Saturday before Easter through Tuesday following Easter, 1198

The Brochet et Sangolier had not been noisy, as town taverns can be, but this night a group of four men were filling the hall with raucous laughter, with shouts, curses, and cheers. They were throwing knucklebones, and did not seem to mind--or even notice--who they jostled or annoyed.

One--a lean but powerful man with a whiskered, narrow, ratlike face--grabbed a serving girl and demanded a meal. Unhappy with the price, he instead stood, leaned over the next table, and, without a word or apparent concern, simply took Michi's supper. Within a moment fists were flying. When one of the thugs flipped over a table, Bruder Cornelius grabbed bench and clocked the rat-faced man.

"Stop!" came a shout, and all hesitated to look toward the inn's door. There, under the gallery, stood a young man--Richard, the boy from the hue and cry the night before. His eyes travelled the entire room, wary of every detail. He balked slightly when his eyes fell on Michi and Cornelius, but he said nothing. Instead he addressed the four thugs, any one of which was half again his weight and age. "You were given no leave to wander. Get back to the house."

One of the thugs had already drawn his knife and seemed for a moment ready to challenge. But getting no support from his comrades he backed down, helping his companions lift the rat-faced man from the floor. Richard followed them out, never turning his back on the room, like the rearguard of a raiding party.

Michi quickly grabbed a pair of kitchen boys. "Here's a farthing for each of you. There's another when you come back and tell me where those fellas went to. But don't be seen!" Ten minutes later the boys returned. "They went into the alley by the DuCraindre house. It leads to the croft behind."

Easter Sunday dawned bright, clear, and warm. After a lengthy mass at the cathedral, Bruder Cornelius, Gaspard and Michi, and Lady Madeleine with her girl Celestine all headed up the hill toward the castle. The bailey was decked out for the feast, with spring garlands all along the walls and performers beginning their acts. Crowds streamed into and out of the hall. The count's table was on the dias at the end of the hall, while the second table (several tables, actually, to handle the crowd) was at the far side and the third table opposite. The fourth table (like the others, actually a long row of trestles) was set up out in the bailey where the guests were ogled by the commoners who enjoyed the feast on foot or sat on the cobbles.

Lady Madeleine was seated at the second table, where she found herself in conversation with the count's steward, Valprés. The older man still bore vestiges of a strong build, though his close-cropped hair and beard were greying. "Tell me about that young man over there," Madeleine asked him after some conversation. "I've run into him before--I believe his name is Richard." Valprés followed her gesture across to the third table, where Richard sat, gloomy and embarrassed, a few places down from Bruder Cornelius. "Richard? No, his name is Gigot. He's the captain of Lady DuCraindre's guard." "Captain?" asked Madeleine. "He can't have more than seventeen summers--maybe twenty. How is he the captain of anyone's guard? Her illegitimate child, perhaps?" Valprés pointed out Lady DuCraindre, where she sat at the first table sharing a laugh with the countess. "He is young, but she isn't more than a few years older. Whatever his secret, that isn't it."

Cornelius spoke briefly with Gigot, but found the youth less than responsive. Gone were the composure and assertiveness of the night before, replaced by edgy nerves and a few words of awkward, sullen conversation. The young man did speak several times with another seated beside him--an exotic looking fellow of indeterminate age. "Where are you from?" Cornelius asked, but Gigot's companion would say only, "east." "There are mountains to the east," Cornelius replied. "Yes," agreed the man, "from beyond the mountains."

Michi and Gaspard were seated at the fourth table in the bailey. "Let's pay our respects to the host and hostess," Michi suggested, taking Gaspard by the arm. They approached the first table in the hall and spoke briefly with the count--aptly called Montaigne, for he was a bull of a man. "That's a fine lookin' boy ye got there," Michi told the count as the latter's children came in. The boy, introduced as Jean, was perhaps eight, and immensely proud to sit for a few moments by his father's side at the high table. There was also a beautiful but shy little girl a few years younger, and a vivacious third child, no more that four. "If we let her, she'll take over the entertainments," the countess laughed, as the smallest child launched into a song for the benefit of anyone who would give her their attention. Lady DuCraindre, seated next to the countess, looked on in amusement.

"Do you have any interest in falcons?" Valprés asked Madeleine. "We are falconing in a few days--more of a social occasion than a real hunt, I'm afraid. You and your companions are welcome to join us."

