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And the King Makes Three

It began with a dream.

The one dream that repeatedly intruded upon King Kyvyk Dweomerhorn’s mind throughout the course of his reign and stretching back even to his days at the academy.

The dream always started the same way, with a muggy summer evening seeing a minotaur hiking through the trees under an orange sky with the setting sun hidden behind the branches.

Kyvyk was young, so young he rode on his father’s back, holding onto his horns while he wrapped his legs wrapped around his father’s chest. So young that this dream was his only memory of his father. Kyvyk couldn’t even remember his father’s face, just the smell of his job that clung to his fur, sawdust and metal and brine.

The trees opened up to reveal a grass-covered hill. Kyvyk’s father grunted as he started up the slope and was breathing heavily as the pair reached the top. He set his son down and sat beside him. From the vantage point Kyvyk could see the hill they just climbed rose out of the woods on the outskirts of the town that flanked either side of a wide placid river. The fields and woodlands beyond lay obscured by the haze that settled over the land.

Father and son shared a snack and sips from a jug of fruit juice as the evening deepened and night fell in earnest. Just as the first stars started to poke their heads out, a burst of color blossomed over the river and the blast of thunder hit a second after. Little Kyvyk hopped up and down on his hooves, clapping giddily as the fireworks show wound up. His father hummed appreciatively at the various pinwheels, streamers, and bursts of color. The sound of an equally awed crowd watching from the riverside reached up to the hill to their ears.

After an all too brief show to little Kyvyk’s mind, the show hit its grand finale in a riot of color and explosions. The echoes of the blasts faded away but the light grew. Tonight was not just the Midsummer festival, it was also the night the skywatchers said would see a wondrous comet pass by. Kyvyk’s eyes widened as he looked up and saw the brilliant orb streak across the sky, flashing all the colors of the rainbow and more.

The audience down by the water oohed and ahhed with the pair of minotaurs as the comet made its pass. But the sighs of awe turned to screams of terror. Numerous shards broke off the comet’s body and seemed to aim themselves right at the crowd.

Kyvyk didn’t see what became of the crowd as his father picked him up in his arms and took off down the hill, grunting in pain as his hooves slipped on the grass and sent him skidding down the slope. His father pulled Kyvyk close to his chest and rolled so he took the impact instead of his son. Kyvyk got the wind knocked out of him but before he could recover his father was bearing him through the trees.

The pair could hear the comet fragments slamming into the ground too close for comfort nearby, and they were getting closer. Screams reached Kyvyk’s ears through the trees, he could hear them over his father’s labored breathing.

The dream reached it end as it always did, with Kyvyk about to look up at his father’s face right before one of the shards slammed down right in front of them and the memory was lost in a flood of light and thunder.

---

Kyvyk awoke with a cry as he tumbled out of bed, spared anything more than annoyance by a carpet so deep it swallowed his hooves up to his dewclaws. That… dream? memory? never failed to get him tossing and turning to the point not even a bed fit for a minotaur king could hold him in. He braced himself with one hand on the nightstand as he got back on his hooves, attempting to disentangle the silken sheets from around his legs as he discovered he had somehow bound his own tail to his right thigh.

After defeating his bed’s attempt to constrict him Kyvyk walked stiffly to the doors to the royal balcony and opened them. The warm humid air of a morning just before sunrise flowed into the royal bedchamber. Kyvyk stepped out and surveyed his kingdom.

His balcony looked out to the north from Summer Haven Castle. Morning mist filled the streets of the village on the other side of the bridge that spanned the moat on this face of the castle. Lights shone out in places from the various windows of the hamlet built with intentional quaintness, most of its residents remained in the beds. Myriad chimneys poked above the coiling fog, their fireplaces more decorative than functional this far south. But the people who wanted to stay in those cottages had a certain image in their minds and that image included hearths with merrily blazing fires inside them.

Beyond the village the mist consumed the landscape. Kyvyk shuddered, remembering the haze that shrouded the land in his dream. He looked away, to the northwest and at the guest house.

Some authority figure in the kingdom ordered it built long ago. It was a stout brick edifice with numerous high narrow windows breaking up the ruddy face. Faint lights shone through those windows and, despite the day not being cool even that early hour, Kyvyk shivered and looked away.

It was said that nobody lived in the old guest manor, but it was not uninhabited.

So he turned his gaze to the northeast, to where another predecessor, legend held the original Sorcerer himself, had transported an entire mountain peak across the sea from one of the old countries. And the vestiges of that spell remained so potent that the transplanted mass of rock still bore its icy crown. Of course, having a permanent icecap in this climate meant that, for half the year, the damp air would shed its moisture around that peak, keeping seasonal streams flowing down its flanks.

