The night watchman was taken aback at the sight of a halfling, clutching a rabbit in one hand and a walking stick in the other, accompanied by a little girl of about five years old.
"Halt!" he called out.
"Who goes there? From whence do you come, and where are you headed? I spied you emerging from the grove."
The pair complied. Despite his injury, the halfling summoned a smile and deftly shifted his walking stick to his other hand, waving his empty hand in greeting.
"Good eve to you, town guard. May your watch be uneventful. We were merely out hunting rabbits. I realize it's a tad late, but I am Paliborn Quickand. I arrived in your town only this morning. The little one beside me is the niece of the renowned seer, Widow Black of Harova, a fortune-teller and healer of some repute. You must have heard of her. They are camped at the fairgrounds, just down the road. I was fortunate enough to be invited to dinner, and thought to bring the meat."
"How could you not know the infamous Rabbit Killer, Master Angor?" chided the young girl, affecting a grave expression.
Paliborn could not help but chuckle, while the watchman grimaced.
"The Rabbit Killer? I am not familiar with this. Whatever it may be, I do recognize you, little one. Pray, make your way to your tent and avoid straying too far beyond the grove's borders."
After putting some distance between themselves and the watchman, Paliborn burst into laughter.
"The Rabbit Killer, eh? That's a good one. Only, it was you who slaughtered the poor creature."
"Indeed not. I simply shrieked in terror."
"Alas, the poor beast was likely frightened to death," quipped Paliborn. Then, his demeanor turned serious. A silence fell between them.
"Why are you so frightened, Eli?"
"I do not know. It became very dark, and I felt like I was suffocating."
"Eli, we may have just met, but you can trust me. You do know that, don't you?"
Again, silence. The streets were deserted, illuminated only by rare oil lamps hanging from poles. The main street was the highest point of the town and paved with briquettes. Amidst the creaking of Paliborn's sturdy leather pig-nose boots and the girl's trembling, he had to stop to catch her whispered words.
"I know, Pal. It's just...just...the nightmares. Sometimes they become more frequent."
Paliborn bit his lip, and the girl trembled once more. He tenderly brushed her cheek, feeling its icy chill, and removed his leather vest, enfolding Allendra in its warmth. He was beginning to sense that the girl had a mysterious ailment. She seemed to be attempting to reveal the source, but an invisible force appeared to be holding her back. Paliborn didn't push the issue; solving mystical cases demanded patience, precision, and time.
As they arrived at the tent, Allendra slipped inside quietly, while Pal slowly settled onto a wooden bench outside. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed his cane stick aside and drew out his hunting knife to skin the rabbit. He winced with each movement, his aching body still feeling the impact of the day's events. It was as if he had emerged from a battlefield, battered and bruised. Pal was no stranger to dodging fireballs or lightning bolts and alikes, but the unexpected sonic boom had caught him off guard. He coughed and spat out blood, but breathed a sigh of relief as he realized he was still in one piece and breathing.
"Thank the gods for Zachary, the God of Fortune," he muttered to himself.
With practiced ease, the halfling separated one of the rabbit's legs and set it aside for the black cat, Belize.
From within the tent, the little girl's voice called out.
"My aunt is gone. She wouldn't just leave. I think she must have trusted you."
Pal nodded understandingly. "Is there a cauldron, Eli?" he asked.
"Yes, I'm bringing it. I'll gather some other materials as well."
"Fantastic. Bring some salt, spices, ladles, forks - anything that could be useful. I also have a few magic powders in my pouches. With a little bit of seasoning, our meal will be legendary."
* * *
From the depths of the shadows, the witch woman kept a watchful eye on her niece and the halfling who had arrived at the tent, some thirty yards away. At first, she toyed with the idea of joining them for dinner, perhaps to scold Allendra for tardiness and disobedience. But as she beheld the girl's serene and guileless expression, the witch's heart ached. She resolved to leave them be and let Lena be alone with her thoughts.
For the witch woman, it was another long and restless night, filled with troubled musings and self-recrimination. She had long struggled to reconcile her conscience with her deeds. With a host of unresolved thoughts and emotions weighing her down, she made her way to the town's only tavern, the Red Wing Inn.
The inn's ground floor was a single hall, with a central staircase, a bar counter on the opposite wall of the entrance, a door to the kitchen behind the counter, and six tables arranged about the room. Four of these tables sat empty, and it was another typical, uneventful night. When the Harovian woman sauntered in, the single men in the tavern twirled their mustaches and snickered amongst themselves. She was known to drink to the point of oblivion and was usually accompanied back to her tent by a lucky man who had managed to catch her eye.
"Your usual, Innkeeper Caleb," the woman hollered, as she took a seat at the farthest table by the window, away from the occupied tables.
With a grunt, the innkeeper brought her a pitcher of wine, an empty glass, and a bowl of crispy fries.
"Wouldn't you like some bacon with that?" he offered.
"No, that will do," she replied.
"Enjoy it," he said with a forced grin as he took the copper coins from the table and retreated back to his duties.