The falconing trip was on Tuesday. The party gathered outside the town's southern gate--Madeleine and Gaspard, along with Montaigne and the Countess Cecilia, the bishop DiLimoge, Valprés, Lady DuCraindre, and a knight called Lars de Calais. There were a few armsmen along as well, including Michi and Gigot, and Bruder Cornelius joined the train of servants, his well-loaded mule in tow. Before departing the count and countess said goodbye to their children, Montaigne mussing his boy's hair. DuCraindre spoke briefly to the easterner from the feast, before sending him away. And Valprés was approached by a sergeant of the guard, nodding grimly at the news he was brought.

"Another wolf attack, near a village by the forest," he explained when asked. "Three villagers killed this time. This makes three attacks in the past week."

True to Valprés's word, there were only a few with birds, and only the count and the bishop seemed serious about the hunt. After a few hours they reached a pond on the demesne where the servants had set up for lunch. Talk had turned toward hunting stories: The count talked about facing down a bear alone when he had gotten ahead of his huntsmen and hounds, and Lars showed off a massive scar left by a boar that broke the stops on his pike. Then faces turned expectantly toward Valprés, whose reputation as a hunter was becoming clear. "Tell the story," his friends encouraged him. "You know which one!" Eventually he agreed.

"It was many years ago. I had been hunting this stag all summer. He knew all the tricks, and I'd lost him six or eight times. He would confuse the greyhounds, or double back across the beater line. But his favourite trick was to cross through some dense undergrowth--like at the edge of a clearing--then make a sudden turn while we couldn't see him.

"I had him in sight. The dogs were exhausted; my horse was flagging, but he was tiring too. We were deep in the Ardennes--five leagues, at least, into the forest--and we'd long ago left my beaters and huntsmen behind. I saw him bound toward a clearing along the ridge, and I knew if he broke the brush and we lost sight of him, he'd cut one way or the other--and the ground was rocky; I might not be able to find a track. So I put the spur to the horse and drove forward, desperate to keep him in sight as he crashed the thick growth at the edge of the clearing. My horse found new feet and charged, but just as we hit the brush, out came the stag, at full gallop, right past us! I tried to turn, but the horse had too much speed, and we wheeled into the clearing. And there, dead in front of me, I saw what had sent the stag running back: A huge dragon, right in my path! The horse practically threw me trying to turn, and as he slipped on the rocks we almost drove into the beast. What choice did I have? I drove my pike into the creature's shoulder as the horse spun, and then--"

Suddenly there was a scream. Then another.

Michi was on his feet in a second, dashing toward the trees by the pond. He arrived alongside Gigot just in time to fend a wolf from Lady DuCraindre. Just beyond, Countess Cecilia was being dragged to the ground, three wolves snarling and snapping and pulling her down while others moved in. The others came running, shouting, the few that came armed drawing swords. Gaspard called forth a noxious cloud that drove the wolves from the countess, leaving several writhing on the ground. Bruder Cornelius produced a sword and shield from the baggage on his mule, charging into the pack as they turned on their attackers. Montainge struggled toward his wife, getting to her as the wolves began to break and flee.

The countess lay on the bank of the pond, her eyes gazing without life at the branches overhanging above. About her lay a scattering of her own viscera, torn from her body with a fury. Four wolves lay dead, but several others had turned tail, including the large dark animal with grey-tipped ears that had pulled the countess down--then fled with her blood on its snout.

Thursday and Friday before Easter, 1198

In his homespun robes the preacher did not look much like a warrior, but his moves betrayed hard years of fighting in the Levant. No sooner had Michi raised the alarm than Bruder Cornelius was on his feet, walking stick now a weapon. With his hounds at his heels he rushed the wolves that were now snarling and snapping at the hobbled mounts. The mules and horses struggled with their restraints, crying and braying and rolling their eyes in terror. Michi had already struck one of the attackers down, but several others surged in from the opposite side of the camp as soon as he had turned his back.

"It's the horses they want!" cried Madeleine, grasping a smoldering branch from the fire. Cornelius struck another of the wolves, and his dogs rushed in as well, snarling and barking. The wolves backed off, but Madeleine's palfrey, its flank streaked with blood, broke its hobble and galloped away. The line broken, the other animals struggled free as well, and were soon disappearing into the dark--all but Stephan's destrier, held back by Madeleine just long enough for Stephan to take the harness. Three wolves now lay dead; the others backed off and did not give chase. Stephan quickly set out after the mounts while his companions tended wounds and rebuilt their shattered camp.