The summit of the stolen peak blazed like a beacon as it caught the first light of a dawn still lurking below the horizon. Moments later the sun rose properly and turned the fog into a golden flood over all the lands of Summer Haven.

The king turned from the sight and returned to the royal suite. He had a busy day ahead of him and now that the sun was up his attendants would be along shortly to prepare him for his itinerary.

Kyvyk donned his robe, his dressing robe that is. The time for his robe denoting his station as sorcerer and king came last. He poured himself a glass of water from the ewer on nearby table, quenching his thirst in one go before a knock came from the door. It opened without waiting for a reply, as was the routine, and the scaly snout of a wizened kobold poked its way through the crack.

“Sire, you are decent, yes?” the question always posed despite the answer rarely changing and never mattering. The door opened all the way and Veldoryx, Chief Attendant to the King, strode in followed by half a dozen fellow kobolds. Veldoryx’s scales had always been a ruddy color but they now looked rusty considering her age. Her assistants were all her junior by several decades and came in a vibrant array of colors. She barked out orders and the small battalion set about leading the king into his bathroom, taking no notice to the fact that he towered over them by at least twice their own heights.

In short order they had drawn his bath, stripped him of his robe and underclothes, and got him in the water. Kobolds, being reptilian, held all mammals in equal esteem with regard to anatomy. That is, to say, they paid it no mind. All they saw was a mass of fur that needed to be combed and brushed and oiled and scented. “You look like a bull,” Veldoryx often said, “but that is no excuse to smell like one too.”

Kyvyk resigned himself to their ministrations. It wasn’t painful but the process was long and invasive and all the furcare made his skin underneath all itchy but he could never scratch lest he undo all the kobolds’ work and endure another round that came with a scolding as an unwanted bonus.

After a longer while than he would have preferred, the king was bathed and groomed. The kobolds permitted him time to have a small breakfast consisting of a few boiled eggs, toast, and his customary morning cup of tea. A fancy breakfast did exist on his day’s schedule, but the meal was more for the guests than the king, who was expected to host rather than partake himself.

Once Kyvyk was finished eating the small horde of kobolds made sure he hadn’t gotten crumbs anywhere embarrassing and ensured his fur and mane were still in order. They then draped him in a formal robe of office, ensuring his sash was in place, amulet and rings arrayed for maximum regal splendor, and set his thin gold circlet upon his horned head.

Their work completed to Veldoryx’s satisfaction, the other kobolds withdrew as silently as they had arrived. The stern kobold stayed behind, making sure none of her work went to waste in the event Kyvyk gave into the urge to scratch the itch. She relinquished her watch only when another knock came from the door and it opened, also without awaiting a response.

In strode Chancellor Vendryx, a slight, red-scaled kobold. Based on their similar names and coloration, Kyvyk presumed him some relation to Veldoryx, though neither ever spoke on the subject. Beside him walked Head Apprentice Borusu, a broad-shouldered wyrmkin with bronze scales who stood almost as tall as Kyvyk himself.

As a wyrmkin, Borusu looked like a dragon standing on its hind legs, save that he lacked wings or tail, but he still had a blunt snout that revealed rows full of sharp teeth whenever he spoke and eyes that glimmered with an inner light like a thunderstorm on the horizon.

“Good morning, gentledrakes,” Kyvyk offered after a moment of no one speaking. “Is the tour still on?”

“Yes, sire,” answered Borusu. “Today’s tour is still on, though I request you take it easy. Remember that we all have a big day tomorrow and you should not exert yourself too severely.”

“It’s only a tour, Borusu,” said Kyvyk as he stole a glimpse at the mirror to check if his crown was straight before heading back out onto the balcony.

The sun sat higher in the sky and had burned off the early morning mist. Sunlight glinted off the windows of one of the suspended trains making its way along the unirail line that passed over the village.

Kyvyk looked down and saw a small retinue leaving the hamlet and making their way across the bridge that spanned the moat. From this height he could still make out a pair of adult humans with two children, flanked by an honor guard of four soldiers. The younger child stood at the same height as the gnomes who escorted her.

The minotaur did his best to look dignified and haughty, knowing the visitors expected a king to look like a king even when he looked like a cow. He then looked from the group towards the horizon, hoping it conveyed a sense of responsibility and dream of distant lands to add to his own realm. Kyvyk merely acted that way as he really had no experience with any realm but this one.

