The pain from the cut on his forehead still hadn’t gone away. The path seemed to take offense at his attempts to maneuver along its muddy rutted length and there seemed to be a grandmother of a storm brewing. The whole world was plotting against him. It had been for some while now. Well, at least as long as he could remember.
It was a day less than a fortnight since his past had been taken from him. He remembered nothing from before the day he had awoken in that sheltered dale. When consciousness finally returned to him he was beaten and bloody from what must have been a grand battle indeed. Sap glistened from the sheared edge of a young poplar a few feet from where he lay on the soft under growth of the ancient wood. A still smoldering crater oozed acrid smoke from the body of something less then human across the small clearing. So many rusty pools of half-dry blood spattered the landscape it was impossible to count them all. He had spent nearly a day in that dale hoping for something or someone to give him some clue as to what happened. As he sat and stared around this unremarkable patch of forest the trees stared back at him blankly, ignoring his pleas. Did he expect them to answer? Why should he count on the trees for an answer? He and whomever had stolen his memories were the ones who had disturbed the ancients' peace. 
He cleaned up his wounds as best he could and then took an inventory of his possessions. He had a sturdy pair of boots that were a little well worn, but definitely travel ready. His breeches and vest were torn and bloody in places, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed. The scabbard at his waist was empty, but in his boot still hid a sturdy hunting-knife. He could travel.
Where should he go, though? Without his memories it was as random as rolling the dice. These trees weren’t helping any either. Someone or something had to hold the key to finding the answers he wanted, or to getting the revenge he needed…. 
It burned. His body turned into the heart of a blacksmith's forge. His rage seared away the pain of his injuries and the jumble of his thoughts. It was incredible. Clarity. That was what he felt. In his mind's eye he saw the face of a cruel twisted man, ordering people of his race massacred. They were lined up by the hundreds… “Aaaargh!” The vision was gone, but the deep pit from which it boiled in his sole remained. Perhaps he remembered more than he thought? With this newfound vitality he decided to trust his gut and follow where his feet took him. 
His mind made up, he chose a course and started walking. The near unlimited supply of energy that he felt after the vision faded shortly after finding a road well worn with the travel of both foot and hoof. His injuries tore at his will to press on. He decided to rest near a small stream near the road, offering a chance to clean wounds too long ignored and cool an aching head now filled once again with unanswered questions. Wading in up to his knees he stripped his blood and sweat soaked clothes off. His wounds seemed all superficial except for the ragged gash on his forehead which leaked a pungent yellow puss that reminded him of something… “Damn it,” his memory failed him and he voiced his derision to the refreshing water. 
After cleansing his wounds and rinsing out his clothes as best he could, he sat on the bank, staring into the stream. He saw his reflection then for the first time. Skin the white canvas of an unknown artist, covered in strange script and mystical symbols. He sat in wonder at his own flesh until darkness began to fall. He could understand none of what he saw, but knew inside that these markings were the key to his past. He needed to find someone to translate. He needed his memory back. He needed to know his name, for his name held a greater power than even his rage. 
His journey progressed slowly. He found that he did remember more as the days wore on though. He knew how to make a bow. A sturdy young oak and the body of a young deer provided the materials for the bow, arrows, and quiver. He could make fire from the abundant dried wood and moss in the forest along the road. He knew which berries and plants were edible and which would make him sick. He was at home in the wild. 
Now he approached the Sleepywater River and a violent storm was coming. He hadn't remembered the river's name, but that’s what Jessup had called it. Less than a hour ago he had met the dirty old man while making his way to the not so distant city. The old man was at first frightened of him. Jessup had pink skin unlike his pure white and Jessup’s eyes were not the red of a glowing ember, but a homely brown. However, once Jessup realized the stranger meant no harm, he grudgingly accepted the company. 
“What’s yer name boy”?
“I have no name, sir.”
“Then I’ll call ya Shade, cause ya damn well look like something outta tale we’d tell our childrens to scare the wits outta ‘em.”
“Shade works for me, sir.”
“Names not Sir, I’s Jessup”
This was the first person Shade had talked to since he could remember. He asked many questions of this grizzled old man who had a team of stubborn mules pulling his wagon of lumber. Shade soon found that Jessup supplied the “Inventors Guild” with the wood it needed for its work. Not that Shade or Jessup knew what these inventors used it for. 
Wind was now whipping through the trees and Jessup’s mules were getting anxious. Shade suggested they take cover under the sturdy wagon Jessup used to haul the wood. They braced it against the oldest, toughest tree they could find and unhitched the team to tie the mules to the side of the wagon that was downwind of the storm. From the look of gale they’d be waiting a while, which was not what Shade had hoped. In a city so large there had to be room for some of the answers he needed.
* * * * *
A cool gust of reality pushed hair onto Nevarris’s forehead from behind as he tipped back the bottle of Mashberry’s wine for one last swig. With calm annoyance, he brushed it aside with a slow wipe of his forearm. Taking a deep breath, carefully turning to face the now emptying street, Nevarris looked up and noticed the deep blue wall of a storm climbing it’s way from the horizon to the heavens. A startling sight, indeed: as if the ocean had somehow taken flight to destroy the land and extend it’s own borders. A thick whip of lightning snapped from a large clump of the menacing, beastly clouds, striking an unseen target in the distant hills. Trees could be seen uprooted by gale force wind and debris speckled the sky like so many angry birds. The growling thunder followed shortly after and built into an angry roar. “Perhaps it is time we found our way to a less vulnerable location, my friend,” Nevarris said to the now empty bottle in his left hand, watching the clouds drop water by the layer onto the dry landscape beneath. Floodwaters could already be seen rushing ahead of the storm in the rain-blurred, hazy distance. 
Through uncooperative eyes, and on legs that were somewhat less dependable than usual, the street seemed a little unstable. “Best if we stick close to the buildings on the way back, Mashy. I wouldn’t want you to fall and hurt yourself!” With a grin and a chuckle, Nevarris clumsily made his way along the rail of Sleepywater Bridge, and along the front of Fortress Stables. The wind must be picking up, for it was becoming very difficult to walk in a straight line, even trailing his right hand down the buildings was not helping much. Everywhere he tried to step, he missed by nearly a dagger’s length or more. He stumbled past a few more buildings, and almost made it to the porch in front of Murrg’s Barbershop before he tumbled and planted his face into the dirt below. Lifting his head, he felt the first few drops of rain on his face, and caught some wind-driven dust in his eyes. What a day for a storm, he thought as he turned his face from the gusting air and tried to pull himself under the porch for shelter. Something caught his eye up ahead… a bottle, with a very familiar label. Mashberry’s wine. As he reached out for it with a desperate yearning, the bottle suddenly seemed much closer than before… as if it met him half way. He remembered passing out under this very porch only a few days before.
 “Have we been drinking this much?” he asked himself in amused astonishment as he wiped away the first hint of a nosebleed. “I think you may have a bit of a problem there, Mashy!” The laughter began to build from quiet, short breaths to a joyful guffaw, to a gut cramping raspy noise full of shame and disgust. Soon the laughing stopped, and the rain cut loose from the sky and flowed as thick as the wind carrying it. Nevarris was fast asleep, half under the porch, and clutching two empty bottles. Face in the mud and free from the rainy night that was setting in. Free from the unseen terrors of being the inventors’ assistant.
The rays of sunlight that broke his slumber felt like they were attacking his body and Nevarris rubbed the sleep from his eyes with mud-crusted hands. An ache like he hadn’t felt in years was now wracking his body like no hangover ever had before. He wanted to get up, but decided to roll over on his side to face the street, instead. It required much less movement and, besides, the porch helped block the blinding sun from his newly opened eyes.
Through latticework and vines, the streets could be seen crowded with people, as was usual for this time of day. This was to be expected, being the main route between the Business and Market districts. Something was amiss though… traffic wasn’t moving with any structure as it normally did. People were just wandering slowly. Perhaps this warrants an investigation, he thought through the cumbersome pain in his tired head.
Fighting the urge to lie under the porch, and fighting the throbbing pain in his head, Nevarris gathered his wits and dragged his reluctant body into the offensive light and annoying chatter of a loud and obviously disturbed crowd. The painful white light in his eyes faded slightly, and dark shapes slowly gained detail. After a few seconds his eyes were able to function normally again, and he beheld a mess like none he had ever seen.
The town was in absolute shambles. Had a tornado torn through with that storm? Most buildings were missing roofs, and some were collapsed upon their foundations. Piles of timber lined the streets, the result of volunteers helping with the clean up. Nevarris turned to lean on the porch railing for a little more stability. Saliva was building in his mouth, and his arms felt weak as he looked across the porch at what should have been a barber’s shop. In place of a sturdy, wooden and stone structure was an empty space, save the floorboards and two vertical posts. The bitterness of old wine filled his mouth and gushed from his nostrils before it burst through pursed lips. Darkness began to creep in from all around as Nevarris doubled over in sickness, and slowly slumped to the earth with a heavy thump.
* * * * *
“We have troubles, Adrivall. This storm was mighty powerful, indeed; every ward we had in place is obliterated… utterly destroyed. There’s simply no way this could have been a natural occurrence. It must have been a construct sent to destroy our city.” Magistrate Harvala addressed Guild Master Adrivall very rarely. Usually the roles were reversed, and meetings like these had always been held with civility and mutual respect instead of the tense emotion that hung between the two of them now.
“Your concern is duly noted, and I assure you this will not happen again.” The elder’s skin shone brightly in the old, dusty office. “I have people working on a solution, and it is coming along nicely." The guildmaster smiled kindly, perhaps condescendingly, "You seem far to riled up to think logically right now, Bardren. I suggest you relax, and let me handle the situation,” the Guild master’s words impacted like a slap, making clear his impatience.
“Don’t talk to me like I’m one of your little drones, Luviros!” Bardren Harvala’s gruff voice boomed from his thick frame, as rage-born tears began to collect over his eyes. “This is a grave matter. Look at what’s left of the town, for lord’s sake! I will not stand in the shadows while my town is assaulted by gods-know-what!” His face, red as the sunset, showed no fear, and though his voice was choked with emotion it gave no hint of weakness. “I know how spineless the last magistrate was, that he let you take unnecessary risks with no regard for safety of the citizens. I’m in charge now, and things are going to be a hell of a lot different around here!”
The tall, frail frame of Luviros Adrivall rose quickly from his chair. “Do not be a fool, Bardren. You have merely been shaken by the current state of affairs… You are scared, and you are unsure of the future. I know you to be a wise man: now is the time to prove yourself to the people of this town. Creatures like those that caused the storm are best left to they with the power to oppose them, which I assure you your human forces have none. My people and I are the best suited to oppose the threat, and logically should be the ones to address this matter.” Magistrate Harvala had regained his composure, and now had full control of his emotions as he listened to the guildmaster state his position.
“I have already sent for a very capable individual, well suited for an investigation such as this. He will be arriving before the morrow, I expect, and will be more than agreeable to my proposition. I will send him to the northland, with Nevarris Garrimon as escort, to investigate, and possibly quell this matter.”
