Previous Chapter

Roy lowered himself down onto a blanket spread on the sandy beach just south of Riker’s Cove. The sun was setting but he felt wide awake. After spending an entire night in Heinrich von Nighburg’s shallowing that felt like only two or three hours the people who entered the lighthouse took some time to sleep and recover from their exertions. The next day Roy and Johan went back up to retrieve the steel frame of the wizard’s mirror.

They offered part of it to the Fairchilds but, as Cassie candidly told them, her quest was to find a way to make steel not just grab some of the metal for themselves. Other than that, the first half of that day was spent pursuing their own ends. Roy sent to Oakheart Manor to see if there was any new business he’d have to attend to before they left. The Fairchilds found The Strongest Man and followed him about for a change. Proud Elk and Johan spent time making their own arrangements to leave town and Samson Riker enjoyed seeing his daughter for the first time in months.

They all came together again for the funeral. Hank and Chester Tanner had both died in the last few days and after some deliberation the Hearth Keepers had decided to give them a dual funeral on the beach rather than separate funerals in the town Hearthfire’s cramped crematorium. Roy did his duty and placed timber for Chester. He hadn’t known the boy at all so he refrained from visiting that funeral at all. Sooner of later he’d have to tell Chester’s sister his last words but the moment didn’t seem right.

Now it felt like all his responsibilities were in hand for the moment. He just had to wait for the sky train the next day and he could be on his way. There was just one problem and his name was Nighburg.

“He’s not dead,” Roy said.

“No, he’s not.” The Strongest Man in the World sat down next to him, legs crossed in the Sanna style, adjusting his tachi higher so it would not get in his way. “That’s his way, I’m afraid. He’s very good at last minute escapes and planning for his own failures. I prefer it that way, actually.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve seen what he accomplished here. Do you really want to see what he’s like when his back is against the wall and he has no way out? I don’t.”

“I thought you were the strongest in the world.”

He chuckled. “The Sanna call me that and maybe, in the past, I would have agreed with them.”

“How about now?”

“The only thing more foolish than thinking you can recognize the strongest in the world is thinking you are him. Far be it from me to try and dissuade a fool from his folly.”

Roy watched the waves for a moment in silence. “Why are you here?”

“Longstanding grudge with the man in question. Interested in the story?”

“Not what I mean, browncoat.” Roy leaned back against a chunk of worn stone half buried in the sand. “How did you know von Nighburg was here? I didn’t look for you and I’m pretty sure Samson didn’t go looking either.”

“Does it matter?”

“No.” He rolled the word around in his mouth like it had a sour taste. “I suppose it doesn’t.”

“Well as it would happen I was in Hexwood for the funeral of Sam Jenkins a few weeks ago. Saw Tad Heller there. He was about as happy to see me as you were so I told him what brought me to the West and he passed me your message when he got it.”

“Now you’re my problem, eh? So what do I owe you this time?”

“What did you charge the town?”

“I didn’t. I’m here because I owe Jonathan Riker and taking from his town while paying him back doesn’t sit right.”

For the first time since he sat down the Hodekki man turned to look directly at Roy. “What makes you think I’m different?”

“What do you owe Jonathan?”

“The same thing I owe everyone who’s suffered at Heinrich’s hands since he got away from me the first time.” He reached into an inner pocket on his worn coat and removed a bronze plate a few inches square with a strange symbol stamped on it. “Speaking of, if you hear tell of him again I’d appreciate it if you let me know.”

Roy made no move to take the piece of metal. “What was that thing he was tampering with out there?”

“That I don’t know.”

“You got rid of it easily enough.”

“Luck is a part of strength. That said, I have an deep bench of knowledgeable minds I can draw on to figure that out and I’d be happy to share anything I learn with you when next we meet.” He put the plate down between them. “If it makes you feel better you can consider it repayment for informing me of Heinrich’s whereabouts if you meet him again.”

“No. I don’t want to get sucked into keeping score with you. Something tells me that’s a game you’ll always come out ahead on no matter what I do. I think I’ll just avoid von Nighburg in the future.”

A mischievous smile twisted his lips. “I find that hard to believe. When we parted at Tyson’s Run you said something similar about wendigos but that lasted about two weeks from what I’ve heard.” His good humor vanished. “More than that, you’ve glimpsed something that crossed over the horizon, Roy. Then you fought with it. That kind of thing changes a man on a fundamental level. You’re not as firmly rooted here as you were a day ago and that’s going to have consequences down the line. You’ll see things others can’t. Many of those things will take special note of you as well, so even if you wish to avoid them and their servants you may not be able to.”

“You make it sound like I’ve got a price on my head again.”

“It’s worse, in some ways.”

Roy grunted. Dodging Tetzlani firespinners for three years hadn’t exactly been a picnic. Then again it didn’t hold a candle to the trouble von Nighburg had given them over the past few days. “You tell the others about this?”

“You’re the last. I figured you could fend for yourself for a day or so, given all you’ve been up to since the Summer of Snow.” The Strongest Man in the World got to his feet, leaving the metal plate sitting there. “Take care out there, Harper.”

“Wait.”

The Hodekkian paused, one foot forward, already in the process of walking away. “What?”

“Did the Fairchilds ask you anything about steel?”

He chuckled. “That they did, although I’m afraid I don’t have much I can tell them that’s useful. You’re right. My sword is made of steel, perhaps some of the finest you can find anywhere. Unfortunately I’m not a smith. I didn’t have a hand in making it and the secrets of forging any kind of steel are outside my expertise.”

“Dust and ashes,” Roy muttered. “So much for that lead, I suppose. Did you tell them where they could find the person who made it?”

“I’m not sure where he is now, if he’s even alive. If I ever find him again I’ll mention their names to him but I can’t do much more than that.” That time Roy didn’t see fit to stop him as he left. He left in the direction of the graveyard, disappearing from town as abruptly as he’d arrived.

Roy wasn’t the only one watching him go. The sheriff stood a few paces off, arms folded across his chest. “He doesn’t seem as bad as you made him out.”

“Only because you don’t owe him anything. I have two years of debt outstanding and I’m not looking to rack up any more.”

“Two years of what you make? That’s some serious silver.”

“Not how it works.” Roy gingerly picked up the metal slip and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “You don’t look like you were here to talk to him so what can I do for you?”

Avery dropped a sheaf of paper on the ground in the place the Hodekkian’s plate had been a second ago. “I thought you should have this. About three years before the war broke out, while I was still a squire and not a full knight, I went north and fought a Sanna creature with a very similar mode of attack. Much less power but similar feel. I didn’t make the connection at first because von Nighburg had so many other techniques he used. Blighting the cove. Twisting the flesh of children. All outside the kinds of magic Sanna spirits typically use, very Teutonic stuff, pretty disconnected from the mindscape. Point is, I figured you’d want a copy of my notes from them to give context to what we saw when you write up this incident.”

“What makes you think I’ll be writing it up?”

“I’m not stupid, Harper. I saw you transcribing the Journal while you were in the jail a few days back. Didn’t mean much to me at the time but we saw each other’s memories yesterday and I couldn’t help but notice you’ve met Master Oldfathers. That’s when it clicked.” Avery gestured to his notes. “If you’re going to be keeping the Stone Circle’s oldest record of monster hunting up to date then you should have every scrap of information we have on hand. Just because Morainhenge is gone doesn’t mean we’re absolved of our duties.”

“No, I suppose not.” Roy took the papers and thumbed through them, making sure the sheriff’s handwriting was something he could interpret without help, then folded them once and stuck them in his inside pocket. “Have to say I’m a little surprised. I assumed the typical druid would be upset to hear a Columbian Regular inherited one of your old artifacts.”

Avery shoved his hands into his pockets and stared out at the sea. “I’m not happy about it, if it helps. But the tools and armaments from the old Reliquary choose their own users and complaining about their choices never changed them. I’ve just got to assume the Journal picked you for a reason. If I’m being honest, with your reputation I’d be more surprised if it didn’t stick with you given the chance. I hear you kill a new wild beast every couple of months.”

“Not quite, but I’ve certainly seen my share of strange things.”

“How is the old man, anyway? He keeps pretty much out of sight these days. I didn’t even know he was still alive.”

“He’s passed out all the relics and settled down to start something different, I believe. If you want to get in touch I can see if he’s interested but otherwise it’s not my place to give away his home.”

The sheriff shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. I’ve had a lot of time to think over the last decade, Harper, especially since I got here. Riker’s Cove is normally a pretty quiet place, believe it or not. Anyway, a few years back I realized something important. The Stone Circle never lost a war before Morainhenge fell. Arthur established Stonehenge about the same time he was crowned King of Avalon and since then his Knights have taken the lead in making his nation one of the most powerful on Earth. Losing isn’t something we’re used to. We haven’t figured out how to come back from it yet.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to work it out together instead of spreading yourselves to the four corners of Columbia?”

“I think we’ll hit on the solution faster if we aren’t getting under each other’s feet all the time. Even in the old days we worked best alone or in small groups.” Avery shrugged. “Then again, you’re pretty much an initiate to the Circle yourself with that book you’re carrying, do you want to stay here for a while and work on the problem with me?”

Roy laughed. “Touche. I have my own business to attend to and I’m sure that’s true for all you druids as well.”

“Exactly. We’ll get in touch when our duties demand it or we’re drawn to the same purpose or place but that hasn’t happened yet.”

“If it ever does I’m sure Oldfathers will let you know.” Roy got to his feet and offered Avery his hand. “If we don’t meet before that I’ll be sure to find you and say hello. In the mean time, let me know if Riker’s Cove ever needs my help again. I’ll drop by and do what I can.”

The sheriff accepted the offered handshake. “Thank you, Mr. Harper. Coming from you that means a lot.” For a moment it looked like he was going to leave then he stopped himself. “One last thing. What happened to Brennan?”

Roy pursed his lips. He’d kind of hoped Avery wouldn’t bring that up again. “I can’t tell you, Avery. It’d break a lot of promises I made to him and other people. If you’re wondering whether he’s still alive then the answer is no. He lived through the war but died a few years after. To my knowledge he remained dedicated to upholding the trust placed in him as best he could until the end. That’s about all I can tell you, though.”

“Well, I suppose knowing that is better than nothing at all. I suppose I should get back to the funerals, then. If I don’t see you before you leave town, may the Lord watch over all your paths and bring you safely back to your hearthfire.” The sheriff touched the brim of his hat and headed back into town.

“The Lady stoke your flame until you face the winds again, Sheriff.” Alone with this thoughts again, Roy looked back out to sea and settled in to enjoy some much needed solitude.

The sun set and rose once more, another iteration of an eternal cycle. The statue of Jonathan Riker greeted the sunrise with its usual aplomb. It watched as the Sanna man Proud Elk rode out of town bright and early, followed a few hours later by Roy and his party headed to catch the skytrain. The last week had been an eventful one for Riker’s Cove. Strange and horrible things had happened as if they were everyday occurrences but now life was returning to normal.

The statue was unimpressed. It had stood through Low Noon and the twisted time that came with it. The town was still there. The statue would watch it until one of them ceased to exist. But there probably wouldn’t be as much to see around the cove for the next few years. So the statue settled in to wait until the next significant moment it would have to bear witness to. In the meantime, if there was nothing else to do, who was it to complain?

Just a statue. And statues don’t complain, they only keep watch. So that was what it did.

Previous Chapter

The change to the surface of the water was stomach churning. The reflection of the sky writhed and rippled in the waves left by von Nighburg’s immersion and Roy could swear he saw dim reflections of the strange mouths and twisted limbs that were the hallmark of the wizard’s otherworldly patron. “Dust and ashes,” he muttered, backing away from the edge of the tower. “Must be some trick to killing him dead.”

When he’d fought the wendigos with Proud Elk and the rest they’d quickly discovered the foul flesh of the beasts had to be burnt or they’d just eat it and regrow themselves again. The dark spirits of the Tetzlani blood cults could be trapped in gold. According to Pellinore’s journal, Avalon was once plagued strange creatures called the Seelie that could only be killed by driving rowan wood through their head or heart. Generally when fighting such creatures the goal was to find these killing techniques before facing them on the wild. With von Nighburg they’d never had the chance.

The Tetzlani expedition had been forced to work out their solution while hostilities were ongoing so it was something Roy had done before. On the other hand, the expeditionary force had lost almost half its men, so not the best example to follow. A quick glance about assured him at least he wouldn’t have to handle it all alone. Johan and Riker were slowly pulling themselves back together, shaking their heads and wiping dirt from the ground off, whatever strange force had left them paralyzed now gone. For that matter, Roy felt his own moment of clarity passing.

With it came the sudden realization that he had completely dismissed the safety of Jennifer Riker the moment he’d concluded there was no practical steps he could take to help her. Annoyed with himself for not trying a little harder, he darted around the beacon to check on her. She was still tied up and a nasty bruise was forming on her forehead from her fall when Tanner pushed her but otherwise she looked fine, physically speaking. Roy quickly cut her ropes with his falcata, glad he’d never gotten around to lighting it. She yanked her gag off. “Who are you?”

“Friend of your grandfather’s, came here with your father.” Roy pulled the girl to her feet and she bolted over to her dad, already starting to dissolve into tears.

As Samson Riker wrapped his daughter up in his arms Johan frantically pushed the two of them back towards the center of the lighthouse, his gaze fixed on the skies overhead. “Something’s coming through, Roy. I think von Nighburg got what he wanted.”

Even as he said it the blackguard burst up out of the water, still covered in burning oil in some places, and shot towards the sky. Roy cursed, joining his friend to stare at what was happening in disbelief. The wizard’s whole body writhed and contorted in unnatural ways while unintelligible sounds poured out of his mouth in a constant, wordless expression of emotion. It was hard to tell if he was laughing or crying, wracked by anger or despair.

For a brief moment it looked like the wizard was flying. But as his twisting body climbed higher the eclipsed sky seemed to warp and draw down towards him and that was what made Roy realize he wasn’t flying, he was being pulled. Whatever it was he’d called down was now physically anchored to him.

Proud Elk and the rest he’d been tending to finally emerged from the lighthouse, still ringed by his water ward. Avery took Riker and quickly hustled him and his daughter back towards the stairs. “Get down and out of the building,” he told the father. “We’ll do something here.”

“Something’s the word,” Johan muttered, holding his head in one hand. “Question is, what?”

“We’ll take out the anchor,” Roy said, stretching out to the last dregs of burning oil on von Nighburg’s body. He was damp but Roy’s gift could keep the oil going long enough for his clothes to catch.

