremiah asked with interest.

"It is a concern," Elisha lifted one hand to his mouth, rubbing his lips with his knuckles, "What concerns me more is where they could be finding an ever growing supply of bodies to throw at us. A creature that breeds naturally needs time to grow from infancy to fighting strength. A creature that breeds unnaturally..."

"They'll be infecting people," Kaelin said, shifting in her seat as if hot ants were nipping at her tail bone, "Whole towns at a time. Don't ask me how I know, I just know, alright?"

"That was my fear," Elisha agreed, "I know that there are people who live in the mountains to our east but I believed that they were more of the Mister Thorian's people than men."

"That's true," Thorian admitted, "We had to give up the plains to you small people. You many be small but you have ways of making yourselves bigger than we are. Besides the mountains are good for making you tough. Little soft people like you lot don't live well in mountains where as we get tough on them."

"Just as north men do not do well in the desserts of my old country," Elisha nodded, "Each must fine his center in the world and not all centers need be in the same place."

"Just pray that they don't find away of infecting Thorian's people," Kaelin muttered, her eyes on her plate, "If they manage that then we're all screwed."

"That is not all that concerns me," Elisha said, "I believe that these disturbances are being sourced from one location and if I am right then the reach is very long. I believe that these disturbances are coming out of the east."

Hartseer's foot clacked down on the stones of the terrace, his whole metallic form tensing.

"That seems like an overly organic response from you, tinman," Jeremiah observed.

"If you knew what that phrase means, you would respond too," Hartseer shifted uneasily. Ulrich frowned. If he didn't know better, the end of Hartseer's braid was twitching, the ends of the cables that formed it were questing like the tendrils of a sea anemone.

"You have some knowledge of this threat, old friend," Elisha's words were a statement, not a question. Hartseer shifted uneasily.

"He was called the Domili," he admitted after a moment, "My people knew that his ambition for empire knew no bounds, we'd suffered enough for it. What we didn't reckon with was that his ambition went much further than that."

"Oh tell me more," Jeremiah grinned as he watched Hartseer squirm.

"Death," Hartseer stated, "Death on an industrial scale and the whole war was nothing but the primer. My people, his people, his family, all of them fed into the mouth of that thing. And I was NOTHING but a tool in his hand!"

Hartseer turned so fast it was hard to see him do it but what was easy to see was the creator his fist left in the pillar beside him.

"Four hundred and ninety seven years," Hartseer slumped, "Four hundred and ninety seven years. Is it not enough for trusting the wrong man? Trusting the wrong mask?"

Nobody at the table had an answer for that but after a moment Kaelin shifted in her seat.

"An old sea Captain recently told me that running from the storm, more often than not sends you on the the rocks," she said. Elisha looked at her quickly but said nothing. Hartseer gave her a long, steady look.

"You may be right," he said at last, "But I will need proof of the threat before the King will release me on that journey."

"Oh will it be a long journey?" Jeremiah turned back to his plate as if the answer was of no consequence.

"It took me four hundred years to cover the distance from there to here," Hartseer admitted, "Still I was searching at the time and I detoured often. Going back..." he hesitated for a moment but then pushed on, "Going back I will know exactly where I'll be going. And I might not necessarily have to go alone."

Jeremiah was still looking at his plate so he missed the speculative look Hartseer gave him. After a moment Elisha shifted and spoke.

"Proof I am not sure I can provide," he said, "But I believe that I can help you with your quest to transverse the lake." He turned back to the companions, "There are many secrets still within this tower that I have not had the leisure to uncover and the library is extensive. I will research this problem extensively, if any care to join me you are most welcome."

"I'm afraid I wouldn't be much use in a library," Thorian rubbed the back of his neck, "Can't say that I can read that well."

"I have to admit that I don't have the patience to research among dusty tomes," Ulrich admitted,"But I wouldn't mind having a look around the grounds of your tower and the town beyond. I admit that I find this place fascinating."

"You are most welcome explore were you will," Elisha smiled, "The tower is also open to you, though please take care if you wandered into the less frequented parts. As I said, I have not had the time to explore it all and I am not sure as to all of the collection its old master possessed."

"I wouldn't mind helping in the library," Jeremiah smiled, "I feel a lot more comfortable around books."

"Then you are most welcome," Elisha inclined his head.