“What?” The magistrate’s expression was bleak, yet was tickled with humor. “You’re going to send your drunken errand boy on a mission of this significance? You are mad, aren’t you?” Astonished, as he was, he was happy to hear the news. “I guess that’s one good thing to come about from this mess: I’ll finally get that good-for-nothing drunkard out of my streets!”
“Are we done then, Bardren?”
“We’re done, but don’t think this means I’m done.” Magistrate Harvala left the room, shaking his head over the displeasing situation, obviously unhappy with how Adrivall was blowing off the situation.
The old man took a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh as he leaned forward, resting the weight of his thin torso on leathery knuckles. The desktop felt like cold stone, even through the clutter of books and papers. Its sturdiness was very sobering, given the tumultuous events of the previous night. I’d rather have handled this issue myself, but I’m getting far too old to travel such distances, the old man mused. My spirit and will are remain vigorous, but my bones have been telling me another story for many years now. Shifting his weight backward, he settled into his high backed chair and strolled through old memories: the first spell lesson he received from his master, Frova Leshki, dead now for almost two centuries. The first time his grand vision of “The Empowerment of Man” fell into place, and he started crafting the guild and picking it’s founding members. The day he first set foot into The Incubator, now the headquarters for his guild and which grown ten fold since it’s foundation was laid nearly one hundred and twenty years back. And the first day he met Neverris Garrimon, and an unwilling participant in the unorthodox experiment which would prove to be pivotal for the ascension of mankind…
* * * * *
On the outskirts of the business district an old man sat perched like a gargoyle upon a rooftop, watching the massive storm roll in. His patchwork cloak ruffled briskly behind him as the winds increased to a low roar. The old man knew that he must seek shelter soon, but was fixed in place with a sense of awe of the sheer power unfolding in front of him.
The old man had watched the storm develop on the horizon. It had started as only an inky blot on a canvas of pure blue sky, but it had quickly approached and loomed above the city within a few hours. The tranquil sky had turned into a violent display of swirling green and black clouds highlighted by frequent lightning.
This was not an ordinary storm. The wizened man could see unnatural energy pulse and crackle within the storm clouds. This imposing horror was definitely created by magical energy, and only a few beings could manage such power. But there was only one that would be sick enough to spread such genocide. It was he who was destined to lead the Inner Earth Races in battle against the Surface Races. This had to be his work.
“So this is how a war begins.” The wizard shook his head sadly.
He was brought out of his musing by exploding sounds. Trees that had been uprooted outside of town by the high winds were now hurtling into city buildings like giant spears. The old man knew he was in grave danger being up high on a roof. He drew his cloak around himself to shield against the hail that started to fall and proceeded to retreat below.
The center of the swirling storm seemed to stop right over the center of the town and immediately intensify in power. The lightning strikes became more frequent and seemed to be focused around the center of the business district. The Inventor’s Guildhall was located there, and the old wizard knew that this was probably the target of the storm.
“I hope the Inventors’ wards hold,” the wizard muttered as he watched the rapid fire of lightning bolts hit the business district.
The building began to shake. The winds were becoming much too intense for the wooden structure, and the roof that he had just departed from was suddenly ripped from its anchor walls. He knew he had better jump the remaining distance or else the building might collapse with him only halfway to the ground. He leapt and started to invoke a levitation spell to cushion his fall. The wizard closed his eyes, drew from his inner pool of energy and pictured himself floating in the air. He slowed to a stop and then felt himself start to rise. After a few moments, the wizard opened his eyes and noticed he was about thirty feet off the ground and felt a twinge of panic from being so high. The break in his concentration abruptly ended the spell and he plummeted toward the ground. "Should have practiced that one a bit more," he thought as he hit at full speed.
His right leg snapped to the side with a sickening crunch and he sprawled out on the street. The pain was intense, but he knew that he must get to a safer place or else run the risk of getting hit flying debris. The wizard started to drag himself to the other side of street when the building he just fell from finally caved before the wind and crumbled to the ground. His vision flashed as a piece of the falling building bounced off the side of his head. The world went black.
* * * * *
A voice could faintly be heard. “Are you ok? Can you hear me in there?”
Nevarris opened his eyes only to be meet by offensive sunlight stabbing pain into his head like daggers. He quickly closed his eyes again to shield the pain.
“How are you feeling?” The voice asked, “You look two shades from visiting the Creator.”
Nevarris squinted one eye and let out a low groan. Through blurry eyes, he could make out the outline of a young woman kneeling over him. She wore a sky blue robe somewhat muddied from the wet street. Clothing different than the typical brown or gray of the working class was a rare sight in the market place. She also wore a silver circlet that peeked out from behind her light blond hair. It had a heart shaped pendent hanging down over her forehead that shined brightly in the morning sun. Nevarris immediately recognized the circlet to be the symbol of the Order of Panacea, the school of magic that specialized in the discipline of Life Magic.
Nevarris tried to rise but a hand gently pushed him back to the ground. “Rest for a moment, mister. Drink this water, it will make you feel better.” 
Nevarris felt her press the end of a water skin against his lips, and cool water poured into his mouth and down his dry throat. At that moment, Nevarris had never tasted anything so fantastic in his entire life. She laid a hand on his forehead and warmth started to grow in his head and radiated down to his torso, through his limbs and out to his extremities. Then, just as slowly, the warmth dissipated, leaving Nevarris feeling quite wonderful indeed.
“You should be able to sit up now,” stated the female mage soothingly as she helped him up into a sitting position. He immediately noticed that his head was no longer throbbing and that the light did not offend his eyes
“Thanks for your help, lady. I do believe I had a bit much to drink,” Nevarris confessed.
“Well, after a storm like that, I think we could all stand for a stout drink.” The woman laughed.
Feeling sheepish since he was drinking before the storm, not after the event, Nevarris remained silent while he surveyed the carnage. It was hard to imagine the market place that he walked through every day in such ruins. “What happened?” muttered Nevarris. “We never get storms like that here.” 
Hearing him, the young woman replied, “I don’t know. The size of that storm does seem a touch strange doesn’t it? People are whispering that the Weather Mages made a mistake again, but I don’t know. Even they cannot brew a storm of such magnitude...” She tapered off while shaking her head as if thinking to herself. Quickly changing the subject, she said, “So, are you feeling better?” When Nevarris nodded, she stood up and tossed him a small sack, which he caught handily.
“That powder will stop the nausea if it returns. Just add a palm’s worth to water so you can drink it.” She then turned to leave.
“Thanks again, miss,” Nevarris called after her, “do I owe you anything?”
She turned her head while still walking away and shouted “Not to worry, Nevarris Garrimon, you will pay me back when it is your time!” before disappearing into a crowd of people.
Wait a minute, he thought, how did she know my name? He ran to where she had disappeared, but could not see her anywhere. He stood on his tiptoes and strained his neck above the crowd but still could not locate a woman in a sky blue robe. Nevarris shrugged his shoulders, Well, there are a lot more unexplainable things in this world than a pretty woman knowing my name. He smiled to himself as he glanced down at the sack the woman had tossed to him. It was bluish silver in color and appeared to be made of a fine silk material and had drawstrings of silver thread. There was stitching on the side of the sack that looked to be markings of a language that Nevarris did not recognize. Unknotting it and peering in, he saw the sack contained a dark brown powder blended with very small, sparkling crystals. I wonder how much I can sell this for at the Alchemist’s, he smirked as he cinched the drawstrings closed. 
He turned to walk towards the Sleepywater Bridge that would lead him back to the Inventor’s Guild in the business district. “Those engineers are going to have a lot to clean up,” he mumbled to himself as he slipped into the roaming crowd.
*  *  *  *  *
Flying east over the forests of the Sleeping Lands, searching for signs of Man, Gutter Slitquick was at first grateful for the tailwind. The dragonfly wings that buzzed in a shimmering blur over his back were powerful and agile, but were not designed for speed. The steady gusts of wind building steadily behind him had pushed him forward with ever-increasing haste. Reveling in the celerity granted him by the wind, Gutter cut a zigzagging course, dipping down through the trees, his small brown body almost invisible as it darted with impossible ease around branch and bole.
Delightful as this sport was, however, it was not his goal. With an irritated glance at the black gem set in bronze around his wrist, Gutter reminded himself that he needed to find himself mortals to aid. Mortals worthy of his penance, and preferably not too dreadfully dull to deal with. Sighing heavily, the fairy paused in his course to kick a squirrel from its perch before rising above the trees once more.
Immediately he knew something was wrong. His path through the trees had masked the swelling of the storm, which now threw him forward through the air at speed. Even consumed with the task at hand--dodging wind-blown debris while being tossed by buffeting gusts and pounded by sheeting rain--Gutter could sense it. A tingle in is spine, a burning in his pointed ears, an aching in his needle-teeth, all told him that there was something wrong with this maelstrom. Something was pushing this storm, and he was afraid he might know what it was. But that was a matter for others to deal with; he needed shelter and he needed it quickly. Even a flyer as agile as Gutter Slitquick didn’t dare risk a drop into the trees while moving as at such velocities as this.
A road cutting between a river and the forest offered him his chance to escape winds that tore him eight ways at once. Below the tops of the trees the wind lost some of its power but none of its turbulence and a slightly panicking Gutter didn’t know how much longer his wings could hold out. And then he saw it, a sturdy wooden wagon being lashed to the thick trunk of an ancient tree by two travelers. Thinking to huddle unseen in a corner of the wagon until this storm passed, Gutter folded his wings and dropped towards his haven. He never reached it.
A hand, hard and white as alabaster, struck out and snatched him from the air inches above the wagon. The mortal who had seized him looked as surprised about the fact as Gutter, as though the action had been one of pure reflex. The look turned to one of shocked pain as the fairy sunk dagger-sharp teeth into the flesh between thumb and forefinger. Released abruptly, Gutter’s dropped to the ground, drawing his blade and hissing as his bent wings failed him. 
“Shade? Why’d ya drop the damned rope!” a hoarse throat croaked out above the storm. The second traveler--a road-worn and weather-beaten mortal--peeked around the tree to find the white skinned man dropped into a fighter’s crouch, balled fists ready to lash out. “Who the Hell’re ya going after?”
“This... thing, Jessup,” the pale one named Shade answered, pointing at Gutter with one long and callused finger.
The man, old in a way that only mortals could be, spotted the hissing fairy and let a long, low whistle slip out through stained teeth. “I’d be a mite bit careful there, Shade. A brownie is nothing to trifle with. Ya maybe jus' want to leave it alone.” At that the white-skinned warrior (for such he obviously was) lowered his fists and back away from the fairy, apparently trusting his companion’s advice.
With a disdainful sniff, Gutter sheathed his dagger and began to inspect his battered wings. “At least one of you knows his place.” No permanent damage to his wings, but they would carry him no further that night. He looked up imperiously at the two mortals that towered over him. “Since you’ve made travel difficult for me this eve, I demand shelter and food until the storm passes.”
Jessup and Shade exchanged cautious looks before nodding their assent and returning to their work. “At least the tyke won’t take up much room ‘neath the wagon,” observed Jessup as they finished the work of lashing securely wagon and mules both. Sheltered in the dark, cramped quarters beneath the wagon--with a tarp pulled down taut around the edges to keep out wind and rain--the three settled into a meal of cold rabbit pulled from their stores. From his perch on an axle, Gutter mended his battered wings and watched both mortals slide uncomfortably into sleep, the pale red light from Shade’s eyes extinguishing as sleep-heavy lids slid over them. Only after both were breathing deep and lying limply did he creep down to inspect Shade.