Or so he thought. When Roy stretched his mind out to touch the flames he ran into greasy, chilling fear instead, a voice screaming in horror and panic that he thought would become the entire world. Blinded by terror he pulled back. His legs gave out and dropped him hard on the ground beneath the lighthouse’s roof.

“Not like that,” Avery said, grabbing him by one arm and pulling him back to his feet. The sheriff held one of his candles out to Roy, who took it in confusion, while digging what looked like his entire supply out of his belt pouches with his other. “Listen, we had a few minutes to work out what those things are doing. We think we found a countermeasure.”

Roy peered out from under the roof of the beacon room, watching the sky warp and change anxiously, the sudden surge of fear still lingering in his mind. “Make it fast, Warwick. We don’t have a lot of time before something goes completely wrong out there.”

In response Avery shoved his stack of candles into Roy’s hands. “Of course. You can make a thing burn faster than normal and you can make a flame burn with nothing to sustain it. Can you also make a thing burn without burning up?”

“For a while.”

“Then burn the wax off the thistledown then let the fire suffuse the wicks without burning them. That will give us enough power we can all enter the mindscape at once.”

“Are you-” Roy stopped short when Brandon stepped past him, fully transformed by the power of his yew, and yanked out one of the metal supports holding up the lighthouse’s tin roof. “Are you crazy? We’ve been totally lost each time we went in there. We only got back out because we had people on this side calling for us, why would we take everyone in?”

“You’ll understand faster if you let the candle’s magic carry the explanation.”

Roy glanced around at Brandon and Proud Elk, who were systematically tearing the roof off of the chamber, then back to Cassie, who was helping Johan get his bearings. He’d hand picked most of this team but that didn’t mean much if he couldn’t trust them. Whatever plan they had would have to be good enough. He took hold of the lit candle flame with his mind and spread it to the other wicks he held, then forced the wax to burn while leaving the threads at their core behind. In less time than it took to tell he was left with a burning ball held together by mind and magic. With the slightest twinge of trepidation he let his focus slip deeper into it and enter into the mindscape once more.

---

When you look into someone’s mind you see a lot of foolish things. It’s the practicalities of life and the fear of discovery that keeps most people from implementing their wildest ideas and your inner thoughts are free of such confines so the strangest notions run rampant there. Avery Warwick had grown accustomed to the absurd and bizarre a long time ago. He wasn’t sure if that made Heinrich von Nighburg’s decision to try and trap him in a perpetual state of hilarity ingenious or short sighted.

It had worked, true enough, but once Proud Elk came and warded them all Avery recovered quickly. Better yet, he had a unique insight into what had happened. He wasn’t a humorous man by nature and he was trained to recognize when his thoughts changed due to outside influence so when the fears of shame and embarrassment that usually kept him from ignoring his duties vanished he took note of it even if he had no idea how to restore them. Proud Elk’s magic reduced the influence of the wizard’s spell upon them but didn’t negate it entirely.

That was the perfect environment for him to work out a counter. Now, with Harper stoking the magic of thistledown to the strongest Avery had seen it since the war, they were finally in a position to try it out on a large scale. The only question was whether it would be large enough.

Harper was concerned about reentering the mindscape but that was because he didn’t know all the different ways you could use it. What they needed was to enter it just enough to see when von Nighburg’s patrons moved against them. Once the creature’s fell influence was in play he would surge the concentration of the magic to create a counter. Proud Elk’s ward would hopefully slow it down enough they had time to work and Cassandra’s song would allow all of them to work together.

Harper holding the largest concentration of mental magic Avery had ever seen it was child’s play for him to pull the six of them a half step into the mindscape and establish a telepathic connection between them. As soon as it was complete he got a mix of notions from the group. Van der Klein was concerned about letting the Rikers leave before the battle ended but Avery project confidence that they’d be safer on the ground than in the midst of the magics about to take place. Proud Elk added his agreement to that sentiment. Unsurprisingly, Harper continued to insist on knowing how they were going to counter von Nighburg’s monsters.

When he learned Avery planned to starve them he was less than impressed.

There wasn’t any time to debate the wisdom of that plan before the wizard made his first move. In the halfseen shadows of the mindscape the human form of Heinrich von Nighburg merged seamlessly with the braided limbs and gaping mouths of whatever foul thing gripped him and he directed their mental influence towards them as effortlessly as flicking his fingers. With the roof halfway removed Proud Elk was able to draw up more water to slow the questing tendrils of thought. It wasn’t much but it was enough that Avery could identify it and push Brandon to the front of the mindscape.

The voice that pierced the waters screamed in envy, calling out to every petty jealousy and small grievance that existed in life. The time Avery was denied a Seat in the Founder’s Circle because telepathy was suited to logistics and not leadership. The time Johan was voted down as unit lieutenant in favor of a old kid named Roy, four years his younger. The time Brandon was told he could only ever sing harmony for his sister.

Brandon’s roots dug down though the roof of the lighthouse. He’d dug dangerously deep into the yew, layering himself in layers and layers of the tree until his body was as wide as three men and his arms spanned most of the beacon chamber. That kind of physical growth shouldn’t have made a difference in the mindscape. Yet Brandon’s presence there loomed just as large, as if the physical grounding had increased his confidence and determination in the face of the wizard’s influence.

With a faint smile, Brandon waved the voice off and the mindscape twisted. They changed from the ghostly memories of Brandon’s fifteenth birthday to the same place years later, as he prepared to leave for Columbia. “Remember you place, Brandon,” his father said. “This isn’t some simple errantry for you to prove your mettle or advance your career. This is a serious calling. And it’s not yours.”

A sense of purpose and direction came along that brushed aside the envy and hurt those words provoked. “I know, father. Your life has been center stage and Cassandras will be no different. Maybe even more so, with her calling. You understand that all too well, and I’ve learned not to hold that against you, but you’ve never known what it means to be the boards that make up the stage. The beams that hold the ceiling or the shingles that keep the stage dry. There’s more to this world than melody and harmony, father, and if my place in it is just to hold up those on stage for all to see then so be it. But never imply that it’s not my calling.”

Brandon’s contentment, his pride in his place, came down and quashed the voice of envy and it withdrew outside the chamber, unable to gain a foothold. The creatures were some kind of mental parasites, trying to draw out emotions and feed on them. However, properly amplified through Avery’s magic, Brandon’s own resolve in the face of his personal jealousy was enough to fortify their whole group against the interloper. Roy signaled his understanding of the strategy but Johan took it a step further. He sent Brandon an idea.

A second tendril spun down out of the writhing sky to test their defenses, this one slicing through Proud Elk’s barrier with a wail of grief. This time the Sanna man pushed himself forward to answer. During the Summer of Snow he’d watched many braves die in the clutch of the hungry winters then endured weeks of their voices, stolen by the dark creatures that besieged them, calling to the survivors for help.

In response Proud Elk, Many Herons and the others had devoted themselves to remembering the lives of the fallen. They’d broken ice free from the river in Tyson’s Run, melted it over their watchfires then poured it out one drop at a time, sharing memories of the lost with one another rather than listening to the cries of evil outside. At first only the Sanna had done this. Then, as the numbers dwindled and the Columbians had no bodies to burn on their traditional pyres, all had joined in. Honor and camaraderie joined together and prevailed over sorrow.

As von Nighburg’s second attack recoiled the defenders dug in deeper. Johan and Brandon stripped the beacon’s reflectors from their mounting and quickly turned them into a crude but effective lightbox of gigantic proportions. Then the Son of Harmon threw his sunstone into the roiling mass of power Harper was maintaining. With a few adjustments the light from the firemind’s burning orb focused out and up, and with it went the mental power Avery could project. He’d never heard of such a thing before, but then lightboxes were entirely new to his experience.

The beam of light sent the wizard’s two tendrils of power slinking backwards but, with the light of the candles focused in that way, left plenty of room for others to snake around to the sides. A spear of shame sliced through Proud Elk’s wards next. Cassandra’s voice rose to meet it. Her counter was an oddly mixed thing, old memories of a first performance mixed with the lyrics of Tyson’s Nine, a song she’d only known for a few hours. With it came the understanding that a song wasn’t for the performer or even the music. It was for the listener.

No matter how poor the performance or how exposed you felt, no matter how the words or the sounds made you feel, if the audience was made better for it then the song must be sung. Avery sensed a nudge at Harper, there, but the firespinner seemed to ignore it.

The last attack came fast and harsh so Proud Elk drew more water from the bay, trying to thicken his ward, but they were running into a problem. Harper was struggling to control the flame. There was a side effect of channeling so much mental energy this way Avery hadn’t considered. A firespinner could control and even stoke fire with his mind and with so much mental power running through Harper’s mind the fire tied to it was growing out of control. Already it had gone from an orb the size of two fists together to a globe larger than a man’s head. It showed no signs of stopping and the heat was already evaporating the water ward, slowing down the Sanna man’s efforts to grow it.

Still, it stood stronger than before when fear struck at them. Johan easily drowned the errant emotion with memories of his wedding day and his single minded devotion to a woman more important to him than life itself. That was the ward’s peak strength. When glee struck the water’s power was already waning but thankfully Avery had already perfected his defense. Terrance Harwick had taught him the secrets of the candles but he’d also taught him to value of stewarding even those who seemed most ridiculous. No matter how poorly a person took to magic or how disastrous their efforts proved he never once laughed. Instead, he took joy from their constant efforts to improve.

For a brief moment, as the tendril of hilarity withdrew, Avery thought they had the formula worked out. If they could just outlast von Nighburg’s creature it would starve and return to wherever it came from or, better yet, devour its summoner instead. Then the wizard struck with his last two tendrils at once. Guilt and rage rent the water ward, stripping almost half the defense away as they charged through to batter their mindscape.

Avery thought they would be pulled all the way in. But instead the most potent memory yet surged to the fore, a brief glimpse of a Sanna man and a Columbian boy walking into a house, hand in hand. The image was oddly mirrored, for an identical pair of people walked opposite them. Which didn’t make sense to Avery, the mindscape shouldn’t create illusions like that, especially when exploring memories. He forgot about the contradiction when the next pair of people passed by. One was a tall woman, beautiful but tired, and the other an older man leaning heavily on a cane. As he passed the man paused and looked back at them, hand raised in farewell, and Avery recognized him as Master Oldfathers. He had aged a great deal in the last decade but the sparkle in his eye was clearly recognizable.

After all his failures and burdens, all the loss and disappointments of those children and that lady, in the end they had found something good. Nothing could be done to change the past. Nor would furious purpose or frantic energy carry the future. Not if one couldn’t first acknowledge and celebrate the fact that good things still grew out of the the sins of the past so long as you set your heart on the well being of others.

It was surprising to see Harper turn away the wizard’s attack so easily. Avery had expected anger, especially, to be a weak point for him but perhaps, as the sheriff had long mastered mirth Harper had long experience with rage. What Avery saw at that instant was that it wouldn’t be enough.

Up above them Heinrich von Nighburg was drawing in even more power, his features distorting even further as his binding cinched him tighter and tighter to his patron, and the two together were rallying for another attack. They’d repelled everything he had so far but Proud Elk struggled to refill his ward. After an hour of constant use, Cassie’s voice was sounding hoarse. Brandon could only live in the yew for so long before the wood would claim him, Avery’s concentration could only last so long and who knew what kind of limits there were on Johan’s abilities.

Still, he didn’t think any of those were the limiting factors. Every candle wick drew up melted wax as fuel for its flame but, at the same time, the wick was not immune to the fires that burned on it. Eventually it would be used up. As their combined mental powers battled von Nighburg’s, the flame Roy Harper used to power that battle grew ever larger. Now it was as big as a barrel. Although he had pushed the fire back from them as it grew Avery knew even a firespinner couldn’t withstand that kind of power forever. His hands were blistering. Steam rose from stray drips of water than had fallen on his clothes and wisps of smoke rose from the cuffs of his sleeves. Soon enough, Roy Harper was going to burn away.

Previous Chapter

To the human eye the lighthouse must have looked normal for most of the night. While the eclipse should have ended and given way to a normal night once the lighthouse’s master cast his spell that was not entirely what happened. While the rest of the world continued forward to the next morning, within a hundred paces of the tower the eclipse still reigned. With the beacon burning the subtle change in the stars within von Nighburg’s spell was not clearly visible. Likewise, the fact the beacon’s light wasn’t flickering in the sea breeze was not something most would notice. The bright flashes and explosions of light that came with a pitched battle, slowed to the glacial pace of time inside von Nighburg’s pocket of unnatural reality, might have drawn notice if anyone had been awake to see them.

But by the time the people of Riker’s Cove began to stir those most obvious signs were gone and past. Very few people had any idea what was happening in the bay that night. Only Jonathan Riker’s statue saw it all. Whether it knew what those strange lights, moving at their unnatural speeds, might mean for the fate of the town was something it kept to itself.

Such an unnatural occurrence couldn’t go unnoticed forever. Even for the simple fishermen of the Cove a place where magic had prevailed over the march of time had to draw attention eventually. As men headed down to their boats to set out they couldn’t help but notice that part of the waters of the cove were locked at high tide even as the rest of the ocean ebbed to low tide. People began to gather at the docks, murmuring in dismay.

A few went to the jail to try and locate the sheriff. When he couldn’t be found there his candles were lit across the town. Once it was clear that even these talismans weren’t sufficient to conjure Warwick someone went to the mayor’s house and pounded on the door. Mayor Hughes emerged, his eyes red and bleary like a man who had slept little the night before. His attempts to calm their sentiments fell on deaf ears. Too many strange things had happened in Riker’s Cove for simple words to have an effect.

No one wanted to set sail in the face of the unnatural magic that wracked the bay but in spite of that the whole town wound up on the docks, watching the lighthouse with bated breath. Perhaps the candles they held bound them together in their anxiety. Perhaps not. Whatever drew them there, it had no effect on the statue of Jonathan Riker. It remained by the Riker family crypt all through that long night and that was where it was when the first streaks of dawn crept over the horizon behind it.

Roy picked himself up off the ground, his ears ringing. For a brief moment he wasn’t sure what was going on but his hands knew their work. By the time they’d retrieved his sword Roy had rallied enough to remember he’d been fighting Heinrich von Nighburg and there was a good chance Tanner was dead or dying. Roy’s first impulse was to return the favor on Tanner’s behalf but there was a wrinkle to that. The old sailor had sacrificed himself to keep Jenny Riker alive. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense to leave her thrashing around during a fight with magic flying around all over the place after that. Could undo all Tanner’s hard work.

