[Paelothian forest]

  Damon had trudged through the forest on this expedition for one reason alone: his uncle told him to find one. One what? A manifested mote. How do you find one? Simple, you catch every creature or pick any plant that registers on an astrolarch’s markslate and test it for all the signs of being manifested. “Yeah, simple…” thought Damon, “about as simple as finding a beard on a bird.” He scratched idly at his own ruddy beard. It had been nearly two weeks since the summons that brought him before his uncle Feridun, the Lower Court’s Astrolarch. There, he’d been given a simple mission.

  The Astrolarch had handed him a detailed map that included the projected descents of several motes and their likely territory, but this was an inexact science, and his uncle had somewhat sheepishly admitted much of it was guesswork. Still, the order came from him and all his longing for a specimen. As a member of the Courts, Feridun could have given him any task really and he’d be expected to carry it out for clan or country.

  Their clan, the Brightbeards, was known for being studious and well researched in several areas of dwarven knowledge. While his uncle looked up, Damon looked down. He’d been a delver since his thirty first year and he enjoyed it. This however, was not a particularly enjoyable task. Walking through the woods in the peak of summer with his partners, sweating their backsides off trying to find what historians called “the most elusive kind of creature”: a manifested mote. What even was that? You might ask as Myrala, Damon’s second, had done so only a few days back.

  Damon had explained, “Motes are tiny fragments of the Great Design’s power, or that’s the theory anyway. I wasn’t the best student when it came to the exotic or esoteric beings. Basically they float down from the sky every now and again to take the shape of a living thing.”

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  Myrala’ face had scrunched up, “Why would they do that? Don’t we have enough monsters and beasts out here to begin with?”

  Damon shrugged, “No one has the answer to that. The Astrolarch is keen to find out though. So here we are-” he swept his hands in a wide arc encompassing the forest “-in the middle of the Lower Court’s backyard looking for who knows what. Could be a bush. Could be a bear. Could be anything!”

  Damon had been much more frustrated then. Now he was just tired. Over a week of backwater searching and they were no closer. He was tempted to give up. It was his companions who kept him going. If it had only been him, he could come back empty handed and simply head back down to the Holt as a delver and be fine, but his friends would see a more meaningful backlash if they were to show up without anything.

  Damon was largely here as muscle and a face for this so-called project of his uncle’s. Myrala was here as a tracker. She was from the Cutstone clan, lowest on the Court’s ladder and a bit of an outsider family for the Central Lands, especially here in Paeloth. She’d be reprimanded for not bringing honor and success to the failing clan. It was his other friend that would suffer the worst. Borin Shatterhand, their resident sorcerer, would likely be stripped of what little clan merits he’d gained in recent years just for a poor showing.

  The three of them had been in a delving party with Damon for years now. Fail now and they wouldn’t get any harsh words from the Astrolarch, but every other dwarf of station would use it as an opportunity to bash the three a new one and they all knew it.

  All this swirled through Damon’s mind as the day’s conversation lulled in the wake of disappointment and thirst. The sun was slowly setting as the three dwarves crested a small ridge and saw it. A bubbling brook ripe for their waterskins. Delighted at the surprise they cheered and took the rest of the day to set up their tents and get a small cooking fire going. Camped beside the stream they spoke of little things and whittled the evening away until all their ears caught a telltale chirp.

  Frantically the three of them searched for the slate. Damon’s fingers fumbled as he gripped the small piece of sorcerous stone and watched as the awaited subtle white swirl moved closer and closer until a small crustacean scuttled into the ring of their fire’s light.