After dinner, Elisha led the way to the library. It was a cylindrical room, lined with curved book shelves that covered just about every inch of wall. Free standing bookcases had been curved to match the walls and stood radiating out from the center of the room, like the spaces between spokes of a wheel. Here and there, solid looking reading and writing tables were tucked into unobtrusive nooks and reading wheels stood ready for the researcher needing to cross reference multiply works. A double helix staircase spiraled up though the levels, allowing easy assess to all the books. In the space formed by the spirals of stairs a larger than life statue of a heavy set man in scholarly robes stood in a shaft of light.

"Is that the previous owner of this house?" Jeremiah asked looking at it.

"Yes," Elisha said, "A man who believed he had the right to control everyone and everything around him, which was what made his downfall."

"Ah hubris," Jeremiah smiled, "It gets the greatest of us."

"Yes," Elisha said with a smile of his own, "Which is why I keep him; to remind me that there is a difference between a leader and a controller. It is a fine line to tread and one easily crossed as you are still the hand holding the knife. It is one of the reasons I try to give my damned souls more choices than Master Smiths usually grant their creatures." Elisha walked over to one of the bookcases and began trailing a hand over the spines of the books. "After all, that one was ended by one who could think without him."

"I'm not sure I understand," Jeremiah frowned.

"That one," Elisha pulled a book off the shelves and started leafing through it as he turned to face Jeremiah, "Sort to control everything around him, including the thoughts of others and in that he was helped by the fact that many people are willing to give up their responsibility to think for themselves. They prefer to give up their thoughts to the control of a leader, a king, a priest or even a god, rather than put in the effort of thinking for themselves. They train themselves not to think without their psycho pomp sitting there in their heads controlling their direction, whether as I had realized that my god did not want me to always think about him, he just wanted me to think. This one will be beneficial, I think."  He put the book down on the table nearest to him and went back to the bookcase.

"I will not say that it was an easy realization," he admitted, "I had to learn that my hatred of those that had made my life so painful did nothing to change them. Even if I killed them and I killed a great many of them, it did not change them. I had to learn that there are better ways to lead than fear and better ways to change men than force. Perhaps..." He turned and realized that Jeremiah was no longer there. Elisha looked around and then shrugged. "He is obviously not ready yet to listen," he said to the book in his hands, "And have I not learnt the foolishness of trying to force the unwilling to listen? Still he maybe willing to listen in time." He placed the book down on top of the one that he had already put upon the table and turned back to the book cases. "Or maybe not. Though I can create futures now it does not mean that I can create futures for every man. Now which of the rest of you maybe useful in this endeavor?"

Jeremiah shuffled down between the bookcases out of sight. Pompous, pious, judgemental young upstart. It was no wonder he got on  with that metal stick insect, the pair of them were cut from the same damn cloth. Now, he looked around at the books, there was surely something he could use in here. He rubbed his hands and reached for the nearest book.

Ulrich and Thorian wandered back out of the tower's gardens and down through the town, glancing up now and then as a winged shape banked through the sky but for the most part they were the only ones routinely disturbed by the shadows on the ground. The towns people, such as there were, seemed to be totally acclimatized to having monsters swing passed over head or even wander passed them in the streets. Going down a side street, they heard a warbling song that had more structure than bird song normally had. That and this voice had more range than a bird normally had, including base growls and tenor rumbles in its repeating phrases. They can round the corner, to see a damned soul backing out of a house, sweeping a pile of dust before it was its impossibly long and fluffy tail. It cat like face glanced up at them and it blinked its eyelids sideways, its long droopy ears perking up either side of its pointed goat horns. Thorian blinked and looked again before he accepted that it had twice the usual number of ears. After a moment it nodded to them before rearing on to its hind legs and pulling the door shut with its human like hands. It fumbled to turn the key in the lock and then turned to pad across the street, its tail waving behind it like a streamer, to unlock a door on the other side of the residences and let itself in. Ulrich and Thorian looked in behind it to see it begin a well fought battle with the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling.

"I'm still learning because a lot of you small peoples' ways are strange to me but that was... just plain freaky, right?" Thorian asked.  Ulrich just nodded.

Making their way out of the other gates, they wandered down the road, looking out over the fields of ripening grain. The fields were slightly lower than the road as they wandered along it and after a while they noticed a peasant hoeing between the rows of grain.

"Good morning," Ulrich called down, "How goes the work?" The peasant looked up at them and then lent on his hoe with the air of one glad for the excuse to stop to have a chat.

"Fair enough good master, fair enough," he said. His smile crinkled an already wrinkled face.

"You seem to have good land here," Ulrich crouched down  so they were more on a level.

