Helaneth awoke with a stiff neck and an arm full of pins and needles, reminding her that she’d fallen asleep wedged up against a log. The damp heaviness of the cold air laid goosebumps all over her skin. She rubbed her eyes and decided to sit still for a moment before joining the others in gathering their things to head home. Dirien was wiping dew off the frying pan that was left out to cool while Al’mar’s meticulous hands rolled up his bedding to an exact size that would fit in his pack.

  “Good morning, Miss Helaneth,” the elder man greeted her for the day, “I hope it wasn’t too rough of a sleep last night. That position looks mighty uncomfortable.”

  Helaneth shook her head, wincing as pain shot up the back of her neck, and peeled herself away from the log. Pieces of wet bark stuck to her skin and made stinging imprints. Dirien regarded her with a timid nod.

  “Morning, love,” he said, with an equally timid quality in his voice. It was almost as though he detected the unease that her dream left twining about her stomach. Helaneth reached for her bag, moving her torso a begrudging inch that the length of her arm could not compensate, and set it on her lap. As she turned over the top flap, she found that the strings were not drawn.

  “Either of you go into my bag for anythin’?” She asked, and both men shook their heads. She didn’t recall leaving it that way – in fact, she was almost as particular as Al’mar about that detail – but given the rush of the past few days, it was not out of the realm of possibility for her to have made an absentminded mistake.

  Nor, however, did she recall unpacking anything the previous night. But she did fall asleep without keeping her bag close enough that a thief would disturb her. She thought it best to make sure everything was there, and as she combed through the bag, a sinking feeling took over. Either the box was swallowed by the rest of her belongings, or it was gone. Trying not to panic, she scraped away the stray items at the bottom and turned up nothing. Her search became a scene when she turned the bag upside-down to empty it onto the ground.

  “What is wrong, Miss Helaneth?” asked Al’mar as he stuffed his bedding away.

  “It’s gone,” she answered. She shook out individual pieces of clothing, shuffled through clattering vials of hair oil, and tossed all miscellanea to the side, causing nothing short of a racket. Dirien ran over to help, but she waved him away, not wanting him to disrupt her systematic chaos.

  “What is gone, Miss Helaneth?” asked Al’mar.

  “The damned box, old man! My bag was open, and it’s gone now!”

  “And you’re sure your bag was the last place you had it?”

  Helaneth was too frantic for his question to irk her. “Course it was. I tucked it away nice and tidy as soon as Magistra…” Magistra. She paused her search, dropping a small round tin onto the ground as her thoughts raced in all directions.

  “Is anything else missing?” asked Al’mar.

  “No. Someone wanted the box and nothin’ else, obviously. And we’re two days out from Bherug, so there’s no tellin’ who’s following us or who’s got our scent.” She picked up her items and dropped them back into the bag with little care for any organization. “Remember what I said, old man? About getting in too deep? Hopefully this thing disappearing from our care is the worst of our worries. Seems like we’ve gotten a fair warning to leave well enough alone.”

  “Saves us the stop on the way, I suppose,” said Al’mar, defeated. “Let us hope it ends at that.”

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  Helaneth hopped to her feet, brushing dirt and stray bits of bark off herself. “Hope it ends with a hot bath and some liquor. Maybe even both at the same time.”

  “Not a bad idea at all,” Al’mar agreed, slinging his pack over his shoulder. He took one last glance over the campsite to check if anything was left behind, perhaps even a sign of who-or-what may have visited in the night. Dirien made his way to Helaneth’s side and scanned over everything as well – but he did not expect to find what he did. A brown, wiry-haired tail pricked up straight among the brush. Before Dirien finished extending his arm to point it out, Helaneth’s jaw dropped.

  “There’s no way,” she said under her breath before raising her voice to call out, “Leonarde!”

  The tail whipped left-to-right as the dog raced toward them. He emerged from the brush panting and wriggling, then claimed his spot beside Helaneth.

  “What in Lusmir’s eleventh is happening?” she asked in disbelief. “I—truly, I don’t understand. Isn’t Magistra looking for you, boy? Or—did she send you?”

  Leonarde’s ears drooped with a whimper, as if he took the accusation personally. He turned his head to show her a pouch on his collar.

  “What’s this, pal?” Helanteth knelt to get a closer look. She untied the knot and opened the pouch. Inside was a rolled piece of parchment. She rubbed it flat between her palms and, after a moment of squinting at the sloppy handwriting, passed it to Al’mar. “I’m not so good at readin’ Nelthemari to start with, old man. Can ya help me out?”

  “Of course, Miss Helaneth.” Al’mar held the corners of the parchment and squinted for a moment himself, but he adjusted well to the flow of the scrawl.

  “If you are reading this, I have died, and you are the one my Leonarde has chosen.

  I would be a wizard of the most sorrowful quality to let my final testament lie with me. I know my fate well and have planted seeds wherever possible to mitigate what trouble I can.

  It is as true as every fact of nature that I grow older and older by the day. But this is not the cause of my decline. There are those who seek to seize my position, and this they may do. I feel a madness consuming me, and I have yet to find a remedy—as much as it damages my pride to be bested, I cannot delay this writing any further.

  When the time comes that I am disposed of, my dog, Leonarde, will carry this note to the first trustworthy entity he meets—namely, one who does not bear the magical brand of the Association. He is a good judge of character.

  The one who is responsible for this corruption is a necromancer known as Maestus. I know little of him and what he has promised to the Magistra, but I suspect he is a man of great influence within Nelthemar. Many times I have declined to work with him and allow his ilk to operate within this institution—and it is this that sealed my fate.

  I am not asking you to find the man or deliver justice. I am well aware of the dangers of such a pursuit.

  I am only asking you, kind reader, to do what you feel is right, and to please take good care of my Leonarde.

  Should the path of righteousness guide you, however, Leonarde will lead the way to a cache of resources and notes I’ve designated by the coast outside Odgar. You need only say, ‘go fetch.’

  With thanks,

  First Wizard Raphael.”

  Al’mar slowly lowered the parchment and met Helaneth’s dumbfounded gaze.

  “Depths unimaginable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “It seems the dog is wiser than he appears—but this does not explain where the box has gone.”

  “Long as we didn’t get gutted in our sleep, I don’t wanna know any more about the box, or this Maestus, or any righteousness sort of business,” said Helaneth. “So we’re stuck with the mutt?”

  “It seems so.”

  “Just woke up and I’m exhausted already. Hope this isn’t some elaborate setup. Or that Magistra doesn’t try to track you down.” Again, Leonarde’s ears drooped, and his legs shook as if in fear. Helaneth looked down to pat Leonarde on the top of his head and took notice of a small, crusted-over abrasion above his eye. She lifted her hand away with a gasp. Clenching her fist at her side, she tightened her lips. “If she does, I’ll have to kill her.”

  “But we’re all here safe now, Miss Helaneth,” said Al’mar, trying to calm her down. “We can be home before dark, and we can enjoy our comforts with our new friend.”

  “If Anna and Deventh let us keep him.”

  “Th-they aren’t due back for some time,” Dirien piped up, twiddling his fingers and avoiding eye contact. “By the time they do return, it might be easier to convince them… So long as the dog’s proven to be docile.”

  “My Dirien, the rebellious type so suddenly?” Helaneth reached for his hand and clasped it in her own, then took the first springing step toward their path. “Well, I suppose that settles it, then. Onward to baths and booze!”