Avalaine and Master Crickney spent the day visiting the two animal slaughter sites that Avalaine had not seen. One was just to the southeast of Mount Lirra, while the other was there on the edge of the grounds.

  To Avalaine it suggested a progression. An unsettling progression. Someone had been traveling toward them, and the animal carcasses appeared to mark their advancement.

  The rotting animals had been cleaned up, but the sites themselves were otherwise undisturbed. Avalaine could see the burned spots in the grass that she had noticed before.

  The two discussed various theories, but as it became apparent, there was not much to be gained from what remained at the two locations, and so Master Crickney told Avalaine that he had something potentially useful to show her in his study.

  Avalaine was ready to return indoors. They had determined to visit the sites alone, and so Avalaine had slipped the guards she was supposed to take with her if she ventured out from the castle.

  Now she was unsettled and thought maybe a guard or two would not be a bad thing.

  They had both missed the midday meal, and would soon miss dinner, but given how her mother had left the breakfast table, she might expect Avalaine to take the rest of the day to pout. Master Crickney was not so important that his absence from a meal or two would be remarked upon.

  There were not too many people about as they retreated to Crickney’s study in the castle’s north wing, which was as far as one could be from the seat of power and yet still be in the north wing.

  The place was not unfamiliar to Avalaine. She had learned to read and write in here, but as time went on, and she grew older, she had other duties to learn, and Master Crickney had not been best suited for those.

  As soon as they entered the large room, Crickney moved swiftly to his bird cages, checking to see if any of his messengers had returned to their homes. Crickney began muttering and fussing with the cages, and Avalaine took the time to re-familiarize herself with the study.

  Of course, there were books everywhere, not only on shelves, but left open on the desks, tables and chairs placed in no orderly fashion around the room.

  There was a new window cut into the stone wall since the last time she had been here. She remembered the place being much darker than this when she had been here last.

  How many years has it been? She thought. So many, I was but a child then.

  She supposed Master Crickney needed as much light as he could get, and adding more and more candles was not a good idea if he was going to keep the place this messy.

  Avalaine thought the word messy was fitting as she moved around the room. She could smell the scent of the birds and the seed used to feed them. She counted six cages, but only three were occupied.

  Turning away from the cages, she arrived at Crickney’s desk, which was shoved off into a corner of the room as if it did not matter where he sat, although she noticed it was directly under the new window, so perhaps it was there for the fading early-evening light.

  Looking down, she saw a book open on the desk. The text was only barely readable to her.

  It looked like the common language, but as it had been written earlier. Much earlier. Perhaps over one hundred years earlier. She could see the swooshes and extra ornament that were no longer a part of the everyday writing style in the kingdom.

  The lettering was not the most important part, though. Avalaine saw a diagram on the page, and it reminded her of the animal slaughter she had seen. The geometric arrangement of the bodies and the fire indicators around the edges.

  She squinted. The text around the diagram was illegible, blurry. She could not focus on it, no matter how she tried.

  “My apologies, Lady Avalaine,” said Master Crickney. “I had to make sure the birds were fed and cared for, but now we can—” he stopped when he saw her examining the book.

  “Tell me, my lady, can you see the lettering of the diagram?”

  Avalaine leaned down, squinting hard, even though she now knew it would have no effect.

  “No,” she said, returning to a standing position. “The words are smudged too badly.”

  Crickney shook his head.

  “The words are fine, but as far as I can tell, we lack permission to read them.”

  Avalaine was now confused.

  “You mean you require my father’s permission? He is likely to grant that to you before I,” she was now becoming annoyed. If Crickney had brought her here to wrangle some sort of favor out of her, she would be most vexed.

  “No, no, my dear,” he said, and Avalaine was reminded of those along ago tutoring lessons she had received from Crickney.

  “Please turn the page,” he said, holding out his hand toward the book as if offering it to her.

  Avalaine reached out and touched the page of the book. She ran her fingers over the rough parchment of the page, then over the raised characters written in the thick ink of those lost days.

  She did not turn the page.

  “Now you see, don’t you?” Crickney said.

  Avalaine frowned. Again she reached out to the book, and again she merely ran her fingers over the open page.

  Now in frustration, she yanked the book off the desk, then closed it sharply.

  With a huff of annoyance, she put the book back on Crickney’s desk. She now saw it was titled A Journal of Baron n’Kondu Varsus.

  Garrick’s grandfather? She thought, and her mind turned toward Baron Varsus, wondering if he knew of the existence of this book, but Crickney brought her back to the present situation.

  “You may not turn the pages, because you do not have permission,” Crickney said, his own voice sounding frustrated.