The morning was grey and frigid, and the group broke camp quickly for one more day's journey. They reached the gates of Verdun in the hour after nones. The city sat on two low hills embraced by a curve in the Meuse, with the glow of an early spring sun picking out the castle on one hill and the cathedral on the other. "Four pence for each of you," the guards demanded at the gate, recognizing them as outsiders, "and a shilling for each animal. Who sponsors you in our city?" Gaspard fumbled for the letter Daria had given him. "Lapidary, I believe he is called. Francis Lapidary?" The guards knew him, and gave Gaspard directions to his home on the Chandler street while Cornelius negotiated down the toll.

Bruder Cornelius halted the group in the market square, at the foot of the great steps leading up to the cathedral. "I told the guards we were pilgrims, come to see the relics," he said. "And so we are." He led Madeleine, Gaspard, and Stephan, along with Celestine, inside, while Michi waited in the square with the animals. He was soon an island in a sea of lepers and cripples. "I might have alms for ye," he replied to their calls, "but first what news of this town?" He soon fell into conversation with a man named Juste, whose wits were not dimmed by his lack of eyes. "There is a new lady, arrived just a week past. The granddaughter of DuCraindre, who died last fall. She arrived from outremer with an entourage of soldiers, and will inherit her grandfather's six manors."

They met Francis Lapidary at his home not far from the square, where he kept shop with his wife, children, and two servants. It was a prosperous establishment, and all were well-fed. "I can keep two of you here--and your servants, of course. For the others I have secured the private room at the Brochet et Sangalier. The master of the house has a vouchsafe from me, so you are welcome for as long as your business keeps you. I have heard from your contact; he will not arrive in Verdun until a week after Easter day." That word was met with some dismay--it meant it would be a week at least before they returned home. "Oh, and one other thing: The count holds an Easter feast. All are welcome, and half the town turns out. For visitors of your station," here he addressed Gaspard, Stephan, and Madeleine, "I have secured seats in the hall."

Michi, Gaspard, and Stephan and his squire were consigned to the inn, where they did indeed find the room waiting for them, with two large beds and no other guests to share them with. The next day was spent in general business about the town. Curious about the robber-baron, operating little more than a day away, Michi plied locals about his reputation. "He recruits his band from Brabant, on the other side of the forest," one townsman told him. "No man of Blois has been seen among his gang. The duke of Brabant should do something about that scourge--it's been twenty years he's been operating, and no-one lifts a finger to stop him."

That night Gaspard supped at Lapidary's house, and it was well after fire curfew that Michi and Stephan came to fetch him back to the inn. The three of them had gone only a few paces from Lapidary's when a cry came from the darkness ahead: "Stop! Murder!" The moon was just past full, but the narrow street was draped in shadow beneath the tall houses on either side. Other voices were taking up the hue and cry as a shape appeared in the dimness ahead: a person, running. Michi gave chase as the figure turned a corner. His target was fast, but Michi tackled the young man just before he reached the market square. Two guards came panting up behind, followed by a growing crowd.

"We seen him, down by the canal," one of the guards explained, his breath thick and white in the cold nighttime air. "Him and a buddy on the shore, pushin' in a body." The prisoner seemed unable to explain himself. "I've done nothing!" he sputtered, cringing. Townsfolk were reaching in from the crowd, shoving him and calling him names, and even throwing the occasional rock.

"Let's see what you were about," the guard said, leading them down to the edge of the canal. Behind the crofts of the nearby houses a dirty strip ran along the canal that fed the mill. The soft mud was crusted with ice, but even the deep chill did little to suppress the odor of the nearby tannery. Not far down the shore, where the guard pointed, a long heavy bundle lay just out of the water. "Now we'll find out who's suffered your treachery," the guard declared as Stephan knelt to cut open the bundle. But where he expected a face he was met by a blunt, hairy snout. Not a dead man--a dead bear!

