Niamh and Jeron drew up to his place arm in arm. Niamh noticed a large parchment envelope conspicuously stuck in the crack of his apartment door.
“What’s this?”
“No idea,” Jeron said. He grabbed the envelope and tore it open as they walked into his sitting room. He raised one hand absentmindedly as he muttered the cantrip to power on the magelamps, then froze.
“What’s wrong, Jeron?”
“They have summoned me to the Demesnes for another emergency moot. I don’t know why, but I don’t like the sound of it,” Jeron said, his smile fading.
“Hmm. No other information? No urgent couriers from the Garrison?”
“Not a peep,” Jeron said. “The note doesn’t say much—only that it’s a matter of great urgency,” he said. “I should leave now. I wish we had more time.”
“So do I,” Niamh agreed. “And I wish we were not going into what I’m sure is something unpleasant.”
“We?” Jeron asked, eyebrows raised.
“I’m going with you, like it or not,” she said firmly.
“I like it,” Jeron said, looking relieved.
Five minutes later, they were bustling out of Jeron’s apartment into a wind-blown and unpleasantly cold evening. Restless clouds scudded over the sky, and silence filled the square.
“This is odd,” Jeron said, looking around him.
Niamh shivered. Something about the sudden chill that felt more like winter than spring, about the urgent meeting, about scenes from her dreams from the night before setting her instincts on high alert.
Niamh checked her belt. She at least had her short-sword, and she still wore her practice armor.
“Jeron, who sent the message that you must report for duty?”
“Loremaster Olangah.” Jeron spoke in hushed tones, even though both were walking along Hyacinth Way on what should be a normal spring evening. “Her seal was on the envelope, and she is always the one to call the meetings. Why do you ask?”
“A gut feeling. Do you still have the letter?” Niamh stood in place, her sense of misgiving building.
“Yes, here.” Jeron dug the square of parchment from his robe’s pocket. He turned the missive around, examining it in the light of a streetlamp. “That’s entirely not good.”
“What?” Niamh watched furrows of worry crease Jeron’s forehead as he held the letter toward the sky.
“It’s blank,” Jeron said, perplexed. He held the folded page in front of him. “Look for yourself, but don’t touch.”
Niamh stared at the empty parchment, searching for the Loremaster’s seal. There was nothing to be found.
She gazed around, an amorphous sense of threat creeping over her, the same feeling that lingered after her Northgate nightmares. Shops were still open for business for at least another hour or two, magelamps glowing warmly in their windows. People milled about as they always did, carrying their packages and satchels, passing in and out of boutiques before meandering off to other places. They were quieter than they might normally be, and the darkening skies were heavy with storm clouds.
“Jeron.” She put a hand on his shoulder. In her life and career, Niamh had faced down dangerous foes: bandits, wild beasts, desperate enemy troops. Something about this was far more terrifying than any of those things.
“Do you mind if we check in at the garrison first? See if Captain Hawke is in his office, and if he got a summons too? We’d not be late if we used the more expensive portals.”
Jeron nodded slowly. “That is a wise notion. And truly, I don’t feel like walking, so fast-portaling suits me fine.”
He tucked away the letter in his pocket and drew a shaking breath, wavering where he stood. Niamh frowned.
“Are you unwell?” she asked, noticing he looked clammy, and his gaze did not linger on any one thing for long.
“I’m not sure how I feel. Wonder if the food was off. I’ve got colly wobbles right down to my toes.” He collected himself, standing a little taller than before. “Let’s hoof it.”
Niamh nodded, misgiving looming at the back of her mind. They struck off toward the nearest Golden Portal. Niamh shoved a handful of coins to the portal attendant, then they emerged from shimmering lights into Garrison Square, only a block from militia headquarters.
“Do you think you can move faster? Please?” Niamh tugged at Jeron’s sleeve, fear thick in her voice.
“I can try,” he said, the words frayed around the edges.
Niamh struck up a brisk walk toward the office Captain Hawke occupied when not in drills or on assignment.
“Starsong?” Hawke stood and returned Niamh’s hastily offered salute.
“Captain, did you get a message from Loremaster Olangah?”
“I did, yes. I was about to head to the Demesnes now. Is there a problem?” Hawke looked from Niamh to Jeron, suddenly frowning. “You are doing well over there, Sage?”
“Bad teacakes, if I’m lucky,” Jeron replied, wiping sweat from his brow with a wide robe sleeve. “The parchment you received—was it sealed with Loremaster Olangah’s device?”
Captain Hawke glanced at them both strangely. “Well, yes.”
“We need to see it, sir. To confirm something,” Niamh insisted, unable to keep the urgency from her voice.