  “One can only read up to that specific page, and then the text becomes obfuscated. Further reading is disallowed by preventing the turning of the page.”

  Avalaine start hard at the book.

  “But that is impossible!” She cried.

  “One would think,” said Crickney. “I have tried everything, but somehow, when you intend to turn the pages, your intent is twisted and deflected until you perform some other action entirely. If the book were to become open to those pages by mechanical means, you will simply close it without reading.”

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  Avalaine placed her hands on her hips.

  “But why do you say we lack permission?” She asked.

  “Read the text that you can see,” he told her, again gesturing to the book.

  Avalaine again picked up the book and opened it, threading through the pages quickly. As she got to a certain point, something told her to stop turning the pages, and she listened to that something.

  Then she looked at the original page she had seen, with the diagram, but this time, instead of trying to read the blurry text, she shifted her attention to the previous page and read the words there.

  Time grows short. As I suspected, the rituals were just the beginning, and now something far worse is upon us.

  We must take action now. The Elven mages and the magic men of the Brotherhood of Aeremon have sensed something outside of this world. Something vast and horrible, something scrabbling at the edges of our reality.

  It touched me, and I am afraid now.

  Each event is a building block, and if we don’t stop it while it is building, we may never do so. I have been forbidden from dealing with the Elves, and of course, the Brotherhood is almost as bad, but I have no choice. This is happening HERE, in the furthest reaches of the kingdom, not in Royal Maera.

  I ride forth with the Elves and the Brotherhood tonight. We must put an end to this or lose everything.

  Those who need to know about these events will hopefully read about our victory in the following pages.

  “And whatever happened on those next pages was so dangerous that the Baron… or someone… endeavored to lock it behind a barrier of sorcery!”

  The word sorcery hissed out from Master Crickney as if it were a blast of steam.

  Avalaine dropped the book back on the desk and took a step back. It landed spine up, with the pages splayed.

  “Sorcery!?” The word came out as a squeak, and she cleared her throat. “But how?”

  Crickney stepped over to the desk and righted the book. Closing it as he did so.

  “To that, I have no answer, but you need not fear. It is not dangerous. The only effect it seems to have is to employ misdirection, always giving the reader the thought that not turning the page is their own idea.”

  Avalaine calmed down at Master Crickney’s assurance that there would be no ill effects from handling the book.

  “So you were able to match the patterns of the animal killings to the drawing in this book?”

  Crickney shook his head in the negative.

  “Not quite as you say. After seeing two of the slaughters, I thought I had seen the shape of the animal placement before.

  “It took me some time to find this tome. I had brought it with me from the Royal Library at Maera — with permission, of course!”

  Avalaine nodded to indicate she did not to consider him a thief, but she was impatient and gestured for him to continue.

  “Back then, many years ago, I had read this book, as I read all in the Royal Archives, and… I never finished it. Among the other stewards and archivists, we remarked the book was simply a bore, and that the first Baron Varsus had been given to hyperbole and superstition.”

  Crickney’s expression became grave then.

  “But now, I see that the sorcerous device placed on the book had done its work even then.”

  Avalaine considered this.

  “So at some point, the first Baron Varsus sent the tome to the Royal Archivist, or brought it with him when he appeared at court.”

  Crickney interjected then.

  “The latter is more likely. Looking further, historical records of that time in Varsus Province are sparse. It was considered a wild place back then, and so not much attention was given. However…”

  Avalaine stepped back quickly as Master Crickney rushed by her, reaching for another book on another table.

  “… however, this book outlining all known clashes with the Elves describes a minor incursion of the creatures into Varsus Province at the same time as n’Kondu’s journal!”

  Crickney held out the book to Avalaine. She took it, seeing that it was called Maerland’s Victories over the Mad Elves. She put it down on the desk in front of her, as the book was quite heavy.

  “I suspect,” Crickney began, “that Baron n’Kondu Varsus faced some similar version of what we now experience. He obviously won, and may have traveled afterward to Royal Maera with this journal in hand to inform the King.”

  Avalaine frowned.

  “But this journal was not regarded as anything special. In fact, you yourself did not think it interesting at the time.”

  “True,” said Crickney. “Partially because of the sorcery, but I suspect n’Kondu was disregarded at the time as well, thus leading to the journal’s relegation to the mundane texts of the archivists.”

  “But what do we do?” Avalaine asked, growing more and more afraid.

  “Ah, yes,” Crickney said. “It was most fortuitous that you arrived at your father’s study when you did. You were my very next stop.”