It had been a long time since he had seen a Bone Walker, but he had recognized one with no difficulty: his few encounters with them had been memorable. Gutter invoked a gentle fey working over the sleeping Shade and he barely stirred as the small brown sprite climbed nimbly over his torso to inspect the tattoos. “Interesting. Very interesting,” he muttered to himself as he inspected the runes and sigils. “It seems I’m not the only one serving out a sentence.” Gutter looked at the black gem and then back at the tattoos. Underneath the scents of damp earth and sweaty mortal, Gutter could smell the anger burning inside the Bone Walker. “Definite possibilities.”
Sliding down to the muddy ground and slinking over to the old man, Gutter clambered up onto the old man’s chest and drew his blade with a grin. “Wakey wakey, Jessup. It’s time we had ourselves a little talk about your future.”
* * * * *
“I don’t understand this, Jessup. What has happened?” Shade's pale brow was knitted with concern and confusion, the red glow of sunrise tinting it to match his eyes.
“Just thunk better of the two of us hitching along together is all,” muttered Jessup. As he moved around the wagon to ready it for the road he moved with a limp he hadn’t had before. “You head on into town and I’ll jus’ head back the way I came. After last night’s storm the Inventor’s Guild’ll be too busy ta want lumber anyway.” Shade watched in silence as Jessup finished his task and mounted the wagon’s bench seat. “You take care, ‘right, Shade?” Jessup glanced up at the tree limb where Gutter Slitquick perched smiling. “I wish ya the best of luck.”
Shade stared--concern plain upon his face--after the diminishing wagon until a bend in the road carried it out of sight.
“So, chalk skin,” the sprite chimed brightly, buzzing down to perch on his shoulder. “Looks like it’s just the two of us now! Where to?”
*  *   *  *  *
Maneuvering through masses of people could be trying at times, but with the streets covered in debris of all shapes, sizes, and material, passage was becoming next to impossible. Nevarris clambered up a pile of splintered wood and wire mesh to gain his bearings. The town (or what was left of it) had lost enough landmarks that even a local could lose his sense of location. “It'll take more years to rebuild the damage here than I'm be willing to spend,” Nevarris thought to himself as he shielded the sun from eyes which darted through the crowd, searching for any of his guild employers. He was also watching for the Woman in Blue with hopes of speaking more, and watching for a guildsman for just the opposite reason. The last thing he wanted to do was join the efforts to pick up trash and salvage the reusable portions.
“Nevarris!” A voice rang above the drone of the people and the raucous of the cleanup efforts. “Nevarris! I be glad to see ya, I am! If’n yous ain’t too busy up on that trash, yer presence is requested at the Main Hall.” Braddin was one of the guild’s message boys. At twelve years of age, and after a year of service, he had learned nothing but rudeness and tactlessness. If he weren’t so damned good at sniffing out people, and quickly dodging through heavy crowds with his nimble frame, he would have been dismissed from the organization long ago.
“To what do I owe this displeasure, you disgusting little snot?” Nevarris particularly disliked the little wretch who had ratted him out, on more than one occasion, for being at the bar when he should have been working. On top of that, the boy didn’t even bathe, and this was particularly discomforting to Nevarris. “Who needs me so badly today?”
“It be the headmaster himself, ass crack. You best be watchin’ how you talk to me, ugly, ‘cause I can gets you into troubles you don’t even knows about! You think yer better than me, buts y’ain’t!” At this, Braddin pushed on one of the boards Nevarris was precariously perched upon, hoping to send him tumbling. With a quick shift in weight and a half spin on his left heel, the accident was expertly avoided and led to a vicious, leaping attack from the dexterous guildsman. Fear swept the features of the youth as he narrowly escaped the grasping fingers of a clearly angry Nevarris, and the boy ran into the crowd in a desperate attempt of flight. The chase was close only for moments before the small boy was able to elude his pursuer, leaving a disgusted and red-faced Nevarris marching purposefully and lividly to the Inventors’ Guild.
	“I wonder,” Nevarris thought to himself as he marched his way through the crowd, “why Master Adrivall would summon me like this? Usually all assignments are delivered from the dispatch agent, or during the weekly assembly. No doubt its something that filthy pigeon said about me, and I’m in for a whallop… Damn, I hate that kid!” As he drew nearer to the guild’s main building, the damage grew increasingly worse. The piles of rubble were larger, containing rock and plates of steel. Every building was completely demolished and most were burning to some degree, though it looked as if the fires were well contained and manageable. Every building was destroyed except one, and it stood proud and triumphant above the shattered remains of the rest. 
	The Power of Man guild center was completely untouched. All three stories, and all wind fans were unblemished. There wasn’t a single piece of window glass broken, or a single exterior torch extinguished. The shingling was undisturbed, and the banners were clean and bright. Even the elaborate hand carved sign was still hanging by its thin silver chains above the main entrance! It was as if the storm had not even touched the massive structure which comprised nearly half the business district. What once had been the business district, anyway. As Nevarris mounted the first few steps leading up to the entrance of the magnificent structure, a strange tingling rose on the back of his neck, and turned his arms to gooseflesh. A shiver ran up his spine as he stepped over the threshold of the oversized, welcoming doors of the main hall, then all eerie sensations were gone.
	Inside, the wounded were lining the walls, lying on the floors, and the guild’s own medical staff (which were considerable in number) were tending their needs. Many of the common staff were helping where they could as well. Conspicuously absent were the distinguished members who did no manual labor, of course. Nevarris slowly made his way through the disarray of the makeshift medical ward, not knowing what to think of the new surroundings.
	“There you are,” came an unfamiliar voice from an unfamiliar guildsman. There were many people visibly working for Guildmaster Adrivall, and many people working behind closed doors. Too many people to ever get to know, and far too many to bother remembering. “Adrivall awaits you in his chambers, and I suggest you move a little more quickly. He seems anxious to see you.”
	With a quick step fuelled by boiling curiosity and a slight fear of the unknown, Nevarris hurried down the center hallway, and up the staircase that led to the chambers of the most powerful man in the city. Publicly, the city was run by a magistrate, as is every other. However, it was taken for granted that whatever Luviros Adrivall wanted, he got, and whatever he wanted to do, he did without a word from town officials. His guild was the life breath of the town, and without it ships wouldn’t even brave the unpredictable currents of the coastline to keep this town on their trade route. Without the trade, this town would surely crumble.
	The door before him was ornate and riveted with steel belting and locks of great fortitude. A large hammer hung from a dark chain on the wall to the right of the door. A crude door knock indeed, but with the barricade’s mass being so great, it needed a device capable of heavy impact to deliver a blow audible enough to reach room’s interior. As Nevarris reached for the giant’s hammer, a kind voice passed undistorted through the thick door and instructed him to enter.
	After a series of clicks, clanks, and scrapes, the door swung outward on large hinges, allowing passage to the inner holdings, and revealing the silhouette of a tall bald man standing before an even taller window on the opposite wall. “Come in, Nevarris, I’ve been expecting you for quite some time now. I trust your delay was from assisting the clean-up efforts?”
	“Well… I, uh… wouldn’t quite say that, Sir.” Nevarris felt like a mouse cowering beneath the gaze of a hawk. “I had just…“
“Don’t bother explaining yourself,” cut in Adrivall abruptly. “None of that really matters now, and the efforts of one man wouldn’t make an impact anyway. I called you here this afternoon in regards to the run you are making to Wolfston tomorrow. Do you still plan on going?”
“Well, yes I still intend to go. That is, if I’m still needed to.”
“Yes, you will still be needed to travel to Wolfston, Nevarris, but I’m afraid your assignment will be a bit more involved than bringing back a load of wood. You see, you will be traveling there with a horse-drawn cart, as planned, only you will not be returning with it.”
“I’m afraid I do not understand your intentions, Master Adrivall. Is there some reason why I am not allowed to return? Is it something I have done? What ever this is about, I’m sure we can work out the problem! I…“
“No,” Luviros interrupted, “slow down and let me explain. You jump to too many conclusions, nervous one. You are not being exiled; I am simply giving you a new assignment. I have a colleague who has need to do some traveling, and I am requesting you to accompany him for an undisclosed amount of time.”
“Sir. You wish to assign me as a bodyguard? I’m not cut out for such things. I am a handyman, not a brute.”
“You’ve done an excellent job defending me on my trips, and keeping the name of our organization clear of misdoing. I think you would be an exceptional guardsman for this person. For not only will he need a certain level of protection, but also company will help keep him sane on his journey. You are good for conversation, Mr. Garrimon, and also capable in a skirmish.”
“I know your judgment is sound, Master Adrivall, and after all you’ve done for me, I have no choice but to accept your assignment. It is the least I can do…So, who is this person, and when shall we leave?”
“This person, Nevarris, is a man by the name of Gustar Longrove, and he should arrive at these chambers within a matter of minutes. Your future schedule will be determined by Mr. Longrove, since it’s his journey you are undertaking.”
*  *  *  *  *
The blazing shafts of sunlight burned holes through cloud cover as the great storm died over the mountains to the North East. Shade realized he loved the few hours after a heavy storm. It was calming. The clean smell of ozone from the numerous (and sometimes frighteningly close) lightning strikes was still in the freshly washed late spring air.  Of course that was not all that was in the air. On his bug wings flew the brownie that had somehow befriended him. Shade had no real friends, so he had nothing to compare the immortal too, but somehow biting his hand and driving off the only kind person Shade knew had made them friends. Or so Gutter told him. 
“It looks down right disastrous up there, Chalky. We sure we wants to be heading this way?” chirped Gutter as he lighted on Shade's muscular shoulder. 
Shade had answered this question several times since this morning and was beginning to grow tired of the repeated query. “Who am I, Gutter?”
“How should I know, boy? I just met you last night.” Gutter answered a little to quickly, but luckily the mortal didn’t notice. Mortals were so dull sometimes.
“I think you know more than you let on, fairy. You could save me some time and just tell me what I need to know; or we can search this entire planet until I find what I am looking for.”
“Do you even know what you are looking for boy?” Gutter knew this would stump the mortal and it served as a good way to stop a conversation he did not want to have right now. 
The strange looking pair approached the devastated city when the sun was straight overhead. It had evaporated most of the clouds and the day was beginning to warm up quite nicely. The traffic in and out of the city had come to a standstill after the storm, which made travel to and from move much quicker than usual.
Gutter couldn’t be seen like this right now. The sight of an immortal creature here and now would probably not go over well after that storm. Even though these mortals would have no idea who had sent the maelstrom they were frightened and would turn quickly on someone who to them was as unnatural as the storm which had just destroyed their town, injuring and killing loved ones. “Shade, wait here and I will return in a few minutes. I cannot go into the city like this. I need to find a disguise”.
The buzz of Gutters now healthy wings took him into the not too distant trees in seconds. Shade found a wagon that had been blown over like a leaf in a breeze along side the road, its occupants obviously gone. He took a seat on what was left of the bench and tried once again to organize his thoughts. It had become easier just within the last couple days. His head had finally started clearing of the fuzziness left him by the wound on his forehead. It now seamed that since he had no memories his mind ached to take in as much information as possible. He could remember the exact distance to the fork in the trail he and Gutter crossed earlier today. He knew that the large rock less than a mile back faced east into the rising sun. Every little detail of his new life was flooding his parched mind. 