"It improves good master it improves," the peasant nodded, "We gets a little bit more out of it every year, although we is having trouble this year, that we are. We just have to keep praying that the Master's beasties keep 'em from firing the crops."

"Keep who from firing the crops?" Ulrich asked.

"Them strange for-en-ers," the peasant slurred the pronunciation and then he spat reflexively, "Never did like elves much, snotty stuck ups, but this lot has to be the worse, won't leave honest folks well enough alone. I don't like elves but as long as they ain't kicking in the front door I mind mine and I'll leave them to mind theirs. This lot, though, don't know when to leave off. Hopefully the Master will work out how to drive 'em off soon."

"Speaking of the Master," Ulrich smiled to show that it was a harmless inquiry, "Just how do you get on with his... other people?"

"You mean his beasties, don't yah?" the peasant smirked, revealing a lack of teeth, "Well, I'm like a donkey, me. Yah ain't ever seen a dead donkey and there's one thing I've learnt in my life. You know what that is?"

"You'll have to tell me," Ulrich frown slightly at the peasant's cryptic answer.

"The worst monsters are the ones who look human," the peasant nodded at his own wisdom, "You want ev-i-donce? Just look at the last master of this place, just look at him. Human as I am but monster to the core and Great Sess to him." The peasant spat again.

"So the beasties don't give you any trouble?" Ulrich asked.

"Nope," the peasant shrugged, "They keeps to themselves mostly and they ain't no bother us. Thankful to have them watching my back, especially after they put pay to the last Master."

"Where you living here in the last Master's time?" Ulrich inquired.

 "Just beyond the swamp over that way," the peasant flipped an arm at the horizon, "It wasn't a big village but it was enough and we was close enough to Three Necks to have a bit of travel if we fancied. My little Mazie-Sue was going to be married to the horseman's boy there that spring." The peasant man sighed and fell silent a moment, his eyes misty.

"What happened?" Ulrich asked quietly.

"The old Master of this place, that's what happened," the peasant spat again and dug his hoe sharply into the ground, "Came in the night, he did and just about everyone they go all blue in the eyes and start following him without a sound. Right creepy it was, seeing everyone yah ever knew just go walking off behind him with the lantern and yah's the only one left behind. Guess he took one look at me and figured I was too old to be much use so he didn't bother. Great Sess to him!"

"And how did you wind up here?"

"The new Master came for a look about after he took over," the peasant wrinkled his lips, "I was getting mighty tired of trying to do everything myself, 'tis no life at all, is a batch-two-lars life, so I figured what the heck, I might as well have a look. After all, he did ask and as the King's Sword was vouching for him so I figured that if it didn't turn out so great I could always skip off again. 'Tis worked out alright."

"Well thank you for that," Ulrich straightened, "You have certainly given us a lot to think over. We won't interrupt your work any more."

"Thank'ee kindly, good master," the peasant knuckled his forehead, "And good luck to yee."

"Sounds like they is getting on alright here," Thorian observed as they walked back towards the tower.

"Ah but it also sounds as if these damned souls could be a big problem if this Elisha fellow takes it into his head that they should be," Ulrich observed quietly, "Come on, there's someone I want to talk to."

They walked back through the arch and found the steps up to the top of the walls where Crowface was bent over a dozen maps that had been weighed out over the battlements. He was rubbing his beak as winged ones came and went, delivering information.

"How goes the work?" Ulrich called as they came up on to the the battlement walkway.

"Badly," Crowface admitted rubbing his beak harder, "Just when I think that I have hammered down where these things are coming from they turn up from some where else." He banged a claw down on the maps.

"Looks like this one would feed that Chest Weasel thing without her having to play tricks on him," Thorian whispered to Ulrich.

"Well our friend the priest did say that the Underworld is quite extensive," Ulrich smiled at Crowface, "They could be coming from all over the place."

"That is a good point," Crowface glanced round but then turned back to his maps, beckoning them forward, "But it is not exactly what I mean. Today they have attacked where we found you and now they have just ambushed one of our patrols on the other side of the circle to that point. Yesterday they were in both the north east and the north west. The day before that it was east and south west, tomorrow I have no idea. The distances make no sense either sometimes close, sometimes far and no camp in between."

"Well I was taught that if you try and defend everything, you wind up defending nothing," Ulrich suggested. Crowface looked round at him and this time he looked longer.

"You have a good point," he finally nodded at last, "You have a very good point." He scratched at the tuft of feathers below his beak.

"Crowface?" Ulrich leaned on the battlements with his folded arms, "Why are you called damned souls?"