  “I was?” Avalaine asked, somewhat incredulously.

  Again, Crickney swept past her, reaching for something on an overloaded chair. He snatched up a small, tightly wound parchment and handed it to her.

  “Yes, indeed!” Crickney declared. “We’ll need to use your birds to send this out right away.”

  “Send to who?” Avalaine asked, still not understanding.

  Crickney looked at her as if she should have known already.

  “To Viscount Brandu, of course,” he said.

  Avalaine’s eyebrows shot up. Now she was even more confused.

  ***

  Vizron stood motionless over Myria’s collapsed body in the frozen bedchamber.

  It held the dull crystal object in its — no, in HIS hand.

  Vizron had been lightly examining the crystal with senses that mortal beings could never possess, and as such, had come to divine its purpose.

  As far as it — HE — could tell, the crystal was a token given to those of its — HIS kind of higher standing.

  Bestowed upon them directly by Ergochann. It must be.

  Vizron had come to understand that before interacting with the crystal, he had thought of himself not as a true individual, but as an extension of Ergochann, vying with others of his kind for access to the power that was his master.

  It must be that Ergochann desires his top subordinates to have the ability to see themselves as individual beings, as distinct personages, he thought.

  He could not quite understand the value of that for Ergochann, but he had to admit… it felt… good?

  Good was not something that a lich normally felt. There was usually a static sameness to his existence that could only be disrupted by something bad.

  Vizron wanted more of this feeling. Yet he knew he could not have it, as the crystal had begun bonding with the vile wench from Wademount. This would have to be undone before he could possess it.

  There was more to it. There was immense power in the crystal. Perhaps an unlimited draw of energy directly from Ergochann? Vizron wanted that, too.

  With that thought, he directed his attention to the mortal wench who was now unconscious at his feet.

  Time was short. While he had great power, he knew his pawn would not just sit back and do nothing as he roamed the countryside. Vizron admitted to himself that taunting the pawn had been a bad idea, as now Baron Varsus knew exactly where to go.

  More powerful than he had been defeated at Wademount. He had to remember this.

  Vizron drew back and kicked the woman on the ground. She woke up with a sharp cry, clutching her side.

  “Ooooh!” Myria wailed, doubling over in pain even as she awoke.

  “Get up, mortal, you try my patience,” Vizron said, menace emanating from him as he stood over her.

  Myria looked up to see who was speaking, then froze with her hand out before her, perhaps to ward him away. Her mouth was open in a silent scream. Her eyes were wide, pure white showed around the edges.

  All of this amused Vizron, and he might have been content to allow this fear to continue, but he needed to mortal to perform a task.

  “Yes, mortal,” he began in his cold, raspy voice, “I am a demon from the hells and there is no escape. If I wanted you dead, you would now be rotting meat. Calm yourself so that we may speak.”

  “L-L-La -LaKrona—”

  “LALALALALALA!!!” Vizron shouted, causing Myria to shriek and jump, then shrink back, scooting as far back as she could from her tormentor.

  Vizron began laughing. It was a horrible, caustic sound that hurt Myria’s ears. She began to edge toward the door.

  “Try for that door and I will turn you to dust, female,” said Vizron. All the mirth was now gone. His voice was flat and harsh.

  Myria curled up in fetal position.

  Vizron sighed. How he hated these mortals.

  Exerting a minute amount of his power, he stretched out his arm and opened his palm.

  Immediately, Myria jerked up, crying out in alarm. She stood awkwardly and walked with the grace of a rag doll until she was in front of a chair. Myria cried out again as she felt herself spun around by unseen hands, then deposited roughly into the chair.

  “HELP ME!!” she cried as loudly as she could. “SOMEONE HEL—”

  She was stopped when Vizron appeared before her and backhanded her hard across the face. Myria’s head snapped to the side, and she felt the side of her face both freeze and burn at the creature’s touch.

  Tears burst from her eyes and flowed down her face as Myria sobbed.

  Then she felt her jaw grabbed roughly and forced upward.

  She was looking into the eyes of a foul, horrible creature. Its eyes were completely red, and its skin was white, cold and clammy, leached of all color.

  The thing leaned in close to her, and she could smell its foul breath and body odor.

  Soon that horrible face filled her vision, and it was all she could concentrate on. Somewhere else, she felt her face both freezing and burning, but that was not something she could do anything about. This thing demanded her full attention.

  “Now, mortal female, I am going to ask you for a favor, and it would be best for your sake if you were to grant it.”

  Then the creature smiled, and Myria tried to think of anything, any way, to escape this awful demon.

  But there was nowhere to go.