Shade never heard the child walk up next to the wagon, but that didn’t mean he didn’t know that it was there. “Is that you Gutter?” He said without even looking back over his shoulder at the little monster. 
This mortal had a knack for catching Gutter off guard when that was the exact thing that the fairy was trying to do to him. That would have to be remedied. “Of course its me, fool! Do you think a normal child would walk up to a full-grown man with white skin and eyes that burn with bale fire? You are not very bright, pale skin. I can probably help you with that though. Seeing as how I know so many things, that is”.
Shade was impressed with the fairy's disguise. Gutter looked very little like his normal (or abnormal) self. He had somehow made himself look taller and more human which gave him the appearance of a young child. He still had some tell tale fairy features--like his high, noble cheekbones and a slight point to his ears--but those sharp little teeth of his were gone. Gutter more than likely knew many things, most of which Shade would not like to know. Of this Shade was sure.
“Quit gawking, fool. I may look like a child, but I am still older, wiser, and nine hells more worldly than yourself. You should do what I say when we get into that city. You haven’t had to deal with a whole lot of people since your accident, so just listen to what I tell you.” In most cases it wouldn’t do to have a child making the decisions or telling his elder what to do, but hopefully with the recent storm and the damage it caused the peoples minds would be elsewhere.
The city had been shattered like a crystal goblet thrown against a stone wall. Pieces of buildings were strewn throughout the whole of the burg. Windows were nothing but holes in walls and all structures not made of stone or masonry would need to be repaired or rebuilt. Even some of those sturdy buildings had not been left standing. Clean up crews in different liveries were everywhere trying to organize the debris, tend the injured, and cart off the dead. Each noble and guild would have as many servants as possible out trying to help in the effort so as to boost their popularity. Shade seemed to be taking this pretty hard while the two of them meandered muddy streets covered in the wreckage of this once great city. He had that far away stare back in his eyes and seemed to be moving as if asleep. “A penny for your thoughts, bone walker,” thought Gutter to himself as he snickered into his hand. It wouldn’t do to be to giddy surrounded by citizens in a state of mourning. 
The maelstrom had done its job well. No building seemed to be untouched. No life in this city would soon forget the power of its winds and the violence of its thunder and lightning. It was then that Gutter felt a familiar tingle in his spine. Magic. Some one was using Magic. There should not be any other immortals here… unless they came with the storm. “Shade, stay here. I will be back soon.”
Shade showed almost no recognition of the fact that Gutter had spoken to him except to slowing down his already sluggish gait. It would make no matter. Gutter could pick out the bone walker from a hundred yards with his eyes closed. Right now he needed to know who was using the power of gods, and from which god the power had been granted. 
It didn’t take long for the fairy-turned-child to ferret out what ended up to be the first of many humans using magic. They all seemed to wear the same livery and, from what Gutter could tell, were all part of sect of creators. Most of the guildsman on the streets had only crude knowledge of the power they wielded, obviously novices even on a mortal's scale. He saw only one who even had a rudimentary idea of what he was doing. His telekinesis was sloppy and his constructs lacked the substance of its natural counterpart. Whether they were inept or not, they all knew the godly arts and that meant they had a teacher. 
It was a shock for someone as in tune with the unnatural as Gutter to see the Guildhall. It glowed like another sun in the midday sky with its wards and barriers. Things such as these were invisible to the mortal eye, but all immortals had the sight. This place was dangerous. Mortals should not have such power. Gutter needed to be away from here quickly. If these people could create constructs this powerful then they would be able to pick him out without a glance. 
*  *  *  *  *
Shade had no idea where he was or where Gutter had gone. The visions had started as soon as he walked into the chaos that was this city. It was as if he was walking the streets of some other ruined city.  A city of great importance to his past and the memories he was trying desperately to regain. Now that his head was clearing he had no clue as to where he had wandered. He seemed to be in a rougher part of town, but who was to say what was rough and what wasn’t now. The sound of voices from around the corner drew his attention. As he rounded what was left of a run down inn into a dirty, trash-filled alley he found the owners of the voices. 
“I thinks she’s prity. Don’t you boys?”
“Oh she’s prity, alright. I tinks da boy will fetch us a bigger purse, doe.”
“E’s right. Da nobs pay high prices for prity li'l boys.”
“Well, then, its settl'd, we keeps da woman and sells da boy.”
The boy could be no more than seven years old, and yet he stepped in front of his mother to block her from the three dirty beasts that threatened them both. He could have no idea what the bastards meant to do with him, but he must know he wouldn’t let anything happen to his mother. Shade's vision narrowed to only the inhabitants of this remote alley of a ruined city. The rage boiled out of its home deep in his soul, flooding throughout every inch of his body. He moved faster than any human should and his eyes trailed plumes fire. His assault was a surprise to all in the alley including him. His balled fist caught the closest ruffian at the base of the skull, unhinging it from the spine. As the other two men realized what was happening Shade had already crossed the few feet to the one with the sword. When the slaver brought his blade forward in a deadly overhand stroke Shade stepped inside his reach and wrapped his arm around the swordsman’s, forcing it to bend against the joint. The scream of pain was earsplitting, but Shade still heard the shuffle of feet and felt the presence of danger behind him. The knife flew over his right shoulder as he twisted out of the path of its flight. Unfortunately for the swordsman already in Shade's grip it caught him in the throat, just above the collar of his leather jerkin. Blood sprayed forth from the lethal wound. Before a drop touched the ground Shade crossed to the other man and drove his palm into his nose. He crumpled without another sound. 
A screaming bundle of flesh and dirty clothes darted by him and out of the alley. With the woman and boy gone only Shade and three fresh corpses remained. Shade was shaking. His heart thudded in his chest and his pulse beat against his eardrums.  He hadn’t even noticed being stabbed in the side until now. The man with the sword must have had another blade in his left hand.  Shade felt nothing as he unsheathed it from his flesh. The wound didn’t hurt at all and there was no blood to be found. 
Clap, clap, clap, clap, clap. “Not bad, chalky. Where’d you learn that?”
“…I…I don’t know?” Shade was still too stunned by his actions to be upset about being crept up on by his new friend. He had to have been trained somewhere by someone. This was not normal.
“Shouldn’t you make sure they aren’t the ones you’re looking for?” Gutter wasn’t sure this would work, but it was worth a try.
Shade bent over the closest corpse and without thinking placing his hand over the recently deceased’s head. Children, a house, women, family, liquor, beatings… “Aaahhhhh!” Shade had just looked through the man's mind, flipping through his memories like a tax collector through his tithing. Although this man was no saint, he was not one of them. Who were they? Would he have to kill just to find out? More questions. He checked the other two men in the same fashion and knew when he was done that none of these three were related to the rage that had been driving him.
Gutter was going through the dead men's pockets and taking what valuables he could find. Shade questioned him with a look.
“They aren’t going to be needing any of this stuff where they are going,” Gutter said with a small grin. “You should take that sword, you may not be able to pummel everyone to death.” This time Gutter laughed out loud.  He was already having more fun with this mortal than any of those other fools. He sobered quickly though when he remembered the all too close Inventor’s Guild.
“We need to leave, Shade. Three bodies will be hard to hide. Especially since there were witnesses.”
The sword wasn’t the best. Still it was weighted well and it showed no rust. It slid into the albino's empty scabbard easily, if a little loosely.  Pain lanced through Shade’s side and the knife wound began to bleed profusely soaking his shirt and trousers. He would have to remember to check himself for wounds after fighting from now on. If he wasn’t going to feel them until several minutes later he might as well take care of them before they started to hurt. 
“Where to Gutter? I know nowhere else to go,” Shade asked. Using his own shirt to bandage the superficial knife wound, he exposed the confusing yet intricate writing and sketching that covered nearly his entire torso.  The shirt of the man whose neck he'd broken would have to do, hiding as much of the tattooing as possible. Some of the ancient sigils and wards still snaked their way onto the back of his neck and hands, though. Not that an albino and a fairy wouldn't attract attention anywise. Gutter was right it was time to leave this city of ruined buildings and ruined people. 
“We will head north along the Sleepy Water for Wolfston.” Gutter did not like that cluster of mortals anymore than this one, but at least there were no creators there.  At least there weren’t the last time he was through.  When was that? Could it be 70 years already?  
*  *  *  *  *
Nevarris disliked the idea of a stranger determining his travel schedule, but he did not want to disobey Master Adrivall's orders. Insubordination often carried a stiff penalty of backbreaking labor or a severe whipping. Nevarris resolved that any excuse to get away from this ruined town and the work it would take to rebuild it was good enough for him. For now.
“Here is Gustar now,” Luviros stated as he waved a hand in a swirling motion toward the chamber door. The heavy door clicked and swung open revealing an old man with dirty gray hair and beard dressed in plain clothes and a patchwork cloak. He had a splint on his lower right leg and he was leaning on a crutch
“Come on in, Gustar! We were just talking about you,” called the guild master.
“Well met, Luviros,” replied the old man as he hobbled through the door. “Do you have a place where I can sit? The leg pains me if I stand for any length of time.”
Master Adrivall waved Gustar to a nearby chair. “I would like you to meet Nevarris Garrimon, an assistant of mine. He will be accompanying you on your journey.”
Gustar turned his attention to Nevarris, “Such a young man to have to deal with the perils of war,” he thought to himself.  Out of habit, the wizard checked Nevarris’ aura and saw faint signs that the young man may carry the gift of magic.  “Interesting.  I should explore the extent of his abilities later on,” he thought.  Aloud, the wizard said, “It is good to meet you, young man. I want to thank you ahead of time, since I do not think I could make it too far on this leg by myself. A good wagon ride will do me well.”
“Did that happen during the storm, Sir?” asked Nevarris pointing to the wizard’s leg.
“Gustar. You can call me Gustar, boy. And, yes, the leg is the result of being in the wrong place at the wrong time when the storm hit.” Gustar looked back to the guild master. “Good work on the wards you set up for the guildhall, Luviros. They appear to have done the job perfectly.”
“I have you to thank for the forewarning that something was brewing. I have a feeling this situation would have been a lot worse without the preparation we had.”
“You knew this would happen?” blurted Nevarris.
“I certainly had no idea that this amount of destruction would take place,” replied Gustar. “But there were definitely signs that an attack was coming.”
“An attack? You mean that was not a natural storm? 
“I’m afraid not. That storm was formed by someone who is a master at wielding magical power.”
“Who would do such a thing?”
“I am not sure yet, but I have a good guess,” stated the wizard. “That is why I need to go to Wolfston. I hope to get the answers we need there.”
“Gentleman,” Master Adrivall interrupted. “I do not want to cut this meeting short, but there are many pressing issues I must attend to, as you can well imagine. Nevarris, see the quartermaster to get the essential supplies for your journey. Gustar,” the headmaster turned to the wizard and helped him to his feet, “I want to thank you again for your help. May the sun shine across your path.” Adrivall led the two men to the door and then closed it behind them.