So Roy got to his feet and took one step towards the beacon. It was like walking into a whirlwind. Turned out his ears weren’t ringing, that was just the pressure on them from the ungodly wall of sound coming from the mouths in the beacon’s reflectors. The pressure was immense. At least it felt that way to Roy, von Nighburg moved about the lighthouse with the ease of a man out for a stroll. He raised his staff and pointed the end at Roy then spoke a word that echoed over the other noise. It wasn’t a word Roy understood but that was nothing new.

There was a moment of deja vu as the world snapped from the top of the lighthouse to the top of a skytrain. It was that weird mind place again. Except instead of being there in the dubious company of Avery Warwick, Roy’s companion for this little jaunt was Heinrich von Nighburg. The wizard threw an embroidered blue cloak back over his archaic tunic and stepped forward, his staff still held forward in offensive position. “Even in the mindscape you’re able to function normally.” Von Nighburg spoke Avaloni with a clipped, slightly nasal accent. It sounded like something European but Roy didn’t know the Continent well enough to guess where the exact point of origin might be. “An unexpected complication. I thought anger would capture you quite well, especially after your initial reaction when the T’aun began synchronizing with you. My intention was to enter your memories at the battle on the ridge. Or perhaps the sawmill. How did you divert us here?”

Roy raised his own weapon to the forward guard, debating whether he should engage with the question or just kill him. There was a lot going on here he still didn’t understand. On the other hand, bandying words with bloody handed murderers rarely resulted in learning anything useful. Mostly it was a waste of time. Occasionally it muddied the waters or gave the blackguard a chance to gain some kind of an upper hand.

“I believe it’s actually because I’m still here.”

There was a small sliver of satisfaction seeing von Nighburg’s surprise when Jenkins drifted down alongside the train. “A geist. Nothing in your reputation suggested you were a necromancer, Herr Harper. You are full of surprises.”

“Now look what you’ve done, Sam,” Roy said, sparing the ghost a glance. “I’m being accused of necromancy.”

“And still no anger about it. Very interesting.” With that von Nighburg snaked his weapon upwards and around Roy’s blade and snapped it down in a beat attack.

Roy disengaged around the staff and extended, trying to hook the weapon with the weighted tip of his falcata so he could trap it in a bind. The wizard flipped his palm in a hooking motion and swatted the blade back before Roy’s motion completed and they pulled back into a ready position again. “I don’t think you can hurt him here, Roy,” Jenkins said. “He’s just a thought in your mind right now.”

“What’s that make you?” Roy wasn’t really interested in the answer he was just making noise to keep von Nighburg distracted while he tried to find an opening.

“I suppose I’m a memory, although not what you’d think of as a memory. It’s all very strange, looking back at life from my side of things, and neither of you really have the frame of reference for it.” Jenkins drifted between the two of them, his semi-transparent body making life difficult for both parties. “Of course I’m only able to contact you because the barriers are weak right now.”

“Also surprising,” von Nighburg said. “I hadn’t intended to bring the world of the dead closer to ours but rather the world of the mind.”

“You planned to kill a person to do it.” Jenkins didn’t say it in anger but rather in the manner of a patient adult trying to explain something to a child. “Did you honestly think you could do that and not bring Eternity closer to you? I know the Mated Pair don’t speak much to what happens after death but certainly the great and learned wizards of the Teutons have some inkling of the mechanics involved.”

Von Nighburg frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that when a man dies he has to go somewhere, doesn’t he? But no one knows where. So how are we supposed to go on to the next place unless someone shows up to guide us?” Jenkins pointed along the roof of the train. In the past, when Roy had met Jenkins on this train, the ghost army had been guided onwards by Cassandra Fairchild and her gift with stonesong. However she wasn’t at the end of the train here in this memory. There was something else there, instead. “If we’re distracted by things in this life sometimes a soul can’t hear their guide’s summons until those distractions are dealt with. But once we answer those summons an accounting must be given.”

Both men followed the ghost’s finger and saw the thing there, a towering figure that seemed like it would swallow the sky. It gleamed orange and brown, like autumn leaves or lacquered wood. The shape was vaguely like a man but power rolled off of it in waves, obscuring all features and leaving the thing little more than a glowing silhouette that implied rolling robes and a crown or hair that rose around its head like roaring flames. The thing was so colossal they’d blocked it out of their perception, the same way a man ignores the sky unless he thinks about it. Except it wasn’t an empty space. It was aware and the full force of that awareness was currently focused on the man that stood before it at the fair end of the train. Roy squinted and realized it was Chester Tanner.

“Gotterdammerung,” von Nighburg whispered. “They’re real.” Then he spoke another word and vanished from the mindscape.

“What is going on there?” Roy demanded.

“Tanner is making his last appeal to the King of Scars,” Jenkins replied. “Once in a great while they send someone back for a second chance but it’s pretty rare and, as someone who’s had their chance at it, let me tell you it’s not an easy thing to do. Of course, I wasn’t really interested in going back.”

“You’re here now.”

“I had duties in the here and now, which is why I was allowed to come along when Hank and Chester’s time came, but I think Chester will be taken away soon and I’ll have to leave with him.” Jenkins was looking over Roy from head to toe. “Dust and ashes. I can’t find any sign of the T’aun attached to you.”

Roy pulled away from the ghost and gave it a horrified look. “Are you saying that thing is death?”

“Not as such although as I hear it the King of Scars and his peers have a lot of sway over death. Listen, Roy, there’s not time to answer all your questions. I’ve been trying to figure it out since the last time we met and I’m still finding new things I don’t understand.” Jenkins began to drift down the train towards Tanner. Roy still found his attention shying away from the immense presence that was interrogating Tanner but even out of the corner of his eye he could tell that the man was turning transparent much like Jenkins was. “I’m sorry, Roy. I thought I could work out what kind of magic that fellow was using but we’re too far removed from one another now. The cost of being dead, I suppose.”

“It wasn’t working on me anyway,” he replied.

“So it seems, but he was probably trying to correct that when he entered your mind. Don’t let him bring you here again. There’s not going to be anyone here to help you anymore. Just hold out! He’s almost out of time!” The strange autumn light from the presence suffused Jenkin’s form and the ghost vanished.

Roy flicked his attention out to the end of the train. For a brief moment his eyes met with Tanners ghost. The old sailor waved to him once and called out, “Tell Hannah I’m sorry!”

Then the last ghost vanished and the titanic presence beyond faded from existence, taking the mindscape along with it.

The snap back to reality was no less abrupt than last time. Perhaps more so given that the head of a staff was plunging towards his face, about to take him square between the eyes. Roy watched it approaching him with preternatural clarity. He could try to push it up and away, sway back to let it pass over him or parry with his weapon in any number of ways. With his unusual moment of awareness Roy chose to sidestep to his right, saying behind his guard.

Von Nighburg’s thrust slipped past him over his left shoulder and the wizard automatically countered Roy’s sidestep as he recovered. In the process he tripped over Johan’s leg as Roy intended. While his opponent was staggering Roy rushed forward, grabbing for the staff with his left hand while hacking at von Nighburg’s hands with his weapon. Unfortunately he didn’t take the nature of his opponent’s weapon into account. Iron’s nature somehow disrupted and absorbed magic in ways that were poisonous or even lethal to most living creatures. Steel retained some of that effect and, as Warwick had suspected, von Nighburg’s staff was shod in that mysterious metal. When Roy’s fingers closed around it they started tingling. It wasn’t as bad as your average iron burn but as soon as he felt it he yanked his hand back.

The sudden reversal threw his balance off, spoiling his strike and allowing von Nighburg to back away unharmed. The blackguard held his weapon in an unorthodox stance, gripping it a bit like a spear but with a wide grip in the last third of the shaft. It should have been confusing. The Columbian Regular Infantry was a modern fighting force, equipped entirely with sulfurite weaponry. Spears had little place in their formations. Swords did a much better job directing flame accurately and pole axes propelled via channeled flame hit much harder than spears, making them more suited to breaking formations. As a result Roy had faced off against a spear maybe twice in his life.

Yet when the wizard lunged with his staff Roy saw the correct counter instantly. Parry across. Push up and step in, try to trap the weapon high and out of position. Von Nighburg tried to choke up on the weapon to escape the bind but Roy took the opportunity to flick a cut at his hands once the bind weakened. The wizard backpedaled to the edge of the lighthouse. With the moon hidden by Low Noon and his cloak pulled forward his body became difficult to see. The hypnotic gleam of the beacon’s light on his staff and a series of weaving, unpredictable movements made reading his intention even more difficult. It was more like watching a quicksilver serpent than a rod of steel.

“You know, of all the people I had to deal with I thought you would be the easiest,” von Nighburg said, his tone conversational. “Everyone in the West has something to say about you.”

“None of it good,” Roy replied. He pressed forward with a few snap cuts to keep the wizard too distracted to pull them into the mindscape again.

Von Nighburg deflected the cuts easily. “As you say, everyone agreed on a few basic things. You arrive in a town in pursuit of whatever fanciful thing has your attention on that day, you grumble and bully the locals until you find what you need to get it then you burn and kill you way to success. It’s quite admirable, really, except right now you’re in my way.” He adjusted his grip to hold his weapon near the middle and went on the offense, striking rapidly with both ends of the weapon as he tried to create a little more room between himself and the low wall that ran around the outer edge of the roof. “Yet as predictable as that was, I don’t understand your attitude. Where’s that famous temper of yours, Herr Harper?”

The wizard had finally missed a bet. The extra reach his staff gave him had been his biggest advantage in the fight so far and sacrificing it for a higher tempo of attack wasn’t a wise move. He was pretty skilled with his weapon but Roy was a lifelong fighter. He parried the first attack easily, read the second, disengaged from the bind before von Nighburg could take his weapon out of line and blocked it as well. The third attack became an attempt to beat his weapon aside but Roy had the stronger wrist. The bronze edge of his weapon rolled from the force of the blow but his guard didn’t waver and by that point Roy had pressed in close enough to trap the wizard’s arms and prevent the fourth strike. He allowed himself the ghost of a satisfied smile and said, “I’m a professional. What did you expect me to do, throw myself down on the ground and scream like a child with a tantrum?”

Von Nighburg gathered himself to try and pull free from Roy’s grip. However, even with the wizard’s steel weapon between them causing his magical senses to buzz uncomfortably, the remarkable awareness he’d had since leaving Jenkins made seeing through that simplicity itself. As von Nighburg pulled Roy pushed. The two steps they’d taken away from the edge vanished as he did and von Nighburg’s back slammed into the wall. For a moment the wizard flailed, trying not to tip over it.

At the same time a sinister smile crept across his face. “Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Herr Harper.”

“Why do you care so coalstoking much about whether I’m angry or not?”

Von Nighburg braced the butt of his staff against the railing on the wall and levered himself forward, pressing the steel shaft up against Roy. The metal did more than tingle this time. Roy could practically feel it sapping life from his body but even so he didn’t feel threatened by it, which he knew was odd. There was no time to analyze it, so he focused on getting leverage over his opponent’s arms or torso. Somehow the wizard managed to keep his staff between them the whole time, foiling him. “It is impressive that you struggle so hard without anything to drive you.”

“You claim you know my reputation and think I’m not driven?” Roy would have laughed but at the moment he couldn’t muster the least bit of humor at that misunderstanding. “Not the brightest fella, are you?”

“But you don’t have ambition or drive anymore, Herr Harper, nor joy or grief or jealousy.” The wizard scowled and tried to break to one side but a half hearted strike from Roy’s weapon cut that idea short. “The only thing left for you should be your temper. You, a man famous for flying into a rage whenever you’re questioned by strangers. Where is it now?”

Roy smiled, not because he was amused but because he knew it was inappropriate for the situation. “You know the stories about me but you don’t know me. You think I get mad because people ask me questions? I get mad because I hate showing up a day late and short of silver!”

Von Nighburg froze, a look of astonishment writ across his features, then he glanced away, his attention drawn to where Johan still sat in a heap on the floor, muttering to himself. Roy wasn’t sure why but it was enough of an opening to finally get around the other man’s guard. The stalemate broke and suddenly Roy had the wizard by the elbow and wrist of his left arm. With a twist and a shove he flipped the wizard around and slammed him into the wall again. They teetered precariously.

“It’s too late, Harper,” von Nighburg called. “The spell’s already done!

“That’s the worst part, blackguard,” Roy replied. “I’m a firespinner. People don’t hire us until everything’s already gone wrong!”

“So why bother at all?”

“Because I’m Roy Harper.” He took a half step back, planted a boot in the wizard’s back and kicked him over the railing. As the man tumbled away, taking his staff with him, Roy’s sense for flame sprang back and he felt the beacon burning behind him once again. It was a simple matter to force the flame down into the oil reservoir then pull out the resulting fireball. He took half a step up and looked down at the wizard falling. “Out here in the West, I am the closest thing there is to vengeance.”

Roy sent the roiling ball of flame streaking down to strike von Nighburg. “If you didn’t figure that much out I don’t know why you bothered to look into me at all.”

The black hearted wizard burned all the way down to the surface of the water but, until the moment he parted the waves, he didn’t make a single sound. At the moment the water closed over him the place where the moon hung hidden in the sky began to laugh.

Previous Chapter

“Bright Coals, have you considered why The Blackguard has not released the daughter of Samson Riker, the Cliff Over Waves?”

Roy felt a twinge of amusement when he heard the obvious formality in the way Proud Elk said the word blackguard. He wasn’t sure how the Sanna made it so clear they were saying a name, not just a regular word. However he never had any doubt when they were. “I assumed von Nighburg thought having that man’s granddaughter as a hostage would give him more leverage over the town than the other two boys.”

Proud Elk pulled the end of his whip club out of the lock on the chest he was working on and it popped open. They’d discovered von Nighburg’s bedroom down a short hallway and were ransacking it. Under normal circumstances Roy would have just looked under the bed and in the closet for potential ambushes then moved on but Proud Elk’s lock breaking skills opened new possibilities. As he rummaged through the contents of the chest Proud Elk said, “Your theory makes sense at first glance. The problem is Cliff Over Waves. He does not have a disposition that encourages defiance. There are many people in this town that would be dangerous to cross, the sheriff and the mayor not least among them, yet he strikes me as the hardest to placate. In this he is like his father.”