"Because that is what we are," Crowface answered still pouring over his maps, "Damned souls called back to the mortal realm to serve the will of our Master Smith."

"You're dead?" Thorian asked.

"No, not any more," Crowface replied, "That is the power of a Master Smith, to take the souls of the lost and the lonely and give them new form, new function and new purpose. Though sometimes..." Crowface went silent for a moment and then shook his head.

"So what is your new purpose?" Ulrich asked after a beat.

"To serve the will of our Master Smith," Crowface stated, "So has it been for ages passed, so will it be for ages yet."

"So if he told you to kill every human in a hundred mile radius you would do it?" Ulrich said bluntly.  Crowface looked up with a frown and it took him a few moments to speak.

"Yes," he said it slowly as if speaking it made him uncomfortable and he wasn't sure why, "Yes we would but I do not think he would give such an order."

"But if he told you to, you would?" Ulrich pressed.

"I'm.... I'm not sure we would," Crowface straightened up, his eyes fixed on some internal revelation that had struck him in that moment.

"I thought you just said that you were bound to the will of your Master Smith?" Ulrich frowned in turn.

"I did," Crowface admitted, "But... but..." He rubbed the tuft of feathers under his beak. "Destruction, desecration and despoliation, these are the things that we damned souls have always believed to be our purpose for these are the things we have always been used for. But this Master Smith, this one see us as useful for something else. This one sees us as tools, tools that can break a skull or save said skull from being broken. And sometimes, sometimes he seems to see us as something more than tools."

"How do you mean?" Ulrich frowned even deeper.

"We are damned souls, we eat of blood and flesh," Crowface explained, "But this ones offers us bread and all the memories of lives passed that come with that."

"That is.... interesting," Ulrich said carefully, "Well I thank you for your time, Crowface. That's a point, what is your name? Calling you Crowface all the time just feels disrespectful."

"My name?" Crowface seemed taken a back, "My name is... My name is..." He sighed, "This is the problem of memories, they are so fragile."

"What do you mean?" Thorian asked, "Surely you had a name when you were alive the first time?"

"That is the problem," Crowface frowned some more, "It is like I dream and remember parts of the dream but never the whole. I can remember serving as Captain and banner man to Hartseer, I can remember our war against the Paladins but I cannot remember my name."

"How about Cyril?" Ulrich suggested with a cheeky grin.

"Cyriiiiiil," Crowface rolled the name around his beak, "Cyyyyril. Cyrilllllll. I like it. It is not the name I had but it has a certain ring to it. I like it."

"Glad to help," Ulrich wasn't entirely sure he believed his ears.

 *

Kaelin wondered through the halls and up the stairs of the tower. Despite it being enclosed it was somehow light and airy, the sense of something living and growing present even inside. Gradually she came to realize that it was not just one tower but rather a whole series of towers, growing out of and into one another. She's enter one door opening off of the main stairway to find within the corner of the room revealed another smaller stair case. Sometimes that staircase would lead up to what was, to all intents and purposes a dead end, other times there would be a door that lead back to the main stair way and still other times the door would lead to yet another tower. She found herself enjoying the wandering, part of her trying to imagine what she would do if she had all this space to call all hers.

It was when she found part of the tower that had paintings on the wall that she became aware that she was being watched. She glanced back, sure she had heard someone muttering. As it didn't sound malicious she turned back to her wandering but the further she went the more she was sure that she was catching movement out of the corner of her eye.

It was when she entered a long gallery with painting on both sides that she had her confirmation that something was strange. She had noticed a painting of a rather plain girl, in a stiff green dress with a parrot on her finger who looked rather like Kaelin herself, when  the parrot turned its head underside down and sideways to look at her. The face of the girl in the painting flexed slightly, a micro expression of worry and annoyance. Kaelin stepped closer to the painting and blew gently on it. The parrot squawked and flapped its wings and the girl's shoulders slumped.

"Oh well done Rodrick," she said to the parrot on her finger, "You just couldn't hold still for five minutes. Go on with you, take yourself off else where." She flicked the bird into the air and it flew towards the edge of the frame... and disappeared. Kaelin twisted her neck as she saw it again out of the corner of her eye, flying through a woodland scene painting three frames down.

"That's strange," she said, "Though not as strange as this." She turned back to the painting.

"He has been come more bird brained since he was this side of the canvas then he ever was alive," the girl explained, "And I hope you don't think me rude but... you have some spinach between your teeth, just there."

Kaelin's hand flew to her mouth and she turned her head away in embarrassment.