“I will get a horse and cart filled with supplies and meet you in the courtyard when the sun is half across.” stated Nevarris. “Is there anything else we will need?”
“Our journey may not end at Wolfston,” replied Gustar. “You may not be back here for a while, so bring anything that is important to you. I will meet you in two hours.” He then turned to leave.
“Gustar?” called Nevarris. “I have been to Wolfston many times and it is not very impressive. What is there that could possibly help you?”
“An old friend,” replied the wizard. 
*  *  *  *  *
Provisions had been hastily purchased. Gutter (who had grown more agitated with each passing minute) urged flight from the city without delay, but Shade knew he had a larger stomach to fill and did not wish to rely on the luck of the hunt to do so. The few coins they had scavenged from the carnage of the alley would not have been able to buy much from the opportunistic merchants. They knew half the storehouses and granaries in the region had been left in ruins by the storm. However, a long look at Shade's craggy alabaster face encouraged more generous dealing.
So now they traveled fast, light, and on foot down the long road to Wolfston. All the hard looks in the world couldn't persuade a hostler even to part with a mule for the pittance they could offer. So Shade set a ground eating pace that the fairy--still bearing the guise of a child--easily matched. Through the fading of afternoon and into the early hours of the night they traveled until finally they gave in to fatigue.
A woolen blanket he had purchased shielding him from the chill air the storm had left in it's wake, Shade bedded down below the towering trees on the soft earth three horse-lengths from the road. Sharpened claws digging easily into the bark, the changeling fairy scampered easily up into the canopy of the tree. He paused to sniff the night air probingly, and stared along the road in each direction for long moments, eyes unfocused. Apparently sensing something that Shade could not, Gutter moved into curious action.
Leaping to the boughs that gave his companion shelter, Gutter bounced and stomped along their length, pulling and pounding on the surrounding branches as well. Shade raised his voice in protest at the shower of leaves and twigs that fell upon him before realizing that the brownie was providing him with a simple but effective camouflage. He had reason to be grateful for it that night as he heard riders travelling down the road, moving steadily but purposefully. Keeping his own lambent eyes closed lest they give him away, Shade felt rather than saw the riders scanning the woods to either side as they rode.
Safely hidden up above, Gutter watched them pass. Armor they wore, and weapons aplenty they carried. But despite the darkness of the moonless night, they carried no torches, nor did their breath steam in the frosty night air. After their passing fairy and Bone Walker both spent a sleepless night listening to the silence left in their wake.
They rose with the sun and moved out at a trot. They did not intend to catch up with the nightriders, but they certainly had no desire to be caught up by any larger group the horsemen might be outriders for. Again they traveled without stopping, eating sparingly and only what they could while on the move. The banked heat of the rage in his belly fueled Shade's muscles; he had no idea what allowed the changeling to keep pace with him in their hours of flight. They met no other travelers and assumed it was the devastation of the storm that had interrupted the flow of trade wagons from one city to the next.
Their long running had left their stomachs with an ache that dried meat and hard biscuits wouldn't sate, and a gasping Gutter had no complaint when his companion suggested they cut into the woods to hunt before the sun had sunk. By dusk they had between them two hares and a handful of eggs. With one hare warming their bellies and a second roasting over the campfire, the two weary companions lounged against a tree trunk cracking eggs into their mouths. Settled and comfortable in a way only the truly weary could be, neither spoke, enjoying the silence of the chilled woods. Then the baying began.
Shade shot to his feet, callused hands drawing his sword by reflex. Gutter grew rigid and then slowly curled in on himself as the keening wails continued. They rose higher and higher in pitch, a razor scraping across the cold slate of the night sky, rising and lowering in volume but always growing closer. "No no no no no no…" the changeling moaned softly while rocking himself gently, a child denying bad dreams. "Not the Hund. Not happening, not happening, not happening!" The last two words came out a savage growl as Gutter's nature pushed itself through the blanket of despair the keening had dropped upon his mind.
"Grab your kit and run, ghost boy!" the ferocious fey commanded as he tossed his own satchel over his shoulder, already moving through the woods at a sprint.
"What on earth is that?" demanded Shade as he fell into step beside the shorter legged changeling.
"Under the earth."
"What?"
"They're from under the earth," shot back Gutter, "and you want them to stay there!" He slid under a fallen tree as Shade hurdled it. "Shut up and run!" On they sped through the darkness of the night, Shade navigating by the blazing light of rising rage within his own eyes and Gutter by the flows of magic and life his fey senses revealed to them. Behind them moved the Hund.
Sleek and black, the domes of their eyeless skulls smooth and hairless, nine hounds of the underkin pursued their quarry with mindless joy. Released into the intoxicating air of the overworld, they had run the woods this long day, wide and flaring nostrils seeking out the scent of biglife. The currents of the evening breezes had carried the scent of the two companions and they gave chase. The ripping claws at the ends of four long legs tore at the earth as they carried glossy skinned bodies through the forests. They were gaining on the biglife. 
Over the pounding of their hearts, the two running companions could hear the Hund growing closer. We’ll never outrun them on the ground, thought Gutter. I’ll be wanting my wings back before we’re through. But until then...
“Up into the trees!” he shouted to Shade.
“It’ll take too long to climb,” answered the warrior as he dodged around a thick-trunked oak.
“Don’t climb. Just run.”
“What?”
“Just do it!” demanded Gutter, putting all the power of his will into his words. Reacting without thought to the urgency he heard in that breathless voice, Shade ran straight at the next tree instead of dodging, lifting his leg high into the air and pushing down hard against the bark of the tree with his booted foot. Had he taken time to think, Shade would have expected his ankle to break, his knee to shatter. Instead his thrusting step carried him high into the air, momentum pushing him forward even as he rose. As the trunk of another tree rushed to meet him, Shade “stepped” forward again, and again, rising steadily higher into the heights of the ancient trees until he was running along the thickest of the upper boughs, leaping strides carrying him from tree to tree. How did the brownie know I could do this? he found himself wondering even as he exalted in the rush of the wind in his face and the thrill of this tightrope run. Joy born of freedom and exertion bubbled up through the waters of his rage.
Gutter was not so jubilant. Using claws that sprouted bloodily from hands and feet, he had scrambled like a squirrel into the trees after Shade. His changeling form didn’t have Shade’s speed, but its lighter weight let him race along slimmer limbs than the warrior dared try. This trick of his would throw the Hund off their trail for a while, but not long enough. Not nearly long enough. Something else would have to be done to buy them time. 
“Catch me, Shade!” he cried as leapt at the warrior’s back. Instinct and reflex caused Shade to whirl, arms outstretched to catch a stumbling comrade, legs bracing him to prevent a fall. Gutter’s body flew into Shade’s saving embrace and he locked arms and legs around the man’s muscular body, promptly sinking sharp claws and needle teeth into white flesh.
Shade screamed from the surprise of the attack rather than from fear. His rage-flooded body felt no pain, nor did blood flow forth: Gutter had to burrow deep with tooth and nail to find the liquid warmth he needed. Spattered redly and slick with blood, Gutter dropped from his companion as Shade drew his blade.
“Why?” asked the man, glaring at Gutter with flickering red eyes.
“Blind. Hunt by scent,” gasped Gutter. He was losing control of this form. “Run.” With those parting words, he plummeted from the tree, crashing to the ground below. Branches tore at his weakening skin, drawing forth sluggish blood, and the hard roots of tree knocked loose a chunk of flesh from his ribs on impact.
Good, thought Gutter. So much the better. He raced on; forging a path along the ground perpendicular to the one Shade had blazed through the treetops.
Moving through the forest like a frightened fox, Gutter slapped his hands against the rough bark of the trees and the hard surfaces of the rocks, leaving scarlet blazes of his blood mingled with Shade’s. Soon the trail marked against tree and stone was joined by spatters of red on leaf and grass: his skin was starting to crack and fail and blood seeped from ragged fissures in the flesh.
The night striding Hund, temporarily confused by the vanishing scent of the quarry, quickly caught scent of this new trail. The biglife were wounded and wasting their lifedrink. Soon they would be caught, brought to ground, and swallowed in chunks and gobbets. Soon. Soon. Very soon. Just over this rise! The two lead hounds fell on the crumpled body in a rush, each set of jaws tearing into the flesh as they slid to a stop. But something was wrong! It was all flesh! No meat, just an empty sack of skin! The Hund howled their anger and frustration into the night air before resuming the hunt once more.
Freed of the suit of flesh he had worn for too long, Gutter sped along in his rightful form, dragonfly wings flashing once more from his tiny back. Small as his wings were, they would be more than enough to catch up with his fleet-footed companion. His plan had worked and the Hund had been thrown off their trail. But for how long? He pushed his straining wings harder.
*  *  *  *  *
Nose buried in a book, reading by the faint morning light, Gustar did not hear the baying of the Hund until the cart rocked to a halt. Looking up, he saw Nevarris standing--muscles tensed, reins clenched in his fist--staring back down the road. They had risen before first light and hundreds of yards behind them the road led back into the woods they had left with dawn's rising. 
Nevarris had been happy to see the prairie as they broke from the woods. It had been a welcome relief to be free of the dark and towering trees at last. Now he felt too exposed: no shelter, no safety. Judging by the sound of those howls, they'd need it soon.
"Should we perhaps get moving?" questioned the wizard. "That certainly does not sound like anything I wish to meet."
"No." Nevarris shook his head slowly. "This is a work cart, not a racing chariot" He pointed at the two geldings in their braces, "And those are work horses, not thoroughbreds. Best to stand our ground and meet whatever comes out of those woods on our terms: face to face, not with it running up our backsides while we run like panicked sheep."
The wizard nodded, "As you wish. It would be foolish to have requested your protection and then ignore your advice." He pushed his sleeves back and stood as well. "I'll aid you in whatever way I can." Nevarris had already climbed into the back of the wagon, kneeling as he grabbed a longbow and readied a quiver of arrows, eyes searching the woods for approaching beasts. So intently was he scanning the base of the lofty trees that he almost missed the bone white figure that shot from their lofty canopy.
It soared through the air and Nevarris took it at first to be a tremendous bird. But he soon saw it was a man, limbs windmilling as he arced through the air and began his earthward plummet. He hit the ground in a tumbling roll that should have left him a broken pile of meat and bone. Instead, after sliding and rolling several yards, he came up on both feet and was running straight at the cart. Sighting down the length of his arrow, Nevarris saw that some strange bird or large insect was following closely after the alabaster figure. He would worry about the bug after he had dropped the juggernaut sprinting this way.
"No! Wait…" cried Gustar, placing a restraining hand on Nevarris' shoulder. "Look to the trees!"
Still keeping his aim, the former thief shifted his focus to woods, and quickly realized that the runner was the pursued, not the pursuer. "Dear gods…" Nine jet black hounds, each the size of small horse, were tearing out of the woods, baying in rage and delight.
"I do believe," remarked Gustar, "that those are the creatures we should be concerning ourselves with." 
Even as he spoke, both hunters and hunted were closing the distance to the cart. Nevarris released shaft after shaft from his bow, each arrow striking home. If either he or Gustar noticed that shafts, which seemed wide of the mark swerved into their targets at the last moment, neither commented. Despite several solid hits on five of the hounds, only one had fallen. "This is not good."