“That’s so. Not everyone rides out to destroy famine incarnate at the age of fifty eight.” There was a bedside table with a small pile of books on it beside von Nighburg’s bed but Roy didn’t see anything unusual in the titles of the books he could read. Two had titles in Cyrillic characters and those he couldn’t read. He set them aside for later examination but he didn’t want to drag them all over the manse when he needed his hands free for fighting.

“It seems to me there must be some significance to choosing to provoke that man’s son in this way.” Proud Elk had emptied the chest of a pile of clothes and boots and now he took the container and turned it upside down and gave it a hard shake. Something rattled. He put it back and started prying at the bottom with a knife.

“You think he has some beef with the Rikers, father or son?”

“No, no, I’m afraid I did not state my point correctly.” The Sanna man paused with the point of his knife buried in the wood, his gaze focused in the middle distance for a moment. “I believe there is a point to choosing that man’s granddaughter. I think the advantages she offers surpass those of all other hostages and The Blackguard thought those advantages were worth provoking Cliff Over Waters.”

Roy paused rummaging through von Nighburg’s wardrobe long enough to give his friend a thoughtful look. Proud Elk was getting at something but he couldn’t figure out what it was. “This one of those famous Sanna intuitions you have?”

“In a way. It is something more likely to occur to us than to a Columbian, even a well educated one like Sheriff Warwick.” The bottom of the chest popped out and Proud Elk carefully set it aside and pulled out a thin metal case. “I have heard several people call the missing girl Jenny. This is an abbreviation that makes it more difficult to properly name a person, is it not?”

“It’s a nickname, sure. We don’t really use them to create confusion, kind of the opposite in most cases, but then we treat names differently than your people.” Roy thumped the back of the wardrobe carefully and stopped when he heard a hollow noise. “In most cases Jenny is the shortened version of Jennifer.”

The Sanna man gave him a meaningful look. “That is the name of the first queen of Avalon, is it not?”

“Yes.” Roy found a knot in the wood that served as a place to hook his thumb and pulled a narrow door open. It revealed a small compartment that could hold a sword or staff. At the moment it was empty. “Your people deal in names, Proud Elk. What’s the significance of that?”

“That man founded this town, Bright Coals. His son is a man of some importance here and his granddaughter shares a name with a queen who founded a kingdom. If you wished to work a magic that involved the life and death of this town, her life and name would be very powerful.” Proud Elk opened the case and removed a ring on a thin metal chain. “This… this is something I could not guess at.”

“Metal rings can do a lot of things depending on the alloys and patterns on them,” Roy said. “Better put it away. That’s a mystery we can spend more time on when its safe.”

“I defer to your expertise, Bright Coals.” Proud Elk put the ring away, closed up the carrying case then tucked it into his belt. “And the girl?”

“Your logic has a lot of merit to it but there is one thing I think you’ve mistaken.”

“Which is?”

Memories of irrational laughter and stifling anger flitted past. “Whatever von Nighburg is dealing with here it far surpasses the life and death of a town. Perhaps even a kingdom.”

“Let us hope you are the mistaken one on that score.” The Sanna man stood up and headed back towards the door. “Shall we explore the stairs next?”

Roy took his thistledown candle off the top of the wardrobe and followed him. They’d discovered a set of stairs leading up to a second floor, which wasn’t that surprising given that he’d seen when Warwick burned his revealing candles and showed the place from the outside. The top floor was dominated by some kind of astrolabe. The brass contraption was easily fifteen feet from one side to another and featured seven long, twisting arms circling the central sphere. Unlike most astrolabes it didn’t look like the solar system.

In fact as he peered through the slowly revolving arms Roy thought the centerpiece looked more like a globe representing the known world than anything else. Maybe it wasn’t a traditional astrolabe. Proud Elk walked around the outside of the room and found a few telescopes looking out but reported there was nothing to see through them but odd swirls of color. There were large stacks of paper covered in unfamiliar letters on the counter that ran around the outside of the room but both men ignored them. Given the circumstances it was just one more thing that would have to wait. Roy was about to suggest they try looking through a telescope while wearing the ring they’d found when Warwick interrupted.

After a brief aside about forges, steel and back doors Roy returned to the moment. “Johan and his group found a bottom floor but it looks just as empty as this one which tells me we chose the wrong doors at first. Von Nighburg is through the last one.”

“Why do you think he hasn’t retaliated against us so far?”

“I think what happened in the central room twenty minutes ago was him doing just that in the same way Hank Tanner was a response to the Fairchilds saving Stu Strathmore.” Roy was briefly tempted to dance around the issue of Hank Tanner but it didn’t help at the moment. He knew the Sanna recoiled from naming the dead and in most cases he deferred to that sensibility when dealing with them but it didn’t bother him at the moment. “Whatever von Nighburg uses to do that is his best weapon against superior numbers.”

Proud Elk shifted in discomfort and Roy felt a brief twitch of irritation but it quickly faded. The man couldn’t help how he was raised. “You have a point, Bright Coals. Did you have a chance to consult with the book you said might explain what it was he did?”

“I managed to spend an hour on it, yes. Unfortunately I didn’t find a record of anything like what we encountered in Pellinore’s Journal. Part of that may be my ignorance. The first entries are supposedly seven or eight hundred years old and the language in them is very different from what we speak today.”

“Many Herons is gifted with languages. He has spent much of his life tracing dialects of the Sanna back to their roots and trying to unify them into a single tongue again. He may be able to help you untwist your book.”

Roy felt a flicker of amusement at that. Most Sanna were gifted with languages, speaking six or seven of their own dialects plus Avaloni, but Many Herons knew some fifteen languages outside of Sanna dialects. Columbians as far east as Hancock knew him as a learned man. He was certainly likely to understand High Avaloni easily enough. “I think he’d be an excellent choice but there is a problem – Pellinore’s stories are to us much as creatures like the cold ones are to you. They are ours and not meant to share.”

Proud Elk broke eye contact and stared at one of the telescopes. For a brief moment Roy wondered if he’d made the other upset somehow, even though it was the kind of logic he’d expected a Sanna man to immediately understand. It was out of character, which was when he understood. “Proud Elk, this is going to sound strange but take stock. Are you feeling alright?”

The Sanna man froze and, although he still avoided eye contact, Roy could clearly see he was running through his own thoughts from the way his lips pursed and frowned. “No. There is something strange about my thoughts right now. I do not feel anger, even when I think of the captured girl, nor do I feel worry or fear when I think that I may die in the same way as the dead child from this morning. I only feel that I am watched and that is unsettling.”

“In the morning we laughed and just before we got angry. Now you feel embarrassed. Definitely seems like its the same thing… better let the others know before we decide what to do.” Roy tried to get Warwick’s attention via his candle but it didn’t work. In fact he no longer got annoyed at sensing the background hum of Cassie’s singing, either, and when he tried to get some response via the tap beads nothing came back that way either.

Proud Elk watched the proceedings with growing discomfort. Finally he said, “We should go down and check on them.”

Roy nodded his agreement and the two quickly retraced their steps to the central chamber only to find the guard team in complete disarray. They spent a few seconds trying to snap the trio back to normal. Proud Elk had brought a canteen of water from the bay and worked one of the most powerful dousings Roy had ever seen, sending globes of water circling around himself and Warwick in a large scale version of the soothing beads he’d bought with him. That broke the power of laughter enough that the sheriff came back to himself.

In the mean time Roy slapped Brandon out of whatever strange funk he’d fallen into. Both men told him they didn’t remember much but they had the impression that Johan and the others had left through the mirror room. Roy ran through a quick assessment of what had happened and came up with their next move. “Proud Elk, keep that ward going and cover the others in it. Brandon, snap your sister out of her panic and grab anything you can in the time it takes the sheriff to rig the Array.” Roy passed his lantern and its two siege grade sulfurite crystals to Warwick. “I trust you used these in the war?”

“I know the drill.” Warwick dragged himself to his feet and started working on the Immelmann Array.

“What will you do?” Proud Elk asked, spreading his water ward out further.

“Johan left the manse for some reason and I got one guess as what it is. I’m going after him.”

The transition back to the lighthouse seemed to take forever but when he stepped out into the tower he could still hear footsteps climbing the metal stairs overhead so he couldn’t be that far behind Johan and the others. It was a long climb up but Roy made it as fast as he could. As he ascended Roy took stock of his options. He had his falcata, sulfurite still unused, and the small crystals in his cufflinks that would give him a few sparks to throw around if his sword went out. Pellinore’s Journal rested in his inner jacket pocket. Unfortunately, while the book was a powerful piece of magic he didn’t have time to peruse its pages in a pitched battle.

There was the lighthouse beacon itself, far up above. It had a five gallon oil reserve he could ignite if he really needed extra firepower. Hopefully there were three other people he could count on. That was pretty much all the thinking he had time for, dashing up the stairs two at a time. He drew his falcata, ignited it and used it to catapult a fireball through the opening ahead of him and followed it straight up into the beacon room.

Two men – Samson and Johan – were collapsed right at the top of the stairs. Samson was sobbing so Roy guessed they were both suffering the influence of von Nighburg’s techniques. He made this guess as he leaped over the two of them to avoid tripping, so there was a real chance he was just imagining things. Two others fought by the beacon.

From the archaic dress and long staff he was using, Roy recognized one as Heinrich von Nighburg. The other was Chester Tanner. A thrashing girl was tied up and laid out atop the unlit beacon, the five reflectors intended to focus the light out towards the sea instead all pointed in at her, like a hand of glass was reaching down for her. A strange collection of mouths, twisted flesh and flailing limbs were visible in them. It was like the mirrors had turned into windows but rather than showing the ceiling above or the seas outside they looked into nightmares.

Roy landed heavily and cursed, distracting Tanner. Von Nighburg proved the more disciplined duelist, taking advantage of the opening and tripping the other man with the fast moving end of his staff. Tanner went down on one knee. The blackguard snatched up a sword that was laid out beside Jenny and raised it up to run her through.

It was at least fifteen feet from the stairs to von Nighburg and Roy did his best to cross it in the time he had but even as he lunged forward he knew it wasn’t enough. Tanner plunged the point of his cutlass into the ground and pushed up, diving across the beacon. He pushed Jenny out of the way, sending her tumbling to the ground with a panicked shriek.

Von Nighburg pinned him to the top of the beacon with his sword and every mouth in the mirrors opened wide in howls and screams.

Previous Chapter

The town was quiet through the early evening. For a moment, if a man looked at the Cove through the corner of his eye, he might think everything was normal. The statue of Jonathan Riker had no such grace. Its eyes stared straight down on the town, unblinking, and watched the people head home early and bar their doors. The Mayor walked the streets every hour, making sure things were quiet. The full moon rose overhead, its bright, baleful light casting the streets in unsettling shadow.

It was a bad night to be about and all could sense it. When the dark shadow of Earth moved over the moon’s face even Mayor Hughes went home and locked the door. Only the statue was there to watch as Low Noon moved it. The fell mood didn’t bother Jonathan Riker in the least.

It watched as the sky slowly turned dark without flinching, heard the wild laughter without answering and saw the lighthouse bend and stretch up towards the sky without comment. The world changed in the small circle of the bay. When the moon slipped entirely out of view the strange voices echoing faintly over the water grew more numerous and more varied. Then the the lighthouse and the water around it for a hundred feet froze, locked behind the irregular facets of an otherworldly prism.

---

The second room of Heinrich von Nighburg’s hidden fortress was circular, like the lighthouse it was connected to. Stone floor and ceiling sandwiched tall shelves stacked with books, tools and paraphernalia. Bronze lines, about the width of a man’s hand, ran across the floor in every direction. Seven of them converged on the table at the center of the room where the strange geometric lattice, mesh globe and golden orb sat pulsing with arcane power.

Experience told Roy it was best to work out what to do about the mad wizard’s magic before anything else. “All right, Warwick,” he said, stepping through the doorway from the portal room to the Array. “I think it’s finally time a druid explained what’s so coalstoking dangerous about these things.”

Brandon cleared his throat. “Maybe you could explain what an Immelmann Array is, first?”

“It’s a shield of winter,” Avery said.

Roy felt himself start in shock, a rookie response he immediately regretted. “You’re not serious.”

“Isn’t that one of the godly weapons of the Mated Pair?” Proud Elk asked, studying the array with a skeptical eye. “This does not look very godly, Bright Coals.”

“We say the Lord in Raging Skies carries winter as his shield but I honestly don’t know what the connection is between one of these and the saying,” Avery replied. “However, there are ancient records in the Stone Circle that say Arthur Phoenixborn took a magic weapon much like this into his last battle with the Seventh Son of Eternity. Whether or not he actually wiped out Eternity’s Armies in one day, Arthur’s victory was decisive. The Forever Wars ended very soon after with Eternity’s allied nations on the Continent surrendering two years later. By that point the Circle’s Founders had already forbidden anyone building a shield of winter.”

“Why?” Roy asked. “They sound pretty handy.”

“Well, if it’s true that Arthur swept the Armies of Eternity from the world all at once and if he used a shield of winter to do it, the prevailing theory is that the shield is actually a kind of key.” Avery waved a hand to encompass the strange space around them. “The records suggest Arthur used it to lock out or lock away the Seventh Son and his forces and placed himself in the doorway to ensure they never came this way again. The concern is that using another key will reopen that door and pave the way for them to return. While there’s questions about the veracity of those records the possibility that someone could start up the Forever War again is daunting enough the Founders didn’t want to take the chance.”

That seemed like a reasonable enough motive to forbid them to Roy. “Is there a way to turn it harmless without doing that?”

“Not that I know of. Our Founders taught us to recognize them but Morainehenge was setup in a rather informal way and we didn’t have complete details on… well, anything. If there’s a safe way to deal with an Array, the secret stayed in Stonehenge.”

All eyes turned to Brandon. He held up his hands defensively. “No help here, lads. I’ve never heard of Immelmann Arrays or shields of winter and I honestly don’t think most knights ever do. That sounds like something usually confined to the Founder’s Circle. Our Founders, that is. Why did yours think it wise to spread the knowledge to the whole rank and file?”

Avery’s expression turned surly. “We couldn’t be sure Immelmann hadn’t produced them by the dozen and turned them over to the Columbians! We had to be ready to counter them.”

“He wasn’t a weaponsmith, Warwick, he was a skytrain engineer,” Roy snapped. “He was just trying to improve their furnace design. I don’t know that turning one into a weapon every occurred to anyone, unless you count skytrains as weapons.”

“Which you could,” Brandon said.