Once the group was out of sight the regal mien dropped as Kyvyk turned to hurry to the throne room so he could be found already lounging nonchalantly atop the seat as the visitors entered. He had just finished smoothing out his robes when the doors at the other end of the hall opened and the group entered. The humans moved warily down the rich carpeted aisle between the high pillars. The gnome guard handed them off to a pair of humans, who had the benefit of actually being taller than the pikes they carried. Their pikes were blunted, this was pageantry, not soldiery.

As they drew nearer to the throne, Chancellor Vendryx flowed out from behind a pillar to stand by the throne. He cleared his throat. “The Kingdom of Summer Haven welcomes the family Corino of Roldor’s Ferry,” said Vendryx using his official tone. “May I present Lady Bethany,” the mother curtsied at that. “Lord Bertram,” the father bowed. Vendryx went on, “And the Ladies Bella and Beulah.” Both daughters curtsied.

The king raised an eyebrow at the reveal that the four members of the family all had names that started with the same letter. It occurred so frequently that he assumed it had to be the custom of many other countries.

To Kyvyk’s eye the children appeared to be about six and ten. Inwardly he wondered which of the children was the one who suffered from some terrible malady. He had hosted many such families over the years and he wondered at the poor conditions of other nations that so many sick children wished to see his wondrous kingdom as a way to lift their flagging spirits. They were all such little troopers, though, few of them ever gave any indication of anything being wrong with them. And Kyvyk honored their fortitude by not bringing up the subject during their tours. As far as the king was concerned, he was hosting dignitaries from another realm and intended to act like it.

The king rose graciously, spread his arms wide, and welcomed the Corino family to his land. Then they went to breakfast.

---

Miles away from Summer Haven Castle, a wooden cart made its way along the raised causeway that wound its way through the swamp of cypress trees. Possum moss hung in heavy wiry clumps from the branches and a chorus of insects and birds filled the air.

The cart itself followed behind an unusual horse. Normal horses tread upon hooves, this horse’s legs faded away to the mere suggestion of a hoof. Sat in the driver’s seat of the cart was an equally unusual pair of traveling musicians. A minotaur held the reins of the phantom draft animal, his long cream colored mane waving in the faint breeze and the sunlight that made it through the branches glinted off the brass caps on his horns.

His companion slouched down in a hooded cloak despite the warmth. A scruffy, bearlike muzzle with a pair of tusks poked out from under the brim and a pair of amber eyes peered out from the shadows.

Gannen looked over at his sullen companion. Garret, being a bugbear, tended towards being nocturnal and wasn’t always his best this early in the morning. But they had been traveling partners long enough that the minotaur could tell something was gnawing at him.

“At least the pay’s supposed to be good,” Gannen attempted to start a conversation for the first time since they had set out on the last leg of their journey.

They had gotten word that their musical talents were requested for a special festival in the realm of Summer Haven and it promised sizable recompense. The given date did not allow much time for travel so they had set off right away. Fortunately, Garret had acquired the enchanted tack that conjured the spectral horse to pull their wagon, no mortal horse could have kept up the needed pace. As it stood, Gannen made a note to have the wheels and axles checked before they left the kingdom. The cart had picked up a few worrisome creaks and groans in the last few miles.

Garret declined to answer. Gannen could tell the bugbear wasn’t napping. Garret’s nose twitched when he was asleep.

For his part, Garret paid little to no heed to Gannen. Under the cloak he moved a hand to his belt, ensuring the glass vial was still secreted away in its pouch. It wasn’t that he wanted to ignore his companion, but he brooded within his cloak, lost in thought.

Gannen decided to let his partner rest and turned his mind back to the road. Numerous colorful birds flitted in the air over his head, chasing the tiny flies that buzzed about the cart. No traveler worth their trail dust set out without small charms that kept intrusive bugs at bay. The phantom horse was far from the only enchantment they traveled with, only the most prominent.

The road changed from the packed dirt of the causeway to paved stone and the trees thinned out as the cart crossed into Summer Haven proper. The swamp served as the first barrier but no wall or checkpoint guarded the boundary. The distant call of a griffin, somewhere between the scream of an eagle and the roar of a lion, told him that their entry had been noticed, logged, and, judging by the absence of arrows raining down upon them, allowed. The kingdom saved its masonry for ringing important settlements, overall security was handled from on high.

Now that the road was a proper highway, the cart picked up speed and the ghostly horse devoured the remaining miles. While Garret sulked, Gannen marked the landmarks of the kingdom. To the south he saw the towering tree that rose above the fields and garden of the Royal Menagerie. Word had spread far and wide of the numerous environments preserved inside that complex where numerous exotic animals collected from across the world lived. A stone wall ringed the entire complex and, aside from the tree itself, a snow-capped rocky mass rose above the barrier. Gannen assumed the snow was kept solid via enchantment just like the mountain peak they kept outside the castle itself.