Above him, Gustar was gesticulating and mumbling words that made Nevarris' ears swim. As the last guttural syllable passed his lips, the wizard thrust his hands forward, pointing fingers spread. Glistening shards of ice flew forth in a wide and shimmering cloud. Passing too close over the runner's head, blood erupted in a fine red mist as six of the pack went down in pieces.
"Damnation!" snarled Gustar. "That was supposed to be a sheet of glare ice to slow them. I never seem to get that one right!"
"Close enough," growled Nevarris with a grin. Four arrows flew, two hounds dropped, one leapt and both men braced to see the runner fall beneath it.
Instead, the white skinned man dropped into a sliding crouch, drawing and slashing in one liquid motion. As the hound passed overhead the blade bit deep and traveled the length of the belly as the leap carried it forward. The beast's guts hit the grass before its corpse did.
There was a moment of silence as the white warrior stood, wiping his blade on the sleeve of his sweat-soaked shirt before sheathing it again. "My thanks," was all he managed to say before collapsing into exhausted unconsciousness. The "bug" Nevarris had spotted earlier alighted on the supine warrior and turned out to be a feral-looking, half-foot tall figure with an insect's shimmering wings. The tiny man peeled back the swordsman's eyelids and peered into his glazed eyes before sighing and turning to the stunned Gustar and Nevarris.
"Well," chirped Gutter Slitquick. "I suppose this means introductions are up to me."
*  *  *  *  *
The air was still again, and the morning was calm. Within a few, short minutes the picture perfect morning had been shattered by flying arrows, screaming howls, and an exploding cloud of ice shards. Blood now spattered a small portion of wispy grasses and frail saplings skirting the forest of Darkmist Swamp. First light was pushing its way over the tree line, spreading its comforting warmth to the travelers who had just felt the cold rush of fear and excitement. Fog was clinging low to the ground, and the dew was as heavy as the horses’ hooves, still stomping nervously on the soft earth beneath. Birds were beginning to sing in the far off distance, but none could hear past the beating of their own hearts, or the questions nagging at their minds.
“Greetings, travelers.” Gustar positioned himself more comfortably, letting out a short grunt as he adjusted his broken leg. “I trust those were no pets of yours,” his voice strained through gritted teeth.
“Interesting idea, but no, they weren’t.” Breathing heavily, both from relief and exhaustion, Gutter Slitquick turned to face his rescuers. “I…” An astonished pause hung in the air as he tried to regain his composure from what he was seeing: the shimmering aura of magic surrounding both occupants of the cart. The old man’s was strong and highly defined. The archer’s, however, was very faint and unstable. It was pulsing, almost synchronous with the beating of his heart. This is very odd, thought the fairy. Two magic users traveling together, one strong, one unidentifiable… both mortal. Interesting. An inkling of danger tickled his nose as he began to speak to the humans again. Perhaps these two are best to be avoided? 
“Gutter Slitquick, at your service, and my weary companion," he pointed at the still-unconscious swordsman, "is called Shade.” Gutter's own breathing was still quite heavy, and the burning in his limbs and shoulders was quickly draining what was left of his energy. “We would take rest in your wagon, if you would do us that service. We are heading north and--judging by the direction of your horses--you are, too. I thank you greatly for your assistance with the under-beasts, but now it is required that we rest. Creatures most foul are afoot and you will need our help if you are to make it there alive.” The fairy’s face was angry from showing gratitude. How could he let himself get into this position? It didn't matter now, what he needed was rest.
Gustar’s eyes squinted in contemplation. Clearly these two were no threat for the time being, but the little one looked like future trouble. What, after all, was an immortal doing traveling with a human--or what looked like a human?  Whatever their predicament, they would surely be powerful allies on a northward venture. “Your company would be an honor, Gutter Slitquick,” said the wizard, throwing a bone to the brownie's bruised ego as he cordially tipped his head. “They are rare occasions, indeed, when humans may share the same air with beings as magical as yourself. As well, I’m sure you and your friend's abilities will greatly increase the chances of us reaching our destination safely.”
“What in hell are you saying?” Nevarris questioned with offence and disbelief, wiping a droplet of blood from his left nostril. “What is that… thing with wings, anyway, And why is it covered in blood? No doubt they did something well worth being chased by those devil beasts. If you ask me, the only way we’ll be in danger on our trek is if we take the two of them along with us. How else do you explain the fact that we've had no trouble on our trip until they brought it to us?” 
The agitated young man tugged nervously on the arrow knocked in his bow. “And what are those damned dog-things anyway?” he asked as he leaned over the edge of the cart to take a closer look at the disemboweled carcass that lay before him. “And why don’t they have any EYES?” Nevarris jumped from the cart and trudged his way through the dew-wet prairie grasses, scanning the frozen carnage left by the wizard’s botched casting.
“Relax, Nevarris,” the old man scolded.
“Relax? Listen, sir; I’ve been alive for thirty-some years, and I’ve seen a lot of things. Never shiny, hairless, black dogs the size of ponies, and no eyes to speak of. That is not normal. And neither are tiny, clawed men with dragonfly wings. Especially when they're travelling with albino swordsmen with glowing red eyes!” 
“No. You are the one who will be listening." Gustar's tone was low and icy. "You have been appointed as an escort, not an advisor. I have more experiences in matters such as these and I can assure you: they mean us no harm.” The mage was feeding his companion empty words he didn’t believe himself, but revealing his true intentions would be foolish strategically. “Besides, would you leave them out as fodder if more of those monsters were to come about? What if we were the ones running through the forest, and they saved our lives?” Punctuating the mage's speech, Gutter’s wings hummed to life, as his tiny frame made it’s way the air to land lightly atop a barrel of dried oats.
Nevarris was speechless. The old man had a point, and besides, if he could vaporize six giant hounds with the twiddle of a few fingers, he could handle a locust and a human (no matter how vicious either looked to be).
Gustar flashed a commanding look of reassurance to Nevarris and nodded his hooded head to the ghostly body in suggestion that Nevarris should bring it to the wagon.
When Nevarris a nudged Shade with his bow, the warrior’s eyes opened to reveal a crimson glow. Every limb tensed up as if to strike out until, remembering what had happened, Shade relaxed a bit and grasped the hand offered by the bowman.
With a bit of exertion, Nevarris helped the tattooed man to his legs, and steadied him as they walked to the cart. “Relax in here for a while, cutter,” he said as he eyeballed the mysterious flying creature perched upon a barrel. “It’s not comfortable, but it beats walking.”
“Thank you,” Shade said with weary indifference. “This will do fine.”

Climbing back into the driver’s seat, a nervous Nevarris grabbed the worn, leather reigns wrapped around the wheel-lock and brushed back a few straggling hairs from his face. The wagon creaked to a bumpy roll as the reigns slapped across the horses' backs. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he whispered anxiously to the old man.
“I am not a fool.” Gustar was already reading his book. “Trust me on this. Things will turn out for the better this way.”
Both new passengers were fast asleep as the cart made it’s way over the rolling hills of tan and green grasses. The sky’s clear blue showed fair weather would bless all travels this day, as the four of them pushed northward to the distant Skagg Mountains and the caldera town of Wolfston.
If anyone had turned around to examine the battle scene one final time, they would have noticed five clouds of smoke--one large and thick, four thin-- trailing off in the morning sun like the smoldering of campfires on a slow breeze. But nobody turned, and nobody saw.
*   *   *   *   *
CRACK! Shade’s skull bounced off the wooden bed of the wagon for the last time today. The sharp pain it left in the back of his head didn’t help rid him of the fuzziness that several hours' sleep in the back of this rickety wagon had left for him. He couldn’t remember where he was, but he sensed no immediate danger. So he kept still, being careful to keep from making the lump on the back of his head any bigger than it already was. 
 “How is it that you two mages are going to Wolfton?” Gutter asked tentatively. He wasn’t sure of the depths of their power yet, or their intentions to the newcomers. It had been a several hours since Shade and Gutter had escaped certain death in the jaws of the Hund and Gutter had slept most of that time.
 Nevarris shot a glance at the older mage next to him, but looked away quickly. The frustration was evident by his posture and attitude. He said nothing and kept driving the horses while the eccentric middle aged man turned to address the diminutive figure standing on top of the bench rail next to him. 
 “I will be meeting an old friend on some business and Nevarris here is my escort. What are you going to Wolfton for, immortal one?” Gustar didn’t expect an answer. This brownie was about as stubborn as the fireball spell that--no matter what Gustar tried--always blew up too early. 
 “My friend has lost his memory and he is searching for answers. I offered him some help out of the goodness of my heart. The poor man doesn’t even know where he is from. We immortals do have our soft spots.” This was true, though Gutter's "soft spot" was for entertainment of a sort that would give children nightmares and had lead directly to his forced tenure on this plane. 
It was so dreadfully boring dealing with the struggles of mortals' mayfly lives. The bone walker promised a good time all by himself: trouble would follow him around like a lost puppy, and if there was trouble there was a chance Gutter could help. Not that helping people was his strong suit, it was simply that if he didn’t get free of his sentence soon he was going to go positively insane. 
 “The kindness of the immortals is legendary.” Gustar said hoping the sarcasm in his voice wasn’t too noticeable. “Do you have any ideas regarding Shade's past? ”
 “At this time I do not, but I do truly hope to help him find out whatever I can.” Lies came so easily for Gutter but, then again, mortals were extremely gullible. The fact that he had already noticed Shade was only feigning sleep also made the fib a requirement. Gutter was positive the albino warrior would be more than a little angry if he found out Gutter was holding out on him. 
 “I think I recognize some of the script tattooed on his arms. If I…” Gustar was quickly cut off by a fully awake Shade springing up and grabbing his cloak. Gutter had to take quickly to the air to avoid being crushed between the two.
 “I will know what they say, mage!” Shade's eyes blazed like the searing fire of a forge once more and his grip was as unbreakable as that of a man long dead. 
 “Calm yourself warrior! Peace! Calm! Please! There is no need for violence. I will offer you what I know and suspect, but my knowledge is that of a man versed in many things and not devoted to one.” Gustar was visibly shaken. He couldn’t have cast a spell quickly enough to stop the albino if he tried. Maybe Nevarris was right and these two were too dangerous to have along. Then again, it would definitely do to have them as allies as well.
 Shade loosened his grip on the elder mage, but as he opened his fingers he was inexplicably sent sprawling and rolled out the back of the wagon. Once again his reflexes saved him from injury, though, as he landed in a fighting crouch with his sword drawn. Though startled and confused, the bonewalker's posture was a coiled snake ready to strike.
 “What happened, great warrior? Are you going to fight a rock in the trail?” Nevarris had had enough of these newcomers and the secretive old man. As soon as they got to Wolfton he was going to figure out some way to change this situation. Nevarris, still laughing, turned back to the reigns and started the horses moving once again, not waiting for the confused and somewhat abashed warrior. Nevarris deftly wiped away the trickle of blood from his nose before any saw it. 
 Gutter had made up his mind. He had to stick around now. The older mage had been taught in the traditional arts as far he could tell, but the other, although the mortal hid it well, had some other sort of power Gutter had never encountered. Life could get very interesting if he threw in his lot with these three. He buzzed back to the wagon seat as Shade caught up to and hopped aboard.