Roy shot him a glare. “Not my point.”

Avery jabbed a finger at the Array. “That is not something you create accidentally while trying to innovate on a skytrain furnace. He was dabbling with something he shouldn’t have, just like von Nighburg, that’s why we had to step in and confiscate the Array.”

A pulsing flash of anger shot across Roy’s vision and took up residence in the front of his mind. “You robbed a man of his life’s work, over the objections of your own druid there in town-”

“Harwick?” Avery practically spat the name. “He turned his back on the Circle and never showed his face again. Who cares about his opinion?”

A brief glimpse of a man, dead on the side of a lonely mountain in a forgotten corner of Tetzlan, rose from Roy’s memories. It was already fading when Roy closed his grip on the front of Avery’s coat and pulled the man down to eye level. “Brennan Harwick was a better man than you could ever hope to be.”

Roy’s own fury was mirrored in the other man’s eyes. “Then maybe he’ll find the fortitude to come back and answer for his actions!”

A dozen acid tongued replies rose up but before Roy could pick one a double loop of blue and gold painted beads dropped around his neck and the unnatural pressure on his emotions vanished. He hadn’t realized he was being manipulated a second ago. Now that Proud Elk’s beads were around him it was obvious that something similar to the laughter from that morning had come over him.

Brandon was prying the two of them apart as the Sanna man looped another set of beads around the sheriff. The same shock and disorientation was clear on his face. Roy cleared his throat. “What was that?”

“I don’t know,” Avery replied. “I supervised some of Brennan’s training when we were squired, I always thought he was a man of respectable intentions. I didn’t understand his choices after the Avengard incident but I was never angry about them. Except just now. It was like I couldn’t feel anything besides anger… I don’t understand it.”

“But you use thistledown candles,” Cassie said. “Surely you were exposed to all kinds of magic that inflict confusion and arouse unnatural emotions as a part of your training.”

“I was. There was still nothing like this among what I experienced.” The sheriff shook himself and straightened up. “Something very strange is going on here.”

Roy shook himself off, clearing his head, and loosened his falcatta in its sheath. “No doubt. Otherworldly forces and all that. Proud Elk, how long is this going to protect us?”

The Sanna man gave a helpless shrug. “This is something far beyond my experience as well, Bright Coals. A Calming Shoal necklace prevents powerful emotions from overwhelming your mind but it doesn’t remove them and it isn’t meant for creatures that prey on feelings in this way. I made them after what we saw this morning but I wasn’t sure they’d work. I don’t know how long they will keep working. We could have minutes or hours before they fail or are circumvented by the enemy.”

“Wonderful.”

Avery straightened his jacket and cleared his throat. “We’ve felt this twice now and there’s a real sense of change in mental equilibrium when that thing moves against us. Everyone be alert for it. If you feel that change again try pricking a finger with a knife – physical pain can counteract mental influence. Once we have the link through the candles established Miss Fairchild’s song may provide some level of defense, too. I’ll try and counter any influence from the mindscape as well.”

“We’ll cut through the problem, then,” Roy said. The room had four doors out and he picked one of the three they hadn’t been through yet. “Proud Elk, we’ll start by going that way. Johan, take your boys and go the opposite. We’ll meet in the middle if we don’t find what we’re looking for or move to support Avery’s team if they get in trouble. Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Avery gave him a curious look. “You said Brennan-”

“Not now.”

For a moment the sheriff looked like he would protest but then he nodded his agreement. “When this is over, then.”

Roy left the obvious caveat unsaid. Instead he held up the beaded bracelet Proud Elk had given him and said, “Final check, make sure the taps are coming through.” Suiting actions to words, Roy tapped the large, central diamond in the bracelet’s pattern and waited until he felt answering taps from the beads on the opposite side, matching the taps Brandon and Samson made. “Everything’s working here. Miss Fairchild?”

She began to hum the slow, mournful notes of Tyson’s Nine under her breath as Avery lit his candle. Roy had initially been grateful to learn she didn’t have to sing the words to make her magic work. Now he found it didn’t matter. The melody brought the first lines to mind unbidden.

When spring turns to winter face the bitter hard truth

’bout the gnawing teeth of the famine

No woman or man has the strength to withstand when

icy cold fear puts its hand in

Roy had always found the rank sentiment and simple lyrics of the song distasteful, to say nothing of the way it seemed to miss all the things that had actually made the mill in Tyson’s Run frightening, lonely and miserable. However, as the smoke of Avery’s candle wafted into the air he found other opinions mixing with his own. Brandon found them quaint and charming. Tanner didn’t quite understand what all the fuss was about, since the tune was far older than the West and the words were the kind of thing sailors sang at sea all the time. Johan found Roy’s annoyance far more amusing than anything about the lyrics.

Most interesting of all, Samson took profound satisfaction from them. Roy thought he caught a brief glimpse of a younger Jonathan Riker in an unfamiliar house, speaking with a woman he didn’t recognize. Then, something directed their thoughts away from that memory. He had a sudden sense that he’d seen something private and anyway, there were more pressing matters at hand. “It’s two hours until the eclipse starts,” Roy said. “Whatever else happens we have to cripple the plans von Nighburg has for Low Noon. Sheriff, if he takes out our group and Johan’s, or if Low Noon comes and we’re not back, destroy the Immelmann Array and go back to the Cove. Hopefully that sends us over the horizon and into whatever place Arthur put the Seventh Son. It’s not a perfect solution but it’s likely better than the alternative.”

“Count on it,” Avery replied.

“Should I stand ready to assist you or Johan if you wind up over your head?” Brandon asked.

“Normally I’d be thrilled having a Knight of the Stone Circle as our reserve,” Roy said. “But after what just happened I’m not sure you should. I think it’s more likely that you’d be lured out by some kind of phantom sensations like what we just experienced than that you’d actually hear us in distress and respond in time to assist.”

“We can’t spend all our time worried about the enemy’s stratagems or we’ll never act when we have the chance,” Johan said. “Let the man stand ready if he wants.”

Roy hesitated for a moment, thinking it over. “Very well. If that’s what you want, Brandon, be ready to back us up if needed. But stay here until you get a message from us by candle or tap, understand?”

“I understand.”

“Stay safe.” Roy turned to the other search group. “Johan, Samson, Tanner. Good hunting.”

Then he and Proud Elk turned and headed down their own route into von Nighburg’s fortress.

Previous Chapter

“Are you certain?” Brandon demanded as he rushed forward, his sister a half step behind him.

“I’ve only seen it the one time,” Harper replied. “But it’s got the same look and magic around it acts funny, although in a different way from the last time I saw it. That could be something to do with the mirror itself or the shape of this thing, though.”

Sheriff Warwick joined them by the reflector, a hard look on his face. “If it is steel we could have a problem on our hands. When I looked into Stu’s memories von Nighburg had a staff made of this stuff with him when Stu was abducted. Which means our blackguard has a steel weapon.”

“If I may ask,” Proud Elk said, interrupting their careful examination of the reflector’s frame. “What is steel?”

“It’s a mythical metal,” Brandon said, carefully touching the cool metal with his bare fingers. “Supposedly the strongest metal ever forged. When the Armies of Eternity marched over the horizon, eight hundred years ago, and began the Forever War they carried weapons made of it. There are a few left, in the great armories of the Continent. No one ever discovered how they were made.”

Harper patted the hilt of his sword in a strange, almost ritual fashion. “That one told me his sword was made of steel and that it was a kind of refined iron, if you can believe it.”

“Iron scorns all magic,” Proud Elk said. “Thus you cannot refine or forge it with fire, so I find that difficult to believe. Yet if he said it, it may be possible.”

“He did,” Johan replied. “I was there when Roy asked about it.”

Brandon laughed. “The three of you talk like he’s standing around the corner, waiting to burst in when you say his name. Why are you so nervous about it?”

“Because we’ve seen him work,” Harper replied. “Enough about this. We can take this thing apart if you two want to keep it, I suppose, or we can sell it to cover our expenses later. Right now I think we leave it where it is. Johan, am I right in guessing this is the way into wherever von Nighburg is?”

“Almost certainly.” He was already setting up his own mirror opposite the reflector. “I’ll need a few minutes to assess how its defended and what exact mechanism its built on before we can go through. However, the fact that it is a mirror rather than a ring or something even more exotic helps.”

Harper nodded and looked around. “Riker, Tanner, grab one of those barrels and help me burn that foul shelled thing in case von Nighburg can use it again.”

The two locals dumped the barrel of oil over the biggest lobster Brandon had ever seen then Harper lit it with a spark from his lantern. Under normal circumstances it would take twenty minutes or so for something that size to burn. However, at some point Harper had learned to make things burn faster than they ought and he was able to reduce the creature to ashes in a matter of twenty or thirty seconds. Brandon had only seen this trick a few times before, and only from one firemind. That didn’t mean it was unique to Harper, Stonehenge druids were very secretive about the particulars of their abilities, but the fact that it worked on human bodies suggested it could also work on yew wood.

That was something Brandon felt it best to be prepared for. While Roy Harper seemed an honorable man there were many other fireminds out there, from within the druidic orders and from without, who were not. Sadly, he hadn’t been able to figure out how one might counter that trick yet.

Disposing of the lobster took Harper less time than it took Johan to analyze the reflector and Brandon found himself examining the lighthouse as he waited. The structure was some seventy feet tall but the third floor was slightly less than half that height. A rickety metal stair wound up the inside of the remaining tower up to the top floor, where the reflectors and oil burner were housed. There were no windows. Several iron hooks stuck out of the walls along the stairway, so presumably the lighthouse keepers used lanterns to make their way up or down.

A light touch at his elbow drew his attention downward. Cassie leaned in and softly asked, “Do you think this von Nighburg knows the secrets of steel?”

“I’d doubt it,” Brandon said. “Far more likely he’s found some old relics he’s labored long to understand. Isn’t that typically the way things go in the records? Someone finds a long forgotten piece of magic from the Forever Wars and, in trying to understand it, begins to tamper with forces we were not meant to deal with?”

Cassie nodded. “At the same time, he may have discovered writings the Armies of Eternity left behind. He could have learned the technique for forging steel from them.”

“Yes, I wondered about that as well. Whether von Nighburg created that steel himself or discovered it in an ancient armory is something we’ll have to determine at some point. Given how dangerous the man acts, I’m afraid it will have to wait until he’s dealt with.”

He could tell that notion didn’t thrill his sister but she nodded her agreement with it. “I was just thinking we should mention it to Mr. Harper. We’ll be staying by the entrance of von Nighburg’s manse and there’s no saying we’ll be able to go to and from it freely after he’s out of the picture. If Mr. Harper finds something and has the chance…”

There was merit to that point as well. “I’ll mention it to him.”

Whether he’d been listening while he watched the lobster burn or he’d just anticipated the issue, it turned out Harper didn’t need it mentioned. When Brandon approached him the firespinner preempted the issue. “I’ll keep an eye out for anything related to steel or the Forever Wars,” he said when he spotted the other coming. “Don’t know how much importance we can put on it, though. The other guy gets a say in how things play out.”

“I understand,” Brandon replied. “I appreciate your consideration.”

It took a few more minutes for Johan to finish his work with the reflector and set up one of his own mirrors opposite it. “There,” he said, “the doorway is open. Unfortunately von Nighburg has made visibility through the door one way so I can’t tell you what’s waiting on the other side. We’ll have to send someone well defended through first.”

“That’s pretty much what we cultivate the yew for,” Brandon said, his shift already underway. The layers of bark quickly grew over his body, already primed from his earlier use, and the roots of the plant stretched out through his muscles give him strength far beyond the human norm. Thus defended and empowered Brandon stepped up to the reflector. “Is there anything that needs done on the other side?”

“I would just look through and then report what you see,” Proud Elk replied, digging through his own bag of magical tricks. “Is that possible?”

“No, you have to go all the way through this kind of portal before you can come back. The literature stresses that’s a key part of making them function, as is making sure only one person uses it at a time.” Johan shrugged. “I don’t know if that’s true or the old wizards just thought it was a good way to slow down invaders trying to breach a sanctum.”

“Maybe,” Harper said, studying the reflector, then Brandon. “Go through, check it out and report back. We’ll check on you if you don’t come back in sixty seconds. You got another of those barrier breaker things, Johan?”

“Give me a second.”

It was more like a minute but eventually he handed Brandon a duplicate of the mirror he’d given the sheriff a while before. For Brandon it was starting to feel like they were taking too long. They’d entered the tower in late afternoon, as the sun was setting, giving them about five hours before the eclipse started. They’d already lost about an hour, fumbling through von Nighburg’s defenses. Under normal circumstances he probably would have insisted on a better plan for what would happen next but given the proximity of Low Noon Brandon knew they had to move as fast as possible.

He took a moment to test his right knee. With the yew fully awakened he didn’t expect any issues with it and, for the moment, he didn’t find any. Still, he didn’t want it to fold during what was likely to be his only contribution to the expedition.

“Stay safe,” Cassie said as he stepped forward.

That wasn’t likely but he kept that to himself. Instead he touched his brow in salute and stepped up to the reflector and touched his hand to it. He was drawn in as soon as he made contact with it and for a moment all he could see was rippling, prismatic colors, then he found himself in a much different room. He caught a glimpse of a small, enclosed space before the floor under him flew up and smashed him into the ceiling.

That was a clever place to put a barrier.

Fortunately yew wood was both tough and flexible and it absorbed most of the impact. He already had the counter charm in his hands and it didn’t break when he hit the ceiling. Brandon wound up crunched into a ball, pressed against the ceiling, a little pained but intact. The mirror Johan gave him wound up clutched to his chest and it took quite a bit of work in order to get it down, past his knees, and into direct contact with the barrier. At that point the spell shattered, just like the previous one, and he dropped to the ground again.

The room was little more than a square box with a polished oval mirror secured to the wall behind him. A quick glance told Brandon the mirror’s frame was identical to the one he’d come through. Opposite it was another door which Brandon quickly tested and confirmed was locked. He wasn’t an expert but it looked like that lock was made of steel. The rest of the room was featureless stone without windows, furniture or decoration, a quintessential antechamber and deathtrap hybrid. No other traps hit him so Brandon quelled the yew and stepped back through the mirror.

The others were gearing up to follow him when he returned, or so Brandon guessed from the slew of weapons they pointed at him when he emerged through the reflector in the lighthouse. He quickly gave them a rundown of what he saw then crossed back with Proud Elk in tow. To Brandon’s surprise, it took the Sanna man all of five seconds to pick the door lock using the narrow, almost prehensile end of his whip club.