"Much better," the girl said when Kaelin looked back at her.

"Well after that I think I deserve to know your name," Kaelin followed her arms.

"Charlotte Susan Darling," the girl in the painting performed a very dainty curtsy. Kaelin thought for a moment, calling up that she had heard of the family name long ago.

"Weren't you one of the noble families in these parts?" Kaelin frowned.

"Were being the major word there," Charlotte noted wryly, "There are days when I am almost glad that I died before the main bloodline died out."

"What happened?" Kaelin asked, her interest peaked.

"I unfortunately, or fortunately, depending on how you see it, went down with a case of the spotted fever," she shrugged, "I wouldn't recommend it as a way to go out of this world as it is extremely painful but at least I wasn't betrayed the way my brother was."

"Was your brother back stabbed on a battle field then?" Kaelin asked, "I know there hasn't been any really big wars in the last few years but there is always the odd board skirmish with the orcs to keep thing interesting."

"No," Charlotte went grim, "He was murdered and with his death the main bloodline went down. It should have shifted to our cousin but he had disappeared after he'd been attacked by an animal some months before I became so ill. Which makes it all the more passing strange..."

"What's passing strange?" Kaelin narrowed her eyes.

"Have you ever seen your reflection?" Charlotte asked.

"In a pool, once or twice," Kaelin felt her memories of the her special place rise up in her mind but she stamped them back down quickly, "And if you're getting at the fact that we look something alike I had noticed it but forget it. Proves nothing and trust me, my grandfather was definitely not noble born."

"Shame," Charlotte sniffed, "It would have been nice to know that the estate was finally back in the family's hands."

"So how did you end up as a painting?" Kaelin changed the subject.

"The wizard who owned this place before the last one moved in," Charlotte explained, "The current one is barable, although he is not one for conversation and his religion is passing strange but the last one..." she gave a delicate shudder, "We paintings lived in fear that he'd take it into his head to burn us all. Seeing as none of us truely understand what magic the one before that had used to make these frames we were not sure that such a thing could destroy us."

"These frames?" Kaelin asked, focusing on the least confusing part of Charlotte's explaination. 

"Yes these frames," Charlotte said, "These ones that let us see into the land of the living. They are propped up all over the place, like strange windows. It is quite strange to be walking through a forest and then just find  a frame hung up on a tree branch and the view you see through it is someones sitting room."

"Yes that could be a little strange," Kaelin muttered, trying to wrap her head around the idea that her world might just be a painting on someones wall, "So can you climb out of there?"

Charlotte sighed and stretched out her hand. "Touch me," she commanded.

"Wait what?" Kaelin stared.

"Touch me," Charlotte commanded with a roll of her eyes.

Kaelin reached out and after a moment pressed her finger tips to the painting.

"What do you feel?" Charlotte asked.

"Canvas," Kaelin replied.

"Glass," Charlotte replied, "I can no more make it into your world than you can come to mine."

"I see," Kaelin peered at the frame, "I just going to try something."

"What are you thinking...." Charlotte cried out but Kaelin had already gripped the frame and lifted it off the wall. Charlotte's eyes were wide as the painting swung round and then Kaelin rehanged it on the wall.

"Well that was a disconcerting sensation," Charlotte said, "What was it in aid of?"

"Trying to prove that you aren't another of those chest weasel thing," Kaelin admitted, "But I'm still not sure so I guess it was unsuccessful."

"Well really," Charlotte gathered up her skirts and huffed out of her painting.

"I didn't mean..." Kaelin called out but Charlotte had already disappeared beyond the frame.  "Oops," Kaelin sighed and started trying to make her way back downstairs.

Downstairs in the library Jeremiah pulled another book off the shelf and a large fat moth blunder out with it, burling round Jeremiah's head. With a quick word, sparks jumped from Jeremiah's finger tips and the fuzzy thing burst into flame and feel onto the window sill as a pile of ash. Jeremiah glanced round to see if his unwanted study buddy was coming to see what the noise was about and then he smiled as he turned back to the little pile of ash. Dark words and dark purpose curlled through the air and the ash reformed into  the moth it had once been, only then it expanded beyond what it had been. Jeremiah stared with satisfaction as the huge insect that slowly beat its wings as the patches of blue flared up its sides and filled its eyes.

He grinned at the hawk sized thing flew up and landed on his hat, then it clattered its wings at him and his grin faded.

"Stop that!" he snapped and the bug folded its wings and was still. Jeremiah went back to his studies satisfied that the day was improving.