 Shade stared at the back of Nevarris’ head for several moments uncertain as to what just happened. The others showed no sign of noticing anything out of the ordinary. Other than the enormous grins they struggled to hide. “I am sorry for my rudeness, mage. I meant no harm to you or your friend. I am driven by my need to restore the memories I've lost.”
 “I understand. You are most graciously forgiven. My name is Gustar Longrove and my friend's is Nevarris Garrimon. Am I to understand that your name is simply Shade?” The warrior seemed calm and collected, as if nothing at all had just happened to him. The quick changes in mood would be hard to get used to if they continued to travel together. 
 “I am called Shade because my name was taken from me along with the rest of my memory.”
 “Well, Shade, as I said before, I am not positive I can give you straight answers. But It does appear that some of your tattoos are ritual markings used by the Thaine. I have no clue as to their meanings though.”
 “Then that is who I need to see. Where are these people?” Shade's excitement radiated from him like light from a bonfire.
 “They used to live in the far north in the very furthest reaches of the Skagg mountain range. They were one of the founding races along with Bokeen and the Kumak Ja’atan. Their magic and culture were advanced well beyond our current level, but like most races they were wiped out after the great Cataclysm. Very little is known about them. When the ground shifted in the Cataclysm their lands moved from the temperate climates that we are in now to the frigid cold of the North. The only reason I know this much is that many years ago I tutored by a mage that studied history and the pre-cataclysm races were his specialty." Gustar grinned slightly. "Until now I never thought knowing any of this would be useful.” Shade sat silent; absorbing the information Gustar had just given him like a dry sponge. Gustar didn’t really know what else to say, so he sat quietly and flipped open his book. 
 Shade had turned his senses inward. He focused on what Gustar had told him and then tried to match it with the bits and pieces of memory that he had stumbled on. The puzzle still had to many pieces missing, however. He was now even hungrier for answers. 
 Watching and listening to that whole conversation was painful for Gutter. Luckily the damn mage didn’t give away too much and some of his facts were wrong. The bonewalker didn’t need any more fuel for his inner fire right now anyway. It burned very brightly and his eyes gave that away. Shade needed to learn to control himself and his capabilities before he started getting too mad. He would need a teacher and a mentor to guide him through this most difficult of times. Gutter chuckled to himself. His debt would be paid very soon. 
 Finally they all shut up. Nevarris had grown sick of the chatter. It was a beautiful day. It reminded him of home and the bridge. He could only wish for the days when he was standing on Sleepywater Bridge drinking a bottle of Mashberry’s wine. If only he had known this was coming he would have tried to cherish those times a little more. It was too late now.
 Hours past and night crept over the rolling plains like a predator stalking its prey. The four travelers rode on through the evening in a silence brought on by the personal withdrawal of all the cart's occupants. Darkness enveloped the small cart while the moon threw its milky luminescence across the gloomy landscape. The crush of grasses from rending claws and dull reflections from chitinous hides were the only way to have noticed the black beasts' approach until they began to howl. 
*   *   *   *   *
The horses reared up in fear at the sound of the howling rising up all around them. It took all of Nevarris’ strength to hold on to the reins and keep the horses from bolting. His instinct was the same as the horses’ though; he wanted to get the hell out of there as fast as possible, but knew the rickety wagon could not handle a sprint across the prairie.
Gustar immediately started an incantation, drawing from his inner power as Shade jumped down and drew his sword. The bonewalker's eyes blazed red as he faced the crawling shadows, anticipating the impending battle. Before the warrior could advance on the beasts, the wizard finished his conjuring and shouted “S’ilumarium!” while thrusting his arms upwards. Sparks erupted in a fountain from his hands and remained hovering in the air, lighting up the night.
“It actually worked for once,” muttered the old wizard.
The unexpected illumination revealed a gruesome sight that otherwise would have been hidden by the darkness. A dozen of dead bodies, chewed and mangled, lay strewn about the grassy plain. Black, multi-legged creatures that looked to be dog-sized insects were all around, disturbed from their feeding frenzy.  Attached to what most closely resembled a head on each were four barbed tentacles dripping a clear liquid from their tips. The light appeared to hurt their eyes and the insect creatures started to emit high-pitched screams of pain and rage. This sound not only succeeded in further disturbing the horses, but unnerved the small band of travelers as well. 
The menacing creatures, upset by being distracted from their meal, started to advance on the party.  The sight of the advancing insects sent Shade into a frenzy. He charged the beasts, slashing downward with his sword at the nearest lashing tentacle, removing it cleanly. Spinning and dodging, Shade hacked at the tentacles that wagged all about him. His motions were a blur as he performed his lethal dance; slicing and stabbing at any beast that dared to come near. Each time he struck at a creature, it would loose a screech of pain which further fueled his rage.
The blinding light and the presence of a mad man were enough for these simple-minded creatures. They hated to leave their feast behind, but knew when it was time to leave.  Quickly scuttling away, all they left behind was a field of dead bodies and the party of four heavily breathing adventurers.
“What were those things?” Nevarris panted after he finally got the horses under control.
“Carrion Crawlers.” answered Gutter. “And it appears they had plenty to feed on. It is a good thing that our warrior friend didn’t get pierced by their stingers; their poison can cause severe paralysis.”
“I have never seen anything like them…” Nevarris started to say.
“As you wouldn’t,” interrupted the fairie, “since these are creatures from underground and it is very rare to see them on the surface of your world. They live in dark places feeding on any dead meat they can find. It would be best for us to be far from here before they realize they are hungry again.”
“What do you think happened here?” inquired Nevarris as he surveyed all the remaining dead bodies. The dead bodies were dressed in blue uniforms and there were mud soaked banners lying on the ground that carried the crest of Wolfton.  They must have been guardsmen. There were patches of singed grass and some of the dead soldiers appeared to also have been burnt.
“This is so familiar,” muttered Shade as he walked back the wagon with a far away look on his face, apparently calmed from his battle rage.
“How’s that?” asked the young man.
“This reminds me of when I first became conscience months ago. When I awoke, there were bodies all around me. Some burned, like this one here,” the bonewalker commented as he kneeled down next to a corpse. He touched his hand to the stiff body and images flooded his mind. Family, a sword, sunset, horses, rows of stones, a single man … a very twisted man.
“He was here!” exclaimed Shade as he quickly drew his hand away from the corpse.
“What did you see?” Gutter asked cautiously
“A man. The same man who ordered the massacre of my people.” The bonewalker spoke quickly. “I swear it was him! This dead soldier saw him, probably when he died. He was HERE.” His eyes flared bright red as he spoke, anger building. “I must hunt him down. I must kill him! My people WILL be avenged!”
“Stop this!” shouted Gutter. “You are just one man, do you expect to right to world’s wrongs all by your lonesome! Calm down, before you bring harm to yourself." His wings buzzed quietly as they held him before Shades rage-twisted face. "There are better ways to exact revenge” He finished quietly.
Shade stopped his outward frenzy, but the fire still burned inside. The fairie was right, though: he needed help, but he would get his revenge. Shade climbed onto the wagon, sat down and quietly stared off into nowhere. His eyes smoldered in the darkness as Gustar’s sparkling light spell wore down and dimmed.
“Start this cart out of here,” Gutter commanded Nevarris. “Let’s get to Wolfton before anything else happens.”
“It appears we are too late for that.” Stated Gustar as he pointed to the north. On the horizon was a bright orange glow that contrasted the dark night sky.
“There is a fire burning in Wolfton.” The wizard said quietly.
*   *   *   *   *
Orange and yellow flames were climbing high, jumping from one building to the next. Glowing embers filled the air like winter snow as the homes in Wolfton’s noble district crumbled in the roaring inferno. Wind, heat, and the thunderous cracking of collapsing buildings muffled the raucous screaming of panicking mobs in the streets. This was Wolfton’s darkest hour, but the fires of treachery illuminated it for all to see.
Shumner Provis was standing in the fifth story window of his mansion, eyes fixed in wonderment at the beautiful destruction swimming through the town below him. Hearing his people cry out in agony and despair tore at his soul, and sent pains through his heart, but this is how it had to be. He was the Chief of Wolfston, yet he wasn’t in control anymore. He could no longer do his own bidding; he had to carry out the wishes of another. He had to abide to the will of his master, and this is what The Master wanted. The militia’s barracks had to burn, the wood mill had to burn, and so did the noble district. Shumner didn’t know why they had to, but he could not resist the commands he was receiving. The fires had to be made, and they had to be made now.
The floor was growing hot; he could feel it through his boots. The fires were climbing the walls of his house and filling the rooms with smoke. His master’s deep, whispering voice came from behind him, as it always did, no matter which way he faced. “You disappoint me Shumner Provis. You have disobeyed my orders you have failed me.”
“How do you mean, my lord? I’ve done exactly as you asked,” the distraught chieftain’s voice was shaking and whiny. “I’ve burned the barracks, the wood mill, and the entire noble district! Now I’m waiting to burn with my house, so you will make me part of your family, and show me what true power is!” A slight whimper escaped his lips, “I have made all of this happen just to please you… the only thing that matters to me!” Tears were flowing steadily down sweaty cheeks as the leader of Wolfton’s highest office began to weep.
“You disappoint me… I told YOU to burn these places, not hire peasant trash to burn them for you. You mock me by borrowing my authority to assign your duties to others. You are offensive to me. A disgrace.” The mysterious voice was angry, and had developed a distinct growl.
	”But, there is no way I would be able to burn all of those myself,” the frightened politician was doing his best to rationalize his way through his tears, and out of trouble. “Someone would have stopped me! Besides, I had to warn all the people to flee the buildings. There was too much to do by myself!” Weeping subsided, the Provis’ whining was flowing freely now, begging for forgiveness. “You must understand, my influence over the people allowed me to carry out your…”
	“SILENCE!” The angry voice interrupted, no longer a whisper but a full bellow in the mind of the heavyset, balding mayor. “FOOL! You let the people escape? You were to burn the buildings, destroying the people with them!” The Master was livid, and ready to punish. “Fortunately, I have made preparations to offset any insolence on your part. Look to the streets, and you will see the powers I grant to loyal friends, and witness the brute force of the armies I provide them.”
	Shumner turned to face the window, looking to the commotion below as hordes of grayish humanoids rushed the townsfolk with joyous ferocity. On long arms and stubby legs, the large eyed creatures rushed thru the streets like primates; climbing trees and leaping obstacles for sport, before plunging claws and tusks into whatever hot-blooded creatures stood before them. Man, woman, and child fell as effortlessly as horse, dog, and mule. Blood flowed freely, running between the smooth cobblestones lining the streets, more than enough to smother the blazing infernos surrounding the fray. The surprise attack overwhelmed most of the city guard, who were busy manning bucket brigades, depleting Wolfton’s resistance to such an unpredictable onslaught. Behind the advancing forces, two massive and dominating steeds galloped forth, carrying straight-backed riders. Each rider spreading devastation to untouched buildings with the wave of a hand; one sending bolts of lightning from his fingers, the other spraying arcs of fire from his palms.