The crowd was briefly silent, then some broke into laughs. "There's your murder!" one voice called out. "I'm slaughtering a pig on Monday--shall we call the hue and cry for that as well?" joked another. The guards were bemused, but not ready to release their captive. "Where did he get a bear then?" one asked. "Have you seen one in town lately? And why was he toying with it?" "Maybe he's a bear-baiter?" one townsman said. "Maybe he just found it," someone else replied, and the youth echoed that: "Yes, that's it. I just found it." He glanced about nervously, as if he expected the crowd to lash out at any moment. "I  was--I went out for a piss and just saw it here." It was hardly convincing, but the it was late and cold and most of the townsfolk were in their night clothes. The crowd was thinning; the novelty was wearing thin. Reluctantly, the guards conceded that they had no crime. "But I'll be watching for you--Richard, was that what you called yourself? Make sure you stay out of any more trouble."

Cornelius watched as the youth quickly made his way into the maze of Verdun's streets, but Madeleine, who had joined the onlookers, was more interested in the dead bear. "Its throat was cut," she pointed out. "But not here. Look--there's very little blood in the wrappings. And look at these other wounds." Gaspard examined them. "It looks like ritual woundings, though I know of no arcane rite that would involve such a design," he said. "It's almost like some kind of sacrifice." The clotted, bloody fur gleamed dully in the moonlight. "Aye," said Bruder Cornelius. "But sacrifice to what?"

Monday following Palm Sunday, 1198

"For Christ's love, leave us with our lives!" the man pleaded. "Do you not have everything else?"

Michi hesitated, his silvery great sword held high. He looked past the man, bruised and dirty, who had just a moment before been his attacker. A woman, her face bruised and bloody, crouched in the bracken beyond. Further in, hidden among the undergrowth, stood two dirty mules; on one a passenger hunched insensate, tied to the beast to keep him on its back.

The preacher pushed past him, clutching the hem of his homespun robe. "They think us more of the robber-baron's troupe," he said, dropping to his knees to examine the woman's wounds. "Clearly ambush is not their trade." Michi lowered his sword, but Stephan was more cautious with his, eying the trees about before lowering it as well. For a moment there was no sound but the dripping of snowmelt from the trees about them.

The famed robber-baron of the Ardennes had given the strangers--a wine merchant and his company, bound from Norman Blois to Liege--good reason for wariness, though their attempted ambush (they feared they were being set upon again) had been ill-conceived. "They demanded a fifth-part of our goods," explained the merchant, a Brendan of Ulm. "I had brought an armed man, and thought we could resist. There were five of them, as brutal as mad Saracens. Give them what they ask, when you meet them!"

Gaspard, the ostensible leader of the group from Triamore, was indeed prepared to do so. They had a quantity of coin among their own mules, just to placate the robbers. "Do not waste yourselves in contest with the robber-baron," Daria, the princeps of their covenant, had instructed the magus. "The robbers will not recognize the value of your cargo; the taking of this coin will satisfy them. And attempt no deception, even by magic, for you will have to return through the forest and cannot risk the robbers' ire on the way back--when the value of your cargo will be more plain!"

And so the company had set off from Triamore: Two days southeast, first along the Meuse and then into Luxembourg into increasingly wooded lands. Then a turn south on the third day, into the forest, under the thick branches of primordial pines along a rocky and rugged path that bruised their feet and lathered their mules. It was in that late morning that they fell into Brendan's poor ambush.

They left the merchant and his battered companions with some provision and a few coins from Madeleine's purse. A few hours later they found more evidence of the robber-baron's work: a flapping of heavy wings and an angry chorus of caws met them on approach to a clearing. From the branches above hung body cages--a dozen at least, their grizzled occupants lounging within, shreds of skin and sinew black over dirty bones. One was more freshly occupied, and it was this that the ravens made their prize. A body no more than a day old: clearly Brendan of Ulm's armsman.

But the robbers made no appearance, and the band continued on. Darkness came, but the travelers were eager to leave the forest behind them before setting to camp, so Michi and Bruder Cornelius led them stumbling on through the forest's blackness. At last they emerged into pasture, with the hedges of a village field a mile or so beyond. With the sky over their heads, they hobbled the mules and horses and set camp.

It was during Michi's watch that the wolves began to prowl.

Thursday Following the Feast of St. John, 1178

At the gate, all was in motion. Armsmen fidgeted and hesitated, uncertain whether to abandon their posts to aid in the firefighting. At the far end of the bailey covenfolk kneeled or lay, already scorched or exhausted. And through the great door of the keep a broken stream of householders rushed in and out, tripping and knocking into each other as they staggered under burdens of books and the castle's other few valuables. Above it all hung the smoky red glare of conflagration. "It's the Council chamber," said Renaut, pointing to the far end of the keep where the glare flickered brightest.