The woman savored the crimson wine as she fished out the letter from her robe pocket. With a deft flick, she broke the seal, feeling the weight of her fate as she unfolded the thin, quality bamboo paper. The aroma of cherry blossom wafted to her nose, a scent that could only come from the Qui-Sartry Mountains, some four hundred kilometers from Adylle, where she was now.
"Why must you always hide behind letters?" she murmured, tracing the ink with her finger.
"Dear Lena, or should I call you the Widow Black of Harova?" She scoffed as she read on, her eyes narrowing. "I shall not prolong this conversation, for we have reached a crucial juncture. Your indomitable will has surprised me thus far, but you now stand at a crossroads. Either you bring the child to the Souburn Wizarding Towers by mid-spring, or follow in the footsteps of those who enslaved you. Know this, whatever your decision, there shall be no reward waiting for you at the end. Indeed, fate will guide the child towards her destined path, regardless of your choice. You and I are but brief sojourners on this journey, so I implore you to make your choice wisely, using your free will, and shun the Shadows that seek to consume. With sincerity, Elaphar."
She downed a glass of wine, feeling its warmth spread through her body. "No reward at stake, fate will take the child in the direction she will go one way or another?" She repeated and scoffed. "We're nothing more than a stop on her path?"
She reached for another glass, swirling the spicy wine before taking a long sip. Ah, it seems we are on the precipice of the end, my esteemed wizard. Our overlords have drawn their final aces, have they not?" She was angry. "Three and a half years," she murmured, her voice bitter. "Three and a half years of playing with me, of drowning me in nightmares." She slammed the glass down, feeling its vibrations shiver through the table. "You, all of you, are cut from the same cloth, toying with me for three and a half long years, as I suffocated beneath the weight of my own nightmares. And for what? Is it because I am naught but a lowly pawn in this grand game of yours? Pray tell, whose turn is it to make the next move?"
Her throat burned as she took another swig. "Free will?" She scoffed again. "When have I ever had free will? In Xaurus, where they tried to burn us alive? During our migration, when we hid in shitholes to protect our heads? In the cursed streets of Barnachia, where I suffocated with fear? In Anthedia, where I was nothing but an appetizer to the high society parties?" She shook her head. "You've been playing with me all along, haven't you?"
With a steady hand, she poured another glass and tossed it back, relishing the fiery heat of the spices that set her senses ablaze. Her eyes glistened with tears, whether from the taste or the memories that flooded her mind, she could not say.
"The single moment of liberation I ever savored was when our paths crossed with my master. Those were the nights he instructed me in the dark arts, imparting knowledge of the forbidden." 'For everything, there is a cost,' my esteemed mentor whispered. 'Can you endure the toll?' he inquired, his gaze piercing my soul. He warned that there was no recourse once one had embarked upon this perilous course. Back then, I was unable to fathom his warning, but now I do. Yet, do I truly comprehend it? Is the price worth paying? And if it is, what then?"
She took another long sip.
"This time, I shall enact my part for the last time, and oh, what a grand spectacle it shall be! It is now time to prove to you all that I am the sole protector of this child, and that no one has the right to decide her fate but me. You played with me, toyed with my life, and now you shall suffer. I shall make you taste the bitterness of your actions, and you shall pay the price for your arrogance."
Suddenly, she rose unsteadily to her feet, swaying as if drunk. The wine had taken hold of her, robbing her of her balance and clarity. She stumbled towards the door, desperate to escape the suffocating air of the tavern.
A man at a nearby table, lured by the tales he had heard of this mysterious woman, stepped forward to offer his help. His eyes gleamed with a lustful hunger, despite the warnings of his companions.
"Shall I escort you to your quarters, my sweet lady?" he slurred, his breath reeking of cheap ale.
The woman attempted to shoot the man a stern glance, but her drunken state undermined any attempt at intimidation. Shrugging off her failed attempt, she flung open the door and staggered out into the street. The man, grinning and babbling, trailed after her like a lost dog.
Determined to escape his advances, she pressed on, her footsteps echoing down the deserted alleys. The woman strode down several more blocks without casting a backward glance, until she reached a desolate and shadowy alley. With a resolute grimace, she leaned against the wall of a dark, dead-end street, the man closing in on her with predatory intent.
Rough hands groped at her breasts and buttocks, and she began to mutter in a disturbing, throaty language. The man recoiled in disgust, but his desire pushed him on despite his unease.
Suddenly, a pale, ominous light radiated from the woman's hand, striking the man's phallus with a searing energy that left him writhing on the ground, foaming at the mouth. His body convulsed in spasms, as if seized by some otherworldly force.
Helpless and trembling like a fish out of water, the man lay in a pool of his own vomit, while the woman turned and strode away, a greedy smile etched upon her face.
For the first time in a long while, she felt confident and empowered, her genes wired for avarice and ambition. Without a backward glance, she continued towards her goal, the echoes of her victim's screams still ringing in her ears.
* * *