The road turned northward as it joined a major thoroughfare under the shadow of the framework of the unirail line. A marvel of technomancy, the unirail network not only enabled travel around the central city of Summer Haven itself, but also to the outlying districts. One line branched off to the east, headed towards the ruin of an old tower. A large piece of the midsection had been taken out yet the tower itself still stood, legend held that a magical mishap caused that part of the tower to become desynchronized from the rest of the universe. It still supported the structure, but it was said intruders might find themselves lost in a liminal dimension.

Finally, the cart arrived before the gates of Summer Haven City and joined the line of people and wagons waiting to enter. A cry when out from the crowd as someone spotted the Royal Train glide out on the unirail overhead. People cheered and waved. Gannen looked up and it seemed to him that he locked eyes with King Kyvyk himself who was gazing down at the masses.

---

Breakfast passed pleasantly. The staff brought up plates of delicate egg puffs, sausage patties, potatoes in every imaginable style, biscuits, and fruits. King Kyvyk only picked at his plate, all too aware of the lecture he’d endure if he stained the robes. The guests ate with gusto.

Kyvyk engaged his guests in spirited conversation, asking the Corinos about their lives back in Roldor’s Ferry. The father, Bertram, told of how his business recently had a notable increase in fortune, allowing the family to be able to afford the journey.

Kyvyk made a mental note of that, thinking it remarkable how many of the guests with ill children all seemed to be financially hale. He deduced that wealth was an unhealthy thing for children to be exposed to and counted himself fortunate that Summer Haven sought no heirs. He was appointed by council vote as his eventual successor would also be.

The two girls, between bites of their feast, kept staring at the minotaur with wide eyes. Kyvyk remarked on that. “Are we,” using his royal voice, “the first minotaur you have seen?” They quickly looked away, giggling at little at how he referred to himself in the plural.

“Oh no,” the Lady Bethany replied. “We may live outside the city but folk of many Peoples can be seen on the river.”

“He looks like Mister Duran!” Beulah, the younger daughter blurted out.

Her parents looked scandalized, sure their daughter just committed a faux pas.

“I’m so sorry,” said her father. “Mr. Duran is her schoolteacher. He’s also a minotaur but that doesn’t mean all of you are related,” he added, trying to fix the situation.

Kyvyk laughed goodnaturedly. He wasn’t sure it was a faux pas and, even if it was, it was far from the worst thing said to him. Over the years plenty of people thought it wise to treat him like a farm animal. One boor tried to feed him a sugar cube off the table like this was a petting zoo. Lucky for Kyvyk he could level a withering stare when he needed to. He glared daggers at the offender until they excused themselves for the remainder of the day.

“No worries, children speak their minds and it’s how they learn about the world,” said Kyvyk. “Now, if you’re ready, might I suggest a ride on the Royal Unirail?”

The Royal Unirail line ran east-west through the castle with its station on the same floor as the dining hall. Kyvyk and his guests boarded the suspended carriage with the regal purple livery and gold filigree and it departed to the west at a leisurely speed. The relaxed pace allowed the king to shift into one of his favorite roles, that of tour guide.

As the carriage slid westward, Kyvyk directed his guests’ attention to the southwest, where one of the gardens that ringed the castle sat. That particular one held a painstakingly recreated junglescape, surrounding a tree that, while nowhere near as big as the one in the Menageries, still stood tall enough to hold a tree-house that put many regular houses to shame. Among the watercourse that wound among the route the passengers could see the preserved pirate ship that sat at anchor. The official story went that the Sorcerer himself thwarted an entire pirate crew when they attacked him during a sea voyage and he took the entire vessel as payment for the inconvenience.

The sun vanished as the carriage slid into a tunnel hewn through the side of wall of red rock. The Sorcerer used his mightiest spells to transport parts of three mountains to his realm, this one came from the western mountains and rumor held that a sky spirit still resided with in it. He could never confirm it, but Kyvyk always thought that, on nights of particularly potent thunderstorms, he could see a winged shadow circle the peak.

The carriage reached a junction inside a cave of rainbow colored rocks and turned to the north. They passed out back into daylight but the illumination level did not rise by much because they were now on the shadow of the guest manor. Kyvyk told the family of how, long ago, another sorcerer of the realm thought to consult departed spirits and tried to open a portal to the next world.

Somewhere, deep within the house, they said the portal remained open, allowing all manner of specters to wander the halls, halls that grew more twisted and labyrinthine with time. The outside stayed the same size but the interior contained far more space than was possible, adding more rooms and chambers to keep the living away from the gateway.