Hawke produced a parchment identical to the one Jeron had shown Niamh. There was no script and no wax seal.
Just empty, correspondence-grade parchment.
“Well, damn,” Captain Hawke muttered. “I opened it not ten minutes ago.” He looked up at Niamh, waiting for an explanation.
“Jeron’s is the same. I’d wager any of us who were part of the Northgate Expedition got one,” Niamh said, fear quickening her heartbeat.
Captain Hawke stared at the parchment, incredulous. “What is happening?”
Jeron shook his head. “I do not know, but I don’t think it’s a good thing.”
Niamh drew a long, steadying breath. This wasn’t just about the Waystone, Niamh realized sharply—it was about everyone she’d grown to love here. They needed her. She couldn’t fail.
“We need to contact everybody we can,” she said, forcing calm authority into her tone that she didn’t feel. “We’ll see what we can find out. Is there anyone from the expedition who might be right nearby?”
Jeron shivered, eyes feverish. “Unless they’re at home, most of us would be at the Demesnes, working or preparing.”
“What about Moya?” Niamh asked. “Is she on duty?”
Hawke nodded. “I’ll get her, and round up a complement of guards, too.”
“Good idea, sir,” Niamh replied.
“Captain, how are youfeeling right now?” Jeron asked.
Hawke blinked. “I’m feeling strange, truth be told. I’ve been dizzy for a little while. Thought it was this blasted weather, but it looks like there’s much more to it.” He ran one hand through his short brown hair, vexed. “We need healers.”
“What are my orders?” Niamh asked. “And I’ll need to gear up.”
Captain Hawke cast an assessing glance at Niamh. “Yes, arm yourself. And I think we should see if you got a letter too, since you live close by.”
“But don’t go near it,” Jeron cut in. “Some spells only need a physical touch to trigger them. I assume that is what’s happening here.”
Captain Hawke nodded. “I’ll find Moya and send couriers to dispatch healers to the Demesnes since we do not know what we will find there. You two, find your friend Sage Kate—she told me she was off duty today—and see if Niamh received a letter. We will meet up again at the Guild Demesnes main gates. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Niamh saluted. Jeron bowed in acknowledgment.
“Whatever this is, I hope we are not too late to fix it.” Captain Hawke offered a salute, less brisk than usual, and then was on his way.
—
“There it is,” Jeron said, peering down at the square of parchment in Niamh’s postbox. “Seal and all. Like mine was when I found it.”
“What should we do with it?” Niamh looked at the letter like it was a coiled viper poised to strike.
“Leave it there, but we’ll seek containment. Sage Kate might have something she can use to break its curse, since that sort of magic is her specialty. Because this must be a curse. Let’s go.” Jeron found it harder and harder to breathe, even to walk straight. And he was so tired, feeling like he’d not slept in days.
“Are you holding up over there?” Niamh hovered at his elbow, her brow creased in concern.
“I’ll be fine, thank you. Just get ready, and I’ll wait here.”
Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer. Her concern warmed Jeron, bonfire-bright. It was hard to be afraid with Niamh smiling at him and knowing how she felt.
She cares about me. She said so. I could face down all the evil magic in the world.
When Niamh returned, she’d traded out her dusty training armor for a suit of scale and plate. Her prosthetic leg matched the gleaming steel covering her left shin and forearms, but her hauberk was a complex woven leather and metal plating that allowed for maneuverability and dispensed with the need for help in getting geared. A sword hung at her side, and she gazed at him from under a plumed helm.
“You really are a Valiant,” he murmured, his face flushing. “Powerful and brave.”
“And you are my burly healer-artificer-Sage.” She looked up at him and trailed the back of one ungloved hand over Jeron’s cheek before tugging on her gauntlets.
They made their way to Sage Kate’s in good time, though they had to stop once for Jeron to catch his breath. Kate waited for them, expression tight with worry.
“Jeron, Niamh. I’m pleased you came. I didn’t want to move in case you were on your way.” She pointed to the empty parchment on her table, same as Jeron’s and Hawke’s. “Are you both feeling the physical effects as well?”
“Only me,” Jeron replied. “Niamh was away when the summons came.”
Kate smiled wanly. “Lucky for her—I’m glad at least one of us is unaffected. This is a very specific kind of curse. If I’m right, everybody involved in the first Northgate expedition is at risk.”
“What sort of curse is it?” Niamh asked.
“A clever one,” Kate said. “Most nations forbid its use—too easily weaponized. They’re called Incarnates and use each person’s unique essence to trigger the spell. Hair, skin, something of their body. In this case—” She broke off, her silence heavy.