Johan set a mirror on the floor by the door and they slowly opened it a sliver so the next room appeared in the reflective surface. To Brandon’s glee, it looked like a typical sanctum. There were bookshelves on the far wall and a large table in the center with some kind of magical contraption on top of it. A series of bronze or brass struts held up a gleaming silver mesh orb. Within it was a smaller, solid gold orb with strange, glowing pinpricks of light scattered around it in an indiscernible pattern. In the reflection it was hard to determine how big it was.

“Dust and ashes.”

Brandon glanced over his shoulder to find Sheriff Warwick staring at the mirror in horror. “What’s the matter?”

“That’s an Immelmann Array.”

Previous Chapter

The mayor of Riker’s Cove was a compact, beady eyed man in his late fifties. By name, Eustace Hughes. Some disaster, likely of a nautical variety, had taken his left arm but there was still a fierce vitality and charisma to him that made it clear how he’d come to lead the village after Jonathan Riker’s death. Like many villages of its size, the Cove didn’t have a dedicated office for the Mayor. So after they surrendered the body of Hank Birch to the Hearth Keepers the Mayor, who had arrived on the scene some time during Avery and Roy’s stint in the mindscape, asked them all to accompany him back to his dock.

According to the stories Avery heard when he arrived in town, Hughes was once a pirate of some sort. Whether that was true or not, he’d given up the sea when he lost his arm. He’d come to the Cove in an effort to start a serious shipbuilding enterprise there but the difficulty of getting good lumber and woodworkers when most of the timber on the western coast of the continent was in Sanna hands had thwarted him so far. He still employed a handful of shipwrights and managed a small drydock at the south end of town.

Like Riker before him, Hughes discharged most of his mayoral duties from his place of business. In his time living there, Avery had never heard anyone complain about this. Indeed, such things were common out West and of the people who made the five minute trek down to the Hughes dry dock the only ones who seemed surprised by it were the Fairchilds. Perhaps in Avalon they were used to more formal political arrangements. What did surprise Avery was the people who were waiting for them at the docks already.

There was a small, sheltered area atop the dock itself, little more than a pavilion with three walls and open toward the dock’s work area, where Hughes and his workers kept their tools and blueprints at a collection of work benches. However none of the mayor’s employees were there at the moment. Instead, Aaron Strathmore greeted them as soon as they arrived at the pavilion while further inside the hulking figure of Samson Riker stared down at papers scattered on a bench with a brooding expression.

Jonathan Riker’s only surviving son was a big man, about ten years older than Avery was and a similar amount younger than the mayor. His size wasn’t rooted in hard earned muscle nor did it hang from him in rolls of fat. His frame was simply tall and wide, covered with a typical amount of flesh of all kinds, although perhaps a trifle plump around the middle. A dull, red beard streaked with gray tickled the middle of his chest. When he glanced over, noting their arrival, sharp black eyes glinted under his thick, bushy eyebrows. In contrast with his otherwise hirsute face, not a single strand of hair grew from the top of his head although the sides and back of his skull were wreathed in a fringe that fell to his shoulders. Samson set down his papers and walked over to shake the mayor’s hand. “Mayor Hughes.” His polite manner turned hostile as he pivoted to glare at Avery. “Sheriff.”

“Thank you for coming, Mr. Riker, Mr. Strathmore,” Hughes said, ushering the group of them back into the shelter with gentle shooing motions. “Unfortunately Mr. Tanner will not be joining us this morning.”

“Is it true his sister’s boy turned up in a crystal coffin down by the docks?” Aaron asked.

“Not a coffin,” Avery said, “but close enough.”

Samson tugged at the end of his beard, which everyone in town knew meant he was loosing out when haggling. Or, in these circumstances, he was nervous about something else. Since his daughter Jennifer was now the only one of von Nighburg’s hostages still missing it wasn’t hard to guess what. “How bad?”

“Not good, Mr. Riker,” Harper said, pushing up past the group to look over the papers Samson had been studying before they arrived. “I’ve seen a lot of strange and frightful things since I came out West. Whatever von Nighburg did to that boy falls into a very special category of wickedness.”

Samson’s eyes tracked the firespinner around the room although he moved the bulk of his body as little as possible as he tracked Harper’s progress. “Do you know what it was?”

Harper picked up a piece of paper – Avery stepped close enough to see it was a blueprint of the lighthouse – and studied it as he answered. “I’ve never seen anything like it although I’ve heard of a couple of curses that could do something similar. Johan? Was that some kind of Teutonic curse? Or related to that moon magic you mentioned?”

“All Teutonic magic is based on repeating patterns.” Van der Klein clasped his hands behind his back, his eyes looking upward as if reading facts of the back of his eyelids. “Crystals, especially cut crystals, are one such pattern. The cycle of the moon is another, both widely referenced in the existing traditions and literature. However I can categorically say that warping the child into… that… was not done via any Teutonic methodology.”

“Categorically? How so?”

“There was no pattern to his laughter.” Van der Klein snapped back to the present. “And before you ask, yes I did take a moment to listen and count out the beats of the noise he was making. It was entirely chaotic.”

“Laughter?” Aaron looked confused. “Who was laughing?”

“What. The appropriate question is, ‘what was laughing?’” Harper set the blueprint back down. “Miss Fairchild, could there have been a musical pattern to the noise he was making?”

“No.” The stone singer shook her head. “I know it sounded like wild laughter but it was actually very repetitive, Mr. Harper. The rise and fall of the tone in his laugh was the exact same every time.”

The mayor swung his hand up, chopping it between Harper and Cassandra and catching both their attention. “I’m sorry. This is a matter of the peace in my town and the safety of its citizens. I don’t know who you two are but would you mind waiting just a few moments while I sort out the rest of this matter with the sheriff and my constituents?”

Out of the corner of his eye Avery saw Brandon bristle at the slight. He held himself back when his sister put a hand on his arm but Avery could tell he wasn’t sure why the mayor was brushing them off. The Stone Circle was probably used to much more cooperation in Avalon. He was about to try smoothing things over when Samson turned to Hughes and said, “Mr. Mayor, I asked Mr. Harper here to help. I wanna hear his opinion and if he has to talk to his friends to sort it out I reckon we should let him do it.”

The mayor shot the big man a deadly look through narrowed eyes. “You did, did you? I suppose you’re going to explain to Chester why you were willing to let his sister’s boy die like that? Dust and ashes, man, you didn’t even have to look at the corpse.”

A lesser man might have lost his temper at Hughes’ accusatory tone. Samson didn’t even twitch. “You and the sheriff have ignored every thing I’ve suggested for the past two weeks, Hughes. My daughter is no closer to coming home than she was when she vanished and I’m not willing to wait any longer. The most famous monster hunter in the west owed my pappy a favor so I called it in. Frankly, this whole stormwracked town wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for the old man so I’d reckon you owe him a little bit, too. If you won’t help me the least you can do is get out of my way.”

Hughes squared up against Samson, a challenge that Riker’s son completely ignored. “Listen, I understand your concerns. The sheriff and I have been contacting everyone we know who’s skills-”

“Giant!” Samson pointed a finger at Harper, his voice razor sharp. “Killer!”

“I’ve heard the stories, Samson! But Hank Birch is dead because Nighburg got wind of your stunt and we might have been able to save him if we’d coordinated this better!”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Harper had focused on the blueprints for the last few minutes, ignoring the bickering around him. Only now did he bother to look at Hughes. “I’m sorry, Mayor Hughes, but in my professional opinion there was no way to save all three children. Frankly, I’m amazed you got any of them back.”

Hughes spun on him so fast the empty sleeve of his jacked whipped out and slapped Aaron, standing next to him. “Listen here, Harper. You’re a hireling here, not a citizen or even an Army man. I got no problem with firespinners but you better remember your place and stick to it. You’re not responsible for the lives of the people in this town.”

“Mighty rich coming from a privateer who nearly started a war with Iberia,” Harper said, a trace of amusement running under the words.

“My coalstoking point, Harper.” If the Mayor was put off by the firespinner’s reputation he didn’t show it, stepping right up into his face and jabbing a finger in the man’s chest. “I’ve been on your side of things and I know the blind spots from that point of view. I’m not saying you’re responsible for what happened out there. Nighburg is. But so help me, if you won’t respect the rule of law in this town I will have the sheriff put both you and Samson in jail until the circuit rider comes to drag you to Hancock!”

“Slow down, mayor,” Avery said, sensing it was time for him to say something. “He hasn’t broken any laws yet.”

“Who’s side are you on here?” Hughes said, glaring at him over one shoulder. “You’re supposed to work for me.”

Technically the sheriff of Riker’s Cove was elected, just like the mayor, so they both answered to the townspeople. The problem there was that Avery wasn’t elected. He was the only deputy to survive the first clash with von Nighburg so he’d succeeded to the office. According to the town charter he’d serve until the next election or until the town mayor and treasurer called for a vote to remove him. Which, in Avery’s opinion, wouldn’t be a great tragedy. Sheriff of a port town in the West turned out to be a difficult and unrewarding job even when there wasn’t a murderous magus threatening it.

However, now that he’d started a fight against von Nighburg Avery was reluctant to give up part way through and Hughes definitely had the political sway and vengeful attitude to strip him of office if he wanted to. Also, there was the fact that Low Noon was that night. If von Nighburg’s ambitions came to fruition then, as Harper and his allies suspected, they didn’t have time for any political shenanigans. “I work for everyone in the town, yourself included.” Avery gestured to Harper. “I originally didn’t think Mr. Harper had much to offer us in solving this problem but, to my surprise, he’s not only brought someone who can break whatever control von Nighburg has over the children; he even found someone who understands the magic he used to hide in the lighthouse. I don’t think we can afford to pass on their expertise if they’re willing to share it.”

Hughes chewed on his lower lip for a long moment. Then he looked back to Harper. “Word is you never work for free but I should make it perfectly clear that the town isn’t paying you. Whatever commission you get from Samson is all that’s in it for you. There’s a price on Nighburg’s head you can split however you like but I don’t want you coming to me with your hand out when this is all over, understand?”

A wistful smile touched Roy’s lips for just a moment then he said, “Don’t worry, Mayor Hughes. Jonathan Riker settled your bill long before we came here. The only ones in a position to ask anything more of you are the Fairchilds and something tells me they wont.”

“That’s so,” Brandon put in.

“Very well.” From the way Hughes scowled when he said it Avery guessed the mayor had brought up payment in an attempt to provoke Harper into giving up the job. Clearly he hadn’t been expecting the firespinner’s response. “Sheriff Warwick will work with you on this and any townspeople you want to go with you will have to prove they can meet his standards to be deputized. If you can wait three more days-”

“We can’t,” Avery said. “I’m sorry, mayor, I know you were trying to call in favors from the Navy just like I was looking for some of the old druids to help me out but there just isn’t time. There’s a good chance von Nighburg’s magic will become much more powerful during Low Noon tonight and he’ll be able to do… whatever it is that brought him here in the first place.”

“Dust and ashes.” Hughes ran his hand through his thinning hair. “Tonight?”

“Almost certainly,” van der Klein put in. “Eclipses of both types are of benefit to Teutonic magic and there’s good reason to believe a lunar eclipse will give his chosen field of magic unique opportunities. The sooner we get into the lighthouse the better.”

“Then I’ll leave you to make your plans. Sheriff, let me know if there’s anything in particular I can do that will be helpful or if there are precautions that will keep people out of danger.” He pointed at Aaron Strathmore. “Mr. Harper, I know the sheriff and your friends already talked to him once but Aaron wanted you to know he’s willing to tell you anything else he knows that might help you save the other children held hostage. I closed the docks today so you’d have a place hidden from view to make any preparations you need. No chance Nighburg will see you here.”

Samson turned to Avery. “Sheriff, I’d like to-”

“Samson.” Hughes took a firm grip on his arm. “Before that, I’d like to talk to you alone.”

The big man glanced between Hughes and Harper, then nodded and followed the Mayor wordlessly. Harper turned back to the blueprints on the table. “Okay, I suppose we’re offically hired now so gather around, everyone, we have a fortress to breach. Van der Klein, tell us how we magic our way into this place.”

Samson stopped for a moment to contemplate his father’s statue. The monument to his father continued to look out over his town, ignoring his son, in a perfect encapsulation of Jonathan’s own behavior. The statue, at least, had an excuse. The younger Riker dismissed the edifice after a moment, turning to the mayor and saying, “Alright, what’s this all about? I hope you’re not going to try and talk me out of rescuing my daughter again.”

“You have three other children to think about,” Hughes said. “You could think of them. I know you Rikers are incredibly big picture people, set on preserving the great and the good without any care for the cost-”

“Stop that,” Samson snarled. “Don’t pretend you know me or my father, Hughes, you and your crew may have won over the town but I don’t trust you. Pa told me about you.”

“Your father hated me for good reasons, Samson. We were professionally and personally incompatible, no doubt, but you hold the grudge just cause your papa did. I ain’t waylaid your ships or taken your cargo, have I?” Hughes shoved his hand in his pocket. “I’m not the heavy hand of Hancock on the high seas anymore. I’m the mayor of this town. I watched your mother slowly pass on from grief after Jonathan died and I don’t want to do it again, see?”

“Don’t bring Ma into this, either.”

Hughes glanced from the man to the statue, his bafflement clear on his face. It was like he couldn’t tell which was the statue and which was the man, which one was completely unyielding and which one was just stubborn. “Then if you really have to go up that coalstoking tower, take Tanner with you.”

Samson’s face turned cloudy. “Your lackey? Why.”

“He went home because I sent him but he wants a piece of old Nighburg, same as you. His sister sent the boy here to learn a trade because she trusted her brother. Hank was a gem, Samson. He didn’t deserve that.”

The big man thumped one heavy hand down on the mayor’s shoulder. “What’s in this for you?”

A weary look crossed Hughes’ face. “If it’s not clear yet, I don’t trust these outsiders. Ironic, I know, since I settled less than a decade ago over your papa’s objections, but there it is. I was the same kind of man as them. Someone needs to keep an eye on them and you two are the ones they’re most likely to bring with you.”

Samson thought it over for a moment. Then he looked up at the statue, nodded to himself and looked back at the mayor. “Fine. If the sheriff is okay with it. Did you talk to him?”

“No. Let Tanner work on him. Don’t mention this conversation to any of them, okay? I brought you out here because I don’t want them hearing we doubt them, not even the sheriff.”