They fought their way into the foyer. Forba stood at the doorway of the Council chamber, a hellish mouth of flame that she struggled to beat back with commands of magic. But control over elements was not her strength. "Get Daria," she yelled, the press of bodies and roar of flames making it almost impossible to be heard. "She's in the library, but others can save the books. I need her here! And find Aline!"

As Renaut struggled his way into the library and Edgard descended toward Aline's underground chambers, Albrecht, joined by Olaf, set to organizing the library's rescuers. Brother Christophe returned to the inner bailey to aid the injured, accompanied by Rutger, concerned that the fire might attract enemies.

Daria was not in the library. "She aids Forba," Ulistarius shouted, but Renaut had already turned to leave. Daria's chambers and lab were directly above the Council chamber.

He rushed up the steep spiral steps into the upper solar. Here the roar of the flames was dulled and the castle was empty. From beneath the door to Daria's lab came an angry orange glow, and the wood was warm to the touch. Renaut pushed open the door. The room was filled with smoke and the glow of flame. Opposite, the doorway to the corner tower--his own chamber--issued a column of fire, and flames were breaching the floor in a number of places, but it was not the conflagration of the chamber below. Casting a protection on himself, Renaut stepped into the room.

Daria lay unconscious under a table. Flames were already engulfing an arm, leaving her hand a blackened claw.

"The wound is serious, but she will certainly live," Brother Christophe declared outside. "I do not know why she will not awaken." "It's not the injuries," Renaut responded. "She has exhausted herself with magics." Just then Daria's eyes opened. They gained no focus, nor turned upon anyone present. Those around leaned in as her lips formed a word: "Vis."

"The vis stores!" Renaut exclaimed, slapping his forehead. The others looked on, uncomprehending. "Vis! Magical power given form. More valuable than gold. We keep it in the strong room--under the Council chamber!"

They rushed down into the cellars. From the last twist in the spiral, light could be seen below. A flash of movement revealed Pietre down among the stores. With a quick casting the apprentice slammed the iron gate to the strong room, locking himself inside. As Edgard and Olaf forced the gate, Pietre, skulking in the shadows at the back of the chamber, produced the black egg. He put it to his mouth and whispered gently, casting his eye on Renaut, then rolled the egg into the center of the room.

Rutger and Edgard closed with Pietre, but another gate barred their way. The apprentice was surrounded by heavy chests, their locks forced but the contents not yet looted. Behind him a set of symbols had been scrawled on the floor in charcoal.

Olaf had not before seen the egg, and he picked it up where it had rolled to his feet. Albrecht was just shouting a warning when the egg burst into a flurry of darkness, driving Olaf back. The black creature took form, hunched beneath the low vaulting, filling the space with its bony, clawed darkness. It regarded Olaf for a moment with its eyeless face, then turned. Its attention fell upon Renaut, and it moved toward him.

Edgard forced the second gate, and he and Rutger stepped through. With a curse, Pietre backed away from an open chest, turned, then stepped into his charcoal markings--and disappeared.

The opidephene moved toward Renaut, but Olaf shattered a flaming lantern upon its back. The others set upon it with their steel. It drew grievous wounds, fighting tenaciously and with its only intent the murder of Renaut. But its moment was lost, and it soon fell to dust.

Above, the fire was nearly extinguished. There had been no deaths. The library was unburned, though it would later come to be known that Pietre had taken several valuable tomes. His escape was complete, but he had looted only a portion of the covenant's vis. His motives would become the subject of speculation for many seasons, until eventually he would be just a mysterious figure of history--gone, it would seem, to never be seen or heard from again.

End of the Prologue

Wednesday and Thursday following the Feast of St. John, 1178

At dawn the magi went into Council. Dorianne and William, steward and bailiff, anticipating a call to defense, set to preparing the castle. Within Daria’s laboratory, Renaut went to work with the Brother Christophe, ever cautiously, hoping to discover the secrets of the black egg. Shortly into the morning Pietre entered the chamber, boldly striding into a magus’s sanctum unbidden.

“I was put in charge of this motley group,” he stated. “I am the senior apprentice, and I have skills in these matters you lack. Where is de Animalus Veneficus? How will you discover anything without basic research texts?” Renaut sent Christophe to the library with a note for the librarian, unwilling to leave Pietre alone with the egg. Satisfied, apparently, that Renaut was making progress, Pietre left.