Confusion wracked his mind, and the Provis no longer felt the attachment to his master that had him captivated for so many years. It was him that the Chieftain owed his title and political standing to; without the advice of the Master he would still have been wasting away at the gambling house. Without the advice of the Master, he never would have been able to feed his family. Without the advice of the Master, all these innocent people would still be alive and happy. It was time to break away, if he could find the strength.
If he were to jump, the fall would surely kill him, and that would be better than burning to death. He would be free from the evil that has been haunting him for so many years. His master used to give him good, sound counsel, rational advice. He never gave orders to hurt people or burn buildings. Over the course of a few weeks, the voice in his head had wavered from caring… to cold and militant, and that didn’t set well. It was time to end this. Shumner dashed for the window.
“Where do you think you’re going, snail?” The Master’s voice was a vicious growl, and the fleeing chieftain felt an incredible pain in both legs. If he had time to look down, Shumner Provis would have seen his lower appendages crumple up to his waist, bone breaking through skin in multiple fractures, as if a giant hand had clenched them tight in its tight. His fat body crashed to the wooden floor in a heap of blood and broken bones. Still alive, but unable to think clearly through the swarm of pain attacking his body, the crippled man lay stranded on the smoking floor. Hot boards seared pink skin soon enough, and brought the dazed man out of his shock. Realizing the horrible fate he was in for, the man found the heart to fight on, pulling his plump body across the burning floor to the window ledge, leaving patches of burnt flesh fused to the wooden planks wherever bare skin touched.
Crying from the excruciating torment from his mangled legs, and the burning of his flesh on the weakening boards beneath, Shumner reached a weary arm to grasp the ledge of the window. Burned fingers stretched to their extreme; he grasped the sill of the open window.
”Still fighting?” The Master’s voice conveyed more annoyance than amusement. “You deserve to suffer for your insubordinate ways—I will not let you die quickly.” With those words, the Master wrapped his will around both arms of the struggling man. Slowly, the outstretched arm pulled away from the window, and the fire-reddened fingers sequentially folded backward over each successive knuckle. Snapping and popping, both hands began to fold, and each forearm twisted and coiled like rope.
Shumner Provis could not scream. He could not cry. He could not think. All he could do was hear the screams from the street below, and feel the shattered fragments of his bones scraping against each other as his once- master crumpled his body on the sizzling hot floor.
*   *   *   *   *
"What part of 'Not my damned problem' don't you understand, Longrove? That's what city guard is paid for!" Nevarris seethed as he glared down at the man standing in the path of his cart. "Move or be moved over, mage." A coldness had settled into his eyes and, as Gustar realized his guardian and guide meant what he said, his own anger began to boil.
"A city is burning, man, and they need our help!"
"Not. My. Problem!"
"It will be, boy." Gustar's eye's narrowed. "If this carriage moves one horse length further from that city, it will have a corpse at the reigns.
A snarl curling his lips, Nevarris leaned forward in the bench and spoke softly, "I don't threaten easily, warlock."
"And I don't threaten lightly, you sot."
Nevarris' fingers were twitching at the reigns and sparks were beginning to arc across Gustar's palms. The situation was escalating and Gutter knew he'd need to do something quickly if he were to keep this trio of mortals together. Since it was certain the combative Shade would side with the mage, it was a matter of convincing Nevarris. What leverage could he use?
Nevarris was standing now, shouting louder. "It's the guardsmen's duty, not mine!" 
The brownie buzzed through the air to land behind the cart. Burying his small hands deeply into the earth and focusing his will, the fairy pulled. Responding to his silent call, the waters that ran beneath the prairie rose up through the ground until Gutter was standing in an ankle deep pool. As Shade watched with interest, Gutter rose into the air, still pulling, and the water rose with him, swirling and fanning until it formed the vertical plane of a shimmering and crystalline lens below him. 
His voice strained with effort, Gutter called out to the arguing pair and both turned at the sound of his harsh call. "Look, the two of you, and then choose your course of action." Images were beginning to form in the sheet of water below him, images of burning and slaughter. Seeing through the eyes of clouds, they watched as scores of brutish, gray-skinned men clubbed down unarmed men and set fire to any buildings not yet burning. They crushed woman and man alike beneath club, mace, and axe. With saucer-sized eyes they sought out children who hid in dark corners, thick hands pushing back heads to expose throats to yellowed and jagged tusks. Two spell-casters astride black chargers poured eldritch destruction upon the city, calling down bolts of lightning to shatter buildings and columns of flame to incinerate huddled masses of people. A few squads of city guard were all that remained, each pinned down and desperately holding ground, unable to advance against the invading horde.
And through it all strode a figure, tall and dark, whose outline shifted strangely beneath the loose folds of his clothing. Shade's bulk tensed at that sight.
Gustar looked up at the stunned Nevarris, who watched the slaughter and destruction in mute immobility. "Who's problem is it, now, Nevarris?" Between them passed a look of understanding and Nevarris reached out a hand to pull the mage aboard before snapping the reigns harshly. Again and again he lashed them, until the placid horses had been spurred into a dead run. At speeds threatening to shake the old wagon apart, it bounced through the grassland separating them from Wolfston. Shade was already staring fixedly ahead, sword in hand. Gutter knew he'd need no direction, but he flew to Gustar's shoulder and shouted over the wind of their passage: "See to the people. Shield them. I'll deal with the spell-slingers." 
Gustar looked a question at the brownie, but received no answer as Gutter leaped to the floor of the wagon and dug frantically through Nevarris' gear. At last he emerged from a backpack with two coiled bowstrings in hand. "Hold on!" shouted Nevarris. Ahead loomed Wolfston Bridge.
A massive structure of wooden beams as thick as a man's waist, the bridge had stood for the two hundred years since the city's founding. It would not last the night. Already the flames were claiming it, the pitch-sealed timbers fueling sparks that would soon be an inferno. At the far end a squad of eight guardsmen were making their last stand, backs against the fallen supports of the burning bridge and facing two dozen of the gray skinned brutes. Shade's warning bellow caused them to look backward with alarm and they scattered to the sides as the cart plowed toward them.
 "Brace yourselves!" howled Nevarris just before the cart's wheels hit the rubble of a fallen beam. As the frantic horses trampled onward, the wagon was tossed into the air, wheels shattered. Four bodies were tossed into the air with it, but only two came back earth.
Gutter's blurred wings carried him in search of his targets, and the levitation spell that Gustar had already been mumbling carried him gently through the air, spells of aid and protection forming on his lips. Leaping upward even as the wagon had tossed him toward the sky, Shade spun twisting through the air over the guardsmen's heads and his sword had cut through two of the brutes before his feet touched the ground.
With far less grace, but greater force, Nevarris landed hard upon his own two feet. A beard of blood dressing his chin, he slapped the ground before him and the remaining attackers were knocked to the ground. Rallying quickly to the unexpected aide they had received, the guardsmen charged forward to fall upon the downed monstrosities, slaying them before charging back into the depths of the burning city, Nevarris and Shade at their head.
Gustar watched the two depart with grim satisfaction and set about his own task. Throwing spells that succeeded more often than they failed, he did his best to aid the panicked people. Walls of stone rose from the streets to divert packs of attackers, bright flashes of strobing light blinded their huge eyes so that women could escape with their children, and roots tore through the earth to ensnare legs, holding brutes helpless as determined guardsmen cut them down. There was a chance that some good would be done here tonight, that many could be saved, but Gustar worried about the two wizards he'd seen through the fairy's scrying pool.
The two were heavy upon Gutter's mind as well. Knowing foolish mortals as well as he unfortunately did, he had known the vanity of a spell-caster like Gustar would inevitably draw him into a foolish duel. Even if the brownie had been confident that the mage could win, they simply did not have the time. His contributions in melee with the gray cavern-dwellers would be minimal, and there was very little he could do to help the panicked populace. That left only one avenue for him to pursue, where sly stealth and vicious determination could carry the day while a frontal assault might not. Darting over the burning roofs of the city, he easily tracked the two by the destruction they left in their wake. Once they were in his sights he rose as high into the air as he could before dropping like a stone.
He barely moved his wings except to direct his plummeting flight toward the first of his two targets. Invisible against the dark sky and the dancing shadows spawned by flame and spell, Gutter dove quickly, a long loop of bowstring trailing behind. His swooping descent carried him straight toward the head of the lightning-wielding mage, a twitch of his wings causing him to miss by inches. The loop of thin, waxed cord did not miss at all.
The mage hadn't even a chance to register the first touch of the garrote before it snapped taut, biting deep into his neck, the momentum of diving flight allowing the diminutive Gutter to tear him from his saddle. Still in shock, stunned by the fall and gasping for air, neither he nor his fellow spell-caster had time to react before Gutter darted back around the horse and drove the blade of his dagger-sized sword, bowstring anchored to its hilt, deep into the horse's shoulder. Already spooked by the destruction around it, the pain dragged the horse into panic. It reared up screaming, trampling the mage to pulp even as its panicked motion drew the garrote to flesh-slicing tautness. When the blast of flame from the second spell-slinger incinerated the horse, Gutter was already gone.
Darting and wheeling, the fairy strove with desperate speed to dodge the sorcerous attacks flung at him by the enraged mage. The longer he survived, the more enraged the man became, until he was screaming enchanted words of destruction at the top of his lungs. Then, as the mage bellowed forth the final line of an incantation, Gutter saw his chance. The mage choked on that last deadly syllable as Gutter dropped a final time, straight into the mortal's gaping mouth. Claws and teeth sought purchase, pulling the brownie deeper into the horrified man. By the time Gutter emerged from the mage's torn throat, the mortal mortal's bulging eyes were glazed in death.
Deprived of magical support, the invading savages began to lose both confidence and ground. The remaining pockets of guardsmen began to push back and the wedge of men led by Shade and Nevarris tore through any brutish packs unlucky enough to encounter them. Though the toll of continued spell-casting was beginning to tell on Gustar, his position floating above the roofs of the city allowed him to witness the rout. The remaining invaders, less than half of those rampaging through the city when the quartet had arrived, flooded west into the mountains, led by a the cloaked figure that never once looked back.
*   *   *   *   *
As the citizens rallied to fight flames that still threatened to consume their city, the four gathered at the bridge. At what was left of the bridge: the flames had claimed it during the night.
"Hey, bug," called Nevarris as Gutter landed on Gustar's outstretched legs. With tongue, tooth, and claw, the fairy began cleaning his wings. "How come, every time I meet you, you're covered in blood?"
"At least it's not my own, meat sack," responded Gutter, gesturing toward the stains crusting Nevarris' lips and chin.
"Is that supposed to be comforting?" the man asked, scrubbing at his face with the backs of filthy hands.
A tired silence settled over them all, broken by Gustar only after long moments. "So, my friends. What now?" 
Nevarris gazed at the opposite shore, now more distant somehow. "Not back," he shrugged as a chunk of charred bridgework fell and hit the water with a smoldering hiss.
"No. Not back." Shade's gaze was fixed on the foothills Gustar had told him the cloaked figure had disappeared into.
"Definitely not back," muttered Gutter excitedly, seeing hints of light within the dark stone at his wrist."
The mage smiled through his soot-stained beard, tired but satisfied as the first light of dawn rose in the East. "It's settled, then. Forward. Together."