“If you say so.” With that Samson turned his back on the statue and walked back towards town.”

Previous Chapter

“The sheriff told me von Nighburg cursed the waters of the cove at one point,” Roy said, taking them out over the waves. “You know a lot of the Sanna’s dousing magic, right? Can you check ocean waters for magic? Or is it something you can only do with rivers and underwater reservoirs?”

“Not from up here,” Proud Elk said. “And I have never tried a dousing on such a large body of water. Back before your people pushed mine out of the place you call the Lakeshires the elders say we could douse the Lakes. But I’ve never done such a thing and I don’t know if the ways are different than what I’ve learned.”

Roy nodded, shifting his attention to the lighthouse itself. He’d never actually been in one but from the outside, without one of Warwick’s candles to reveal anything, it looked much like any other lighthouse he’d seen before. “In that case let’s take a closer look at this thing. You watch the signal lamp and reflector and-”

A flare of light from the docks caught his attention. In front of him Proud Elk also shifted to look that way, his normally stoic expression suddenly apprehensive. “Is that Silver Glass?”

“Looks like his kind of magic,” Roy said. “But you’ve seen it before and I think you’re feeling something off about it too, am I right?”

“I’m afraid you are, Bright Coals. I think we must leave the tower for now and ensure that all is well with him.” As he spoke he readied his club and a collection of herbs, woven bead talismans and other magic tools of his people. “And hurry. I fear not all is well in that man’s village.”

Roy adjusted the skiff’s helm, putting the skiff in a tight turn and pouring on the speed so that the small, aluminum craft swung about like a paper in a breeze. They shot over the water as fast as Roy dared to go. In truth the docks were so close to the lighthouse that they couldn’t run up to anything like the skiff’s top speed but given the unknowns of the situation it wasn’t wise to approach that quickly anyways. Instead he ran up to the speed of a fast horse and covered the distance to the docks in just over a minute. They found a scene from nightmares.

Johan’s magic had gone haywire, two of the mirrors askew and sending beams of solid light into the air at odd angles and the remaining two beams crossing on the twisted, barely recognizable body of a ten year old boy. Hank’s body looked like giant hands had grabbed it by the top and bottom and twisted it around twice. His arms and legs pumped and churned around the torso at unnatural angles. From the kind of damage he had sustained the child should have been dead but Roy could see his eyes rolling and fingers twitching.

Something was laughing with a wild, shrieking voice that felt like dead iron filings burning their killing paths up and down his back. In the strange beams of light from Johan’s mirrors strips of flesh full of grinning, gaping mouths hung in the air. It was like looking through windows to a world of malicious glee. Roy dropped the skiff to the ground and left it there with the hull quietly sizzling on the ground. He yanked his falcata free of its sheath as he vaulted out of the skiff, his bag of supplies slung over one shoulder.

There was something terrible in the laughter. Some kind of empty, devouring will that sapped every feeling that welled up to him in response to what he saw. For years Roy Harper had traveled the West, disposing of the worst humanity had to offer. In that time his ambition and search for justice had cooled in the face of the daunting task and a certain cynicism and anger had taken root. The sight of Tanner’s nephew writhing, suspended in the air like that brought all those emotions to the fore. But as he took the first few steps towards the boy that changed.

He looked so silly, spinning like that, with nothing to hold him up but a few beams of light and the laughing voices that leaked out of them. How was he supposed to take that seriously? Roy found himself coming to a stop, a strange feeling working up through his chest. His shoulders shook once. Then his throat spasmed as his face contorted a bit. Then a deep, stomach clenching laugh erupted from his lips like a fish, caught on a brazen hook, being dragged from the depths of the ocean.

In his blood and in his bones small reserves of fire, trapped in nearly invisible flecks of sulfurite that had lodged in his body a decade ago flared to life. The traces of magic rushed to his mind and burned away the laughter there. Just like that his equilibrium returned and his rage, his bitterness, his purpose and his hope rushed back in and filled him to overflowing.

Roy snarled and ignited his falcata, the roaring flame drowning out the insidious laughter. He’d never been happier to hear the whispers of fire in the back of his mind even though he still didn’t trust them. With his mind clearer he could take in more than the horrific thing at the center of the square. Johan was wrestling with his lightbox, trying to wrench it out of the teeth of one of the strange mouths that peeked through the beams of light. Whatever they were they were real enough to be dangerous. The yew in Brandon’s body had asserted itself and now covered him from head to toe, with the toes turned to roots that let it dig deep into the ground. His face was still visible but from the grimace on his face he was struggling not to burst into laughter. He’d wrapped an arm around his sister’s waist and she leaned heavily against him, her mouth open in a wordless song that either didn’t carry over the cackling rift in space or resonated at a pitch humans couldn’t hear. Only Warwick was on the ground. He huddled over a single candle that spluttered and flared wildly, threatening to sear the hands he cupped around it.

Outside of the thing fighting Johan, Roy couldn’t see anything like an active threat to deal with. As he traced the beams of light a beaded loop dropped around his neck, dampening the sound of the strange cackling. Beside him, Proud Elk pointed at the mirrors. “You must destroy the glass, Bright Coals,” he yelled, straining to be heard over the laughter. “It’s become a window into something else!”

Roy wasn’t sure how he knew that but for the moment he was willing to trust the Sanna man’s intuition. Instead he dropped the tip of his weapon downward, letting the fat, heavy tip of the blade fill with flame before he drew it back and catapulted the fireball towards one of the mirrors. His aim was a little off so Roy reached out with his mind and tweaked the projectile towards its target. He followed it in just to be sure.

Whenthe fireball hit the small pane of silver and glass dead center it shattered from the heat, spitting slivers all over the ground. As he withdrew his attention from the flame it brushed up against something. At first Roy thought he’d found the connection between light and fire that Johan used though his sunstone. But the thing was far too vast. For a brief moment Roy felt like he’d brushed against an Avatar of the Primeval Fire, a creature so foundational to the universe that it permeated the entire cosmos. He’d seen such things before.

However this wasn’t one of them, although it felt similar in terms of size and scope. From his own, human position Roy couldn’t tell much about whatever it was other than it moved lazily, less like a flame’s insistent whisper and more like an amusing dream. What’s more, Roy somehow sensed it was pure power. Like flame, it was all force with no vessel at all and, by its very nature, it found all attempts to pour it into a vessel as amusing as they were futile. How do you contain a dream? The very notions are antithetical.

It was very tempting to linger on the connection but Roy new he couldn’t. It wasn’t until he tried to come back to the moment that he realized he was lost. He was lost, unsure of where he was or if what was around him was even real. Sight didn’t really apply to what he was experiencing, only his instinctive connection to the Fire gave him an sense of the distorted reality he’d wandered into.

That, and his ears. They picked up a low, steady, wordless tune sung by a dusky, feminine voice that reminded him of a cool, shady forest in the northern Lakeshires. As soon as the thought crossed his mind Roy found himself standing under a mighty stone dolmen. The wild, overgrown roots of a huge yew tree covered the ground around him and its branches loomed low overhead, the leaves turning brown as it slowly died. Roy’s breath caught in his throat as he realized where he was.

Two stone megaliths stood upright to his right and left, holding a third slab ten feet above the ground. It was one of a dozen such structures that formed the Morainehenge. It looked exactly like it had when the 43^rd Infantry marched under it at the end of the Siege of Martin Southwick. Roy picked his way forward, carefully stepping over the roots. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen strange things in the middle of a theoretically pitched battle against the supernatural. Tetzlani creatures, in particular, seemed to love this kind of thing.

He was aware, in the back of his mind, of the sound of shattering glass and yelling voices but focusing on them right now was likely to prove counter productive. He did notice that the ground shook underfoot when he heard the smashing sound, though. Lingering too long was probably a bad idea.

“Now where did this come from?”

The question drifted out of the center of the henge. Roy recognized the voice, too, and picked up his pace as much as he could without getting tangled in the roots. “Warwick? Is that you?”

“Harper?” Actually, the voice didn’t sound distant at all. As soon as it reached him Roy found himself standing next to the sheriff by the trunk of the mammoth yew tree that had once been the Master of the Morainhenge. “What’s going on here?”

“I think we’ve come across an aspect of the First Elements,” Roy said. “I brushed up against it while manipulating a fire and found myself here. It’s not a part of the Primeval Fire, that I’m certain of, but it sure feels like some kind of magical power rather than a vessel. So my money is on-”

“It’s not the First Elements,” Avery said, his hand resting on the trunk of the tree and his face pensive. “Whatever it is thinks and only those things that are truly alive think. The First Elements are powerful but they’re not really aware like living things are, they just exist and push towards their own ends.”

“What do you mean they’re not alive? Haven’t you heard of the Mated Pair?”

“They’re no longer truly elementals,” Warwick said, resting his head against the treebark like he was praying. “When the Lord in Raging Skies married the Lady in Burning Stone they created a balance of all four elements that transformed them into a single, living unit. That’s why Arthur gave them a name as a united deity. But the aspects of the First Elements don’t truly think they just seek their aspects and express them.”

Roy walked up to the tree and examined it, wondering if it fascinated the sheriff for the past it represented or as part of their present predicament. “Okay, I don’t fully understand that gobbledygook. Even assuming you’re right about it all, how do you know for sure this thing out here is a real, living thinker and not just an elemental good at faking it?”

“Would you understand the nuance if I explained it?” Warwick asked.

“Probably not,” Roy admitted grudgingly, studying the yew tree. He wondered if it was native to the place they stood or if it was some kind of illusion or figment created by the presence they’d brushed against. “But it might be a hint for how to get out of here and I’m willing to take any chance I can get.”

Warwick jerked away from the tree as the sound of another mirror smashing echoed through the henge. “I take your point. How did you get in here?”

“I threw a fireball at one of Johan’s mirrors since Proud Elk thought they were serving as windows for your living thing to look in at us.” Roy jerked a thumb in the direction he came from. “I’m not sure how it got me here but the mirror’s gone so I don’t think we can get out that way. How’d you get in?”

“I lite a candle of telepathy and got drawn in to the thing’s mind through that magic.” Warwick studied the treeline of the forest outside the dolmen. “Interesting. When we first met I tried to pick up on your thoughts using one but you’re a firemind. I’m not certain but I think the concentration of magic in your ego allowed your mind to burn off the attempt.”

“I’ve never thought of myself as an egoist.”

“It’s a philosophical term, Harper,” the sheriff said, turning in a slow circle as he spoke. “My point is your sense of who you are combined with your gifts allows you to piggyback on the candle’s magic and walk the mindscape. Perhaps the mirror had something to do with it but I don’t think so.”

“Well regardless, if I got in by mirror we can get out that way, so long as they haven’t shattered them yet.” The ground shook and another crashing sound filled the air.

“Dust and ashes,” Warwick muttered. “You’d the mirrors breaking would cause the world to get dimmer since van der Klein wouldn’t have ways to send light in from outside. This place must have its own light source.”

“Or maybe we’re just thinking about seeing too much,” Roy replied. As the last tinkling sounds of glass faded he caught a snatch of the tune he’d first heard when he found the henge. “Did you hear that, sheriff?”

“No, what?”

“Cassandra is calling us. Or perhaps just you, doubt she realizes I’m here.”

Warwick gave him an incredulous look. “Harper, assuming this isn’t an illusion created via an unwise use of telepathy and we are actually somewhere else then what makes you think a stone singer can even reach us?”

Roy’s memories flashed back to his first meeting with the Fairchilds, when he’d watched Cassandra guide a whole army of ghosts into the afterlife. “She can call to the dead and send them on to their final resting place, sheriff. Whether this is an illusion or we were pulled somewhere via your candle magic we can’t be further from her than eternity is. If she can send people to eternity then she should be able to call us back.”

The ground underfoot bucked and suddenly he and the sheriff were born aloft on the back of a skytrain car that erupted out of the ground. The change was dizzying to watch but Roy found he kept his feet quite easily. “What’s this?” Warwick seemed less surprised by the sudden change in venue. “Is it interested in your memories now?”

“Like I said, Miss Fairchild is calling us.” Roy struggled but failed to keep a testy note out of his voice. “C’mon, last time she was at the back of the train.”

He started picking his way along the roof of the train car, occasionally looking over the side for signs of the ghost army. Sure enough they turned up, too, as Roy passed the train’s halfway point. At first Roy thought they were passive figments like the tree and train were, scenery that didn’t feel like it had any effect on what was happening. But as he crossed the gap between train cars he heard a familiar voice calling to him.

The face of Samuel Jenkins when whipping by in the crowd of ghosts, moving so fast Roy wouldn’t have spotted it if he hadn’t heard the specter calling his name. So far he’d been taking the usual amount of care in navigating the train’s roof. When he spotted the ghost moving past he put on a burst of speed, crossing the vehicle’s roof at a dead sprint as he tried to catch up. Behind him, Warwick sputtered in surprise and poured on the speed.

“Harper!” Jenkins’ voice rose over the sounds of the train and the strains of Cassandra’s song. “Sorry I’m not there! Turns out death isn’t at all what I expected it was.”

“What in the name of hearthfire are you doing here, Jenkins?” Roy gasped, leaping between the train cars.

“There’s power in any oath, Harper,” the ghost replied, almost laughing. “Doesn’t matter what you swear it on. So long has the man has honor he gives the words a power we can’t begin to understand. Didn’t think I was a man of honor but I guess I was. At least enough of one to keep my word, at least indirectly, dead or not.”

“I don’t need a ghost to help out again, Jenkins!”

“You have to understand the Voices, Harper!”

“What voices?”

“You wouldn’t know their name and if I use it they’ll hear!” For the first time since he’d seen the specter Roy heard real fear in the ghost’s voice. “You’ll understand soon enough. Be careful not to listen too much, like that blackguard did, but understand them! At least then you can avoid their grasp. Hold them off and he’ll uphold the deal!”

His mad sprint brought Roy to the end of the train and he’d been paying so much attention to Jenkin’s ghost he didn’t see it coming. One moment he was running on the train. The next moment he was tumbling through a strange world full of smoke, the solemn strains of Cassandra’s song the only thing he could see or hear clearly. Then there was a final crash.

Roy dropped to the ground, the shards of the last mirror scattered across the cobbles of the square in front of him. He was back in Riker’s Cove. The strange bars of light full of laughing mouths were gone and Johan was fumbling with his light box as he locked it closed. Proud Elk poked at the remains of the mirrors in suspicious fashion. Brandon was slowly pulling the yew back inside himself while Tanner helped Sheriff Warwick to his feet.