It was just a short while later that he found Rutger and Edgard in the bailey, attempting to tame the horse taken from the raiding knight Friedhold. “Don’t go into the forest again without me,” he demanded.

Meanwhile, Renaut and Christophe moved to the library to further research demons. Renaut found several brief and alluring mentions of a demon that might lay eggs, but despite his efforts and those of Horst the librarian, no direct text could be located. “But see here!” Christophe pointed out, upon a third search through the Commentarium Malas, “A page has been removed from this volume. Look how carefully it has been cut, so that one doesn’t even notice it is missing.” “Pietre was searching many of these same texts recently,” Horst commented. Renaut and Christophe left the library with few answers but much to think on.

As the hour of sext came and went, Renaut was sent on another task. “The egg will have to wait,” Daria instructed him. “William is busy with the village. Go to the hamlets and tally their losses, if any.” The companions set out once again through the Hog Wood. Still suspicious of Pietre, Renaut brought the egg along, in an earthenware bottle in his purse. No-one had been lost at Bar du Sud, but a toothless old cotter told them that her grandson, the goatherd, had been missing for several days. Edgard tried briefly to track the boy, who was said to be a simpleton, but with no success.

A heavy, wet dusk was falling when the group trudged back toward the castle. Just upon entering the wood a loud crash and flurry of darkness threw Renaut to the ground. An enormous black creature, hunched and clawed with an eyeless face, crouched surrounded by the remains of Renaut’s bottle and purse. For a brief moment it seemed to regard the shocked group of people around it. Then Rutger drew sword and closed, and Edgard moved in with his axe. Despite its ferocity, the creature did not stand, but quickly burst into four of its kind, each of which fled in a separate direction. Edgard struck as one of the creatures passed him, but it vanished, nothing more than a figment. Quick action dispelled two more figments, but by then the real creature was disappearing among the hedges as it headed across the field.

“If it gets to the village, no telling what havoc it will cause,” Albrecht said. “It may be headed to the village, or to Ville de Haillot,” Christophe answered. “Follow where its tracks lead.” The tracks did not, in fact, lead to the village, but almost studiously avoided it before doubling back toward the castle. There, in the woods not 200 paces from the gate, was another body: Marten, the huntsman. And in his mouth another egg.

Thursday morning Daria sent Renaut to Aline’s deep vaults. “If this egg becomes another creature, perhaps he has some chamber in which to contain it.” Aline replied in the positive, but also revealed that he hadn’t seen Pietre in some time. With a little investigation, it became clear he hadn’t been seen in the castle since the previous evening. Even worse, the egg had disappeared from Daria’s lab.

“Remember the tracks at the Pool of the Stone Horse,” Albrecht suggests. “If Pietre was there once, perhaps he has returned.” Sure enough, at the pool it was clear someone had entered the water recently. The spring issued from a small cave below the surface. Edgard prepared to swim. No sooner had he disappeared into the cave, though, than the black horse was seen in the bracken not far off. Renaut conjured a powerful spell and the vines and branches came to life, entrapping the beast.

But a beast it was no longer. A dryad or fearie of sorts took its stead, shy, beautiful, and forlorn. “Why have you come to my home? Leave it, and take the darkness with you.”

Edgard had swum into the cave to find it empty save a few coins, polished stones, and gleaming white skulls. He swam back out—but the world was not the same. He found the pool engulfed in an evening darkness, with clear skies and a powerful sense of tranquil beauty. But there was also a foreboding, a feeling as if a thundercloud hovered just out of sight, and none of his friends were in sight. As he stepped from the water, a movement caught his eye: The form of a boy—a goatherd, perhaps—rising from the bushes a few paces off. It babbled and cried as it limped his way, reaching plaintively for him, its eyes sightless and chest dripping blood and gore from snapped and broken ribs.

Edgard swam back into the cave, but when he reemerged, he was still in this hidden realm. Within minutes, however, the others swam through, joining him. They set upon the creature, and it fell quickly to their steel. In the silence after, they searched carefully for any sign of Pietre. Someone had been here, certainly, hiding things among the trees, but whoever it was had departed and left nothing of value. Eventually, as the companions moved further from the pool, they returned to the daylight and drizzle of their own world.

The glow of fire against the sky was familiar, but this time, on their way back, it did not come from the village. It came from the castle.