“Damn. The parchment for tonight’s summons.” Jeron’s stomach plummeted with dread.
Niamh shook her head. “I don’t understand. How would anyone be able to attack us with parchment?”
Jeron pinched the bridge of his nose in worry. “It was the testing. It has to be. Remember it? After we returned, the healers came to each of us, took samples of our hair and blood to make sure the Kraah corruption had not contaminated us. They reported to Sage Belden and the other biology-proficient mages.”
“How would that make a difference?” Niamh asked.
“Some magic can use a person’s own biology against them, employing attack magic.” Jeron frowned, thoughtful. “I bet those samples didn’t get disposed of. That someone treated the parchments we all received with curse magic tied into our own essences.”
“I should have seen it,” Kate muttered, disgusted. “It’s my job to recognize these kinds of spells. I can’t believe I did not think of this.”
“How could you?” Jeron shrugged. “It was routine. Business as usual. It’s not like any of us figured it out.”
“I’m ready to help, but what about you? What will happen to everyone who is cursed?” Niamh asked.
Jeron looked at Niamh, eyes shadowed with tiredness.
“Any of us who touched the summons are at risk of…something. I’ll assume it’s fatal and awful and a hideous nightmare. Maybe even the same corruption Sage Belden is facing.”
Kate sighed. “I’ve seen these before, and they always behave the same way. If we can destroy the source, we destroy the curse. We don’t have time to round up others, and we have to keep people away from the Demesnes. We need to cut this off at the root.”
“How?” Jeron swiped the other sleeve over his brow this time.
“Niamh is safe. She can help us,” Kate said.
“Tell me what I must do.” Niamh drew herself taller, hand instinctively at her sword hilt.
“My theory,” Kate spoke slowly, pulling the words from the surrounding air, “is that whatever tried to use the Northgate portal was working through Belden to gather resources. It needs something from us.”
“The Demesnes,” Jeron blurted out. “This is awful. The Guild moot chamber and storehouses have anything and everything a demon from the aether would need to get through into our world. All it would require is enough power. That’s why it’s all happening here in Easthaven and not at the Northgate, like we thought it would. And with everyone there, it’ll be a nightmare.”
“We are what would give the creature what it needs,” Niamh said, understanding dawning. “My dreams. The key. I was supposed to be a key. The Mechanae were trying to do the same thing, or whatever infected them was trying to use them as keys.”
“Mechanae are not built as we are. Their anatomy, their minds—they’re unlike humans in their reasoning and responses. They must not have worked for the Kraah’s purposes. No, they wanted us.” Sage Kate turned to Jeron, concerned. “We have to stop this.”
“I’ll get to the Demesnes,” Niamh said. “Captain Hawke can have a force of soldiers waiting for me who never had contact with the Expedition. But how do we fight this? What am I looking for?”
“Anything not of this world,” Kate said. “You’ll know them when you see them, I’m hoping. There are words of power Archmage Miir gave us all in case of Kraah manifestation, if any of the ancient texts are to be trusted. You can use them to make the creatures vulnerable, to turn them into mortal flesh for a brief time so you can drive a blade into their hearts. When you get there, you’ll speak the words aloud, as often as needed. You need to remember them. To make sure the others with you do the same.”
Kate gazed at her, pleading.
“I understand. I’ll get ready now.” Niamh glanced over at Jeron, who was ballasting himself against a chair. “Will you be well?” Niamh asked, her voice smaller than before.
Jeron laughed, a dry crackling noise.
“Dark magic does not play well with mortal physiology, which is why you need to keep as many people from the Demesnes as possible. We’ll worry about healing ourselves and the others later.”
“And Niamh,” Kate said. “The moot chamber where we all meet when the Loremaster calls us to our preparation meetings—I think it’s reasonable to assume our adversaries will gather there. Prepare to meet resistance. Now, you must memorize the spell for when you get there.”
Jeron watched as Niamh repeated the words Kate taught her until she memorized them and was ready to go.
Niamh reached out and held Jeron’s arm in one gloved hand. “You’d best be in good shape when I come back. We have unfinished business.”
“You bet we do, Niamh of the Sylvan Woods. Please, be safe,” Jeron said, fighting to keep his voice from breaking.
“I promise I’ll be back. Stay safe yourself,” Niamh replied.
Kate sniffed, and a tear trickled down her cheek. She was trembling. “You two give me hope. I’m so glad to see that you’re friends again. Source keep us all.”
“Kate, go rest,” Niamh said. “I need you ready to aid the healers at the Demesnes, and for whatever else might we might need. And take care of each other until I return.”
Niamh turned, the sound of boot and metal echoing into the eerie silence.
Lizzie Sinclaire 