The body of the boy in the prism lay on the ground, twisted and broken but still gasping out wheezing chuckles every other breath. Roy struggled back to his feet and staggered over to the body, carefully turning it over with the toe of his boot. Glazed eyes stared up at him, full of madness, its jaw flopping open in a grotesque, open mouthed laugh. Tanner helped the sheriff over to look at it. “Clara,” Tanner muttered, “I’m so, so sorry.”

Roy wordlessly offered the man the hilt of his weapon. Tanner stared at it for a moment, disgust and pity warring across his face. Finally he shook his head and turned away. It was a decision Roy could respect but it didn’t change what needed doing so he cut the boy’s head off and covered the corpse with his jacket.

---

When the light in the square faded peace returned to the town again. As if the passing of danger sent out a call, what seemed like every person in town came running to the scene of the disaster. Dozens, perhaps hundreds of people poured out of buildings towards the center of the commotion. None of them looked up towards the lighthouse.

There was no one to see the shadow of a man, watching them with a scowl from the top. He pounded the wall with his fist once then grabbed up a gleaming staff and stalked down into the tower, muttering to himself. Perhaps the men of the Cove would have relished the victory if they knew they’d won it. Perhaps not.

However, the statue of Jonathan Riker saw it.

Previous Chapter

Riker’s Cove was quiet that evening. There was nothing unusual about that, of course, but the quiet had a sinister cast to it. A trio of small creatures with a fell light in their eyes crept through the streets, breaking off in different directions and vanishing into the shadows. Then, just after sunset, a wistful melody carried through town. The mood over the town lightened. The sheriff hustled through town to a house near the water.

For the next hour or so two small forms watched that house, their eyes alight with anger and uncertainty. Then they abruptly got up and ran off. They scrambled down the beach to the long pier leading to the lighthouse and the statue of Jonathan Riker watched them go.

There were still many shadows over Riker’s Cove but for the moment the waxing moon banished them out to sea.

Brandon studied the sheriff named Avery with curious eyes. Harper had mentioned that many of the druids from Columbia’s Stone Circle still walked the land but Brandon hadn’t expected to find them holding office in public service. He’d assumed resentment or distrust would preclude it.

Warwick worked his magic for some ten minutes on the boy they’d found by the docks, apparently using a thistledown candle to peer into his memories in an attempt to learn the fate of other missing children from the village. Finally he admitted defeat and extinguished the candle, then thanked the family and spent a few minutes more reassuring them they’d done all they could to help find the other two missing children. The sheriff also took the time to check the house’s perimeter. Finally he approached Brandon and his sister. “Well met, Sir Fairchild,” Warwick said. He touched his fingertips to forehead, a gesture that represented removing a helmet among friends. “I have a lot of questions to ask you but I feel we’ve imposed on the Strathmores long enough. Would you and your companion, Miss…”

“Cassandra Fairchild, sheriff.” Cassie dipped slightly in an abbreviated curtsy.

“If you two would care to join me in my office then we could discuss things without bothering them further.”

Warwick turned and gestured to the door with obvious meaning. Brandon gave Cassie a questioning look. His sister had been quietly humming a tuneless note from when they’d discovered the boy out by the docks at dusk until shortly after the sheriff arrived. Since then she’d kept her peace, which he took as a good sign. Now she gave him a slight nod, telling him she was in fact done with whatever she’d been doing. “Of course, sheriff,” Brandon said. “It would be our pleasure.”

Cassie looped her arm through the crook of Brandon’s elbow and allowed him to lead her through the town. While it was of low intensity she’d spent a long time flexing her talent for stonesong. He wasn’t sure what the exact price for that would be but her vision had to be impaired to some degree at the moment. So Brandon kept an eye on her steps as they walked. He didn’t want to embarrass her by waving a hand in front of her face while the sheriff was present but he wasn’t about to let her fall flat on her face either. However, even if she was completely blind for the time being she could still listen.

While they crossed the town she closed her eyes and tilted her head this way and that as the cool ocean breeze swept through her hair. If she heard anything unusual she didn’t mention it. They reached the town jail without incident. “Thank you for being so accommodating,” Warwick said as he unlocked the front door and ushered them in. “The last month and a half have been trying for the Strathmores. I’d rather they have their peace.”

“I’m happy to give it to them, sheriff.” Brandon replied, guiding Cassie over the step and into the building. “It’s the duty of every Knight on errantry to uphold the virtues of Chivalry. How could I ignore a child in need? How could I impose on his family once the need was met?”

“Fair questions,” Warwick said. He closed the door to the jail and offered the two chairs in the front room. He perched on the edge of his desk. “I’d say your answers do you credit as a knight. I am curious, though. How did you know Stu was in distress? I’m told the ensorcelled children like him appear normal to the passing observer.”

“Perhaps,” Cassie said as she made herself comfortable in her chair. “But he didn’t sound normal to a stone singer.”

Both Brandon and Avery raised their eyebrows. Avery presumably in surprise that she was a stone singer and Brandon that she so easily revealed that fact. Avery set his candle on the corner of the desk and inspected Cassie with more care. “That’s a rare gift, Ms. Fairchild. If its not prying too much into your secrets may I ask in what way you determined something was wrong? Could you repeat it?”

“Every person has a melody to their life, sheriff.” Cassie hummed a few bars of slow, almost sleepy music. “That’s yours, for example. A thoughtful, deliberate tune to reflect a trained and careful mind. When a person is ensorcelled, their tune goes off key or, in extreme cases, it becomes dissonant.”

“That’s the only thing such a sound could indicate?” Warwick asked.

“It could be several other things. But Stewart wasn’t off key at all. He wasn’t even making music. All I could hear was a single note, sustained indefinitely, as if the melody of his life had shrunk into a single, constant scream. I knew we couldn’t ignore that. Unfortunately I’ve never heard anything like that before so I can’t guess whether other people will be the same under the influence of the same magic.”

“Well, your actions are commendable although it’d be better if we knew you could repeat it.” Avery steepled his fingers and studied Cassie in the same way senior knights from Avalon would. Like a new variable on the battlefield. “How did you go about breaking Stu’s enchantment?”

“I just sang a tune.” Cassie smiled her most disarming smile, the kind that kept their father wrapped around her finger. “Everyone has a tune they’re supposed to sing. If they lose track of it often the best way to help them is to sing your own song with them until they find their own again.”

Avery’s lips pursed like he’d just eaten something sour. “That seems a bit simplistic.”

“Simple, perhaps, but not easy to do, even if you know what you’re doing.”

“I suppose.” Avery rose and paced along the side of the building. “Well, it is good that Stu is safe and if you’re willing to help free the other two children that were taken with him I and their parents would be very grateful. But I am curious. You said you were here on errantry, Sir Fairchild. May I ask the nature of your quest?”

Brandon laughed. “You’ll find it ridiculous, I’m sure.”

“No more so than anything else in the Columbian West, I’d say.” Warwick gave them an inscrutable look. “So what is it?”

“The Secret of Steel. What else?”

Avery’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Really? I’d heard Stonehenge still searched for that bit of myth from time to time but why come here? The Sanna aren’t known for their metallurgy. The Hispaniola that rule Tetzlan guard the local magic jealously…”

“Technically we’ve been tasked with retrieving some of the Founder’s writings that came over with the first round of Knights that Avalon sent during the Sanna wars. Pellinor’s Journals, The Archives of the du Lac Lineage. But,” Brandon gestured to his sister, “technically it’s her quest. When she came of age she heard the call and the Founders decided to send her here. As far as I know Stonehenge has never sent a stone singer to this place on this quest so I think they were hoping she’d hear something new.”

Avery returned to his spot on the desk, his attitude curious now. “Have you had any luck?”

“We’ve heard a… name?” Cassie put a note of uncertainty in it. “Perhaps a title? Supposedly there’s a man in brown who carries a sword of steel and is called The Strongest Man in the World. Have you heard of him?”

“Yes, the Hodekkian,” Warwick mused. “He knew Jonathan Riker somehow, came to the dedication of his statue. He carried one of the curved swords their people favor at the time. A tachi, I think it’s called? He never drew it, though, so I assumed it was bronze like any other.”

“We’ve heard its a silvery metal that isn’t aluminum,” Brandon said. “It’s not much to go on but it’s a start.”

Avery frowned. “But he’s not here in the Cove. Believe me, I’d know if he was.”

“No, we haven’t heard that,” Cassie put in. “We came because we heard the sheriff’s deputy was also a knight from Morainhenge. We hoped he might know the fate of the henge’s relics. When we arrived we were told the sheriff had no deputy so we thought the man had moved on. Turns out he was just promoted.”

“As you say,” Warwick agreed. “Unfortunately I can’t help you. The Master did empty the Reliquary before Morainhenge fell but he didn’t pass them out to the standing knights. He gave them all to the assistant master and told him to find new, worthy guardians for them. I clearly wasn’t one of the worthies. I’ve heard rumors about Assistant Master Oldfathers in the years since but I’ve never seen him in person.”

Brandon sighed. “Well, don’t feel too put out. We’ve heard variations on that story at least a dozen times in the last year and a half. As near as we can tell only one Morainhenge knight was chosen by one of your relics. Very strange.”

“Oh?” Warwick’s brows shot up again. “Who’s that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“A knight of the First Circle, very green at the time of the Lakeshire War, apparently.” Brandon drummed his finger, trying to dredge up the right name. “Was it Nat Thorton?”

“No,” Cassie said. “Nat was the one who survived. The one who received it first was Cole Thurmond. Nat was his squire for most of the war. When the assistant master brought Cole the Bedrock Shackles after the war they found both were able to wield them.”

“That’s right,” Brandon remembered it clearly now. “But Nat told us Sir Thurmond died running down the leader of a rogue Sanna warband about three years ago and the relic passed to Nat.”

Avery nodded. “I remember Thurmond and Thorton. They were good men, although not very remarkable from what I remember. I suppose time changes us all.”

“I suppose so.” Brandon got to his feet and reached down to help Cassie up. “Well, we will keep looking. Do you think we can be of help with the other children missing from the town?”

“Perhaps.” Avery studied Brandon for a moment. “Although I’m not sure if you’re quite up for dangerous work just yet. What happened to your leg?”

Brandon hadn’t thought he’d been favoring it that much but the sheriff must have noticed. “I injured it fighting some gold drinkers a few weeks ago. The Hearth Keepers have done their best but its not back to normal yet.” He wiggled his foot back and forth. “It’s useful for day to day work and if things turn bad, well, I cultivate the yew so I think I can compensate for it. I don’t expect a few ensorcelled children to be that dangerous.”

“So Roy Harper didn’t tell you to expect danger?”

Brandon suppressed a sigh. He’d hoped all the talk about errantry and relics might sidetrack the sheriff. Clearly the man knew his work better than that. When they’d first arrived in town Brandon and Cassie had discussed how to answer the sheriff if he asked them whether they knew Harper directly. Both of them had hoped it wouldn’t be necessary, given the circumstances.

“All we knew is that he left a note saying he had personal business in Riker’s Cove,” Cassie said. “He invited us to join him if we had no other leads to follow up.”

Avery tilted his head. “He left you a note? When was this?”

“About a week ago, according to the date,” Braondon said. “We met Mr. Harper in his capacity as a Railway Detective about three months ago. He offered his home in Keegan’s Bluff as a base of operations for our search. Since then we’ve spent much of our time traveling across the West and so has Mr. Harper. We’re rarely at Oakhart Manor at the same time so we leave messages for each other with Mr. and Mrs. Gardener who watch the house when Mr. Harper is away.”

“And he left you a note about Heinrich von Nighburg?”

“No, as I said he mentioned personal business here and that he’d heard there was an old knight from Morainhenge here. I’m not familiar with the man you name.”

Avery’s eyes narrowed. “He’s responsible for kidnapping Stu Strathmore and the other missing children. Do you often coordinate your work with Harper’s?”

Cassie shook her head. “Mr. Harper supports our quest and lets us know when he hears things that might help us but we only coordinate with him when Brandon’s sense of chivalry drives him to meddle, like with those gold drinkers.”

“Yes, that happens.” Brandon managed not to roll his eyes as he said it but it was a near thing.

“How was it that you wound up on the same train as his friend van der Klein?”

“Mr. Harper suggested we travel with him in his note,” Cassie said. “I suspect it was an offer made for our convenience. He tends to be very considerate of our traveling needs, seems to think it’s his duty as a host.”

“That’s commendable of him.” Warwick grunted and folded his arms over his chest. “He didn’t mention having a stone singer as a resource.”

“Of course not,” Brandon snapped. “He doesn’t speak for my sister or I and he wouldn’t presume to.”

Avery sat a little straighter, looking chagrined. “Of course not.”

“Would it changed your decision to have him leave town?” Cassie asked.

“Not really.” Avery took his thistledown candle and removed it from its base, carefully reforming the still soft wax with his fingers as he spoke. “The fact is I don’t trust firespinners to consider the good of the town first. Just having another ally with unusual talents doesn’t change that equation in a meaningful way. The fact that he was in the Regulars doesn’t help.”

“How did you know he was in the Army?” Brandon asked. “I was under the impression it was rare for people who lived this far West.”

“On the contrary! I’d guess old Regulars are more common out here than in the East these days.” Avery shrugged. “Jonathan Riker ran here to escape the war before it started. Many, myself included, came here after to escape its ghosts. But to answer your question, I knew Harper was from the 43^rd Infantry because most people who know about firespinners know that. He’s actually rather famous in these parts.”

Cassie got up and took Warwick’s candle off the desk and held it for him as he worked the wax drippings into it. “So you disliked him because you were at odds during the war?”

“Plenty of Lakeshire born firespinners out here, ma’am.” Avery took the candle from her and held it up for inspection. Cassie favored him with another winsome smile. “Though I suppose the old loyalties did play some factor in my decision.”

She nodded in understanding. “And now that you know there is another druid vouching for him, does that change your opinion of him?”

The sheriff gave her a sharp look. “I thought I was the one who looked into minds.”

“That’s you, certainly,” Cassie said gravely. “But I can hear a great deal that people leave unsaid and often that’s what’s most important. So how is it, Sir Warwick? Will you let the two of us, Mr. Harper and his friends help you save these children?”

Warwick stared at his candle for a long time then sighed and set it down on his desk. “Alright, Miss Fairchild. You’ve got a deal.”