The two little girls shuddered at that tale.

Next they passed over the storybook village where the Corinos stayed. “I can see our cottage from here!” Bella exclaimed.

After that it was another cave, entering the tunnel bored through the heart of the ice-capped Dweomerhorn, the mount that Kyvyk took his royal name from. The family reacted with appropriate awe as the king related how the Sorcerer brought not just the peak but the snow with it to this warm climate. “I want to build a snowman!” little Beulah cried.

Then the carriage passed over the festival grounds that sat to the east of the castle. They could see workers milling about as they prepared for tomorrow’s festivities. The main stage took place elsewhere but the kingdom prepared venues for many lesser diversions there. The family was less interested in what the kingdom was planning for later as they were for the next part on the tour.

Tracing the circle around the castle the carriage now came to the third mountain on the royal grounds. Unlike the previous two, this one was not brought from elsewhere on the planet. The irregularly shaped chunk of rock had been called down from the heavens itself by the Sorcerer, a true fallen star. The high iron content of the rock attracted lightning bolts and provided energy to the various magical workshops around the kingdom. They operated on the principle that, if magic could be used to create lightning, the process could be done in reverse to collect lightning and use it to make the raw stuff of magic. It was the same concept used in the practice of the less savory forms of necromancy, though the living resisted the process more than lightning did.

It did work after a fashion, though the exchange rate in that direction left something to be desired.

From their rapid chatter on the subject, Kyvyk learned the Corino girls were ardent enthusiasts about everything technomancy. They lit up as they told the king about the facility they visited during a school trip where spell-powered trains were being built, with the rumor that airships were on the horizon. Both nearly fainted with glee when the minotaur told them that, after leaving the castle town, they’d be making a sweep around the Sorcerer’s personal workshop. Those here were merely where low level Apprentices learned the ropes.

While the girls expressed their glee the carriage had turned southwards, following the boulevard that ran from the castle’s front gates to the gate in the wall that surrounded the castle grounds and the town beyond. As they passed over the out wall Kyvyk looked down at the crowd waiting at the front gates. Many among them began cheering and waving towards him but the king’s attention was drawn to the wagon that had just reached the edge of the crowd.

The wagon’s horse was the most impressive part, looking from above like it was made from smoke. The cart’s driver was only slightly less eye-catching, a fellow minotaur with flowing cream colored locks and horns capped with brass that reflected the morning sun. Beside him slumped a broad-shouldered figured in a cloak. Kyvyk craned his neck to get a better look but the carriage picked up speed to head to their next destination.

“Huh, so that’s the king,” said Gannen as the royal unirail carriage sped off down the road in the direction the bards had just come from.

Garret made a noncommittal grunt from under his hood.

“He doesn’t look so terrible,” the minotaur went on, mostly to himself. To believe the rumors one expected King Dweomerhorn to be a callous brute, hoarding the Sorcerer’s greatest treasures and allowing only paying customers a peek at them and even then grudgingly and for a princely sum. Mostly he just skated by on the glories of his predecessors and proclaimed himself king as a way to shore up his rule. Yet the minotaur the bard espied looked... normal, aside from the fancy clothes and golden circlet.

Soon they made their way to the front of the queue. Garret finally roused himself when the guards asked for their pass into the city. The bugbear shifted and from the depths of his cloak produced a piece of paper with an embossed seal. The guard read the document, her eyes went wide, then she ordered the gate be opened. She welcome the bards in with a low bow.

“Now that you’re up,” said Gannen once they were in the city, “Mind telling exactly why we got a welcome warmer than the weather?”

Garret finally answered one of the minotaur’s questions. “You know the Apprentices? Those mages who keep the place running? Their head member specifically requested our talents. He’s a wyrmkin named Borusu, says his cousin saw our show in Noto and thought our act would be perfect for the Black Moon Festival. We have him to thank for booking this gig and setting us up in the best hotel here.”

Gannen steer the wagon northward. The phantom horse that drew awed stares elsewhere didn’t warrant a second glance here, in a place of self-propelled carriages trundling along the roads and trains zooming about hanging from the rails overhead. They passed up along the main boulevard and into the great gates that divided the city from the castle grounds. Their lodging was the Grand Haven Hotel, just to the left past the gates.

A team of dutiful kobolds led their cart into the courtyard and the ghostly steed vanished as Gannen parked. The squadron of scaly attendants got their luggage together, handling the various instruments with care, and guided them to their room, even refusing a tip when Gannen offered one. “What a curious folk,” he remarked, turning to find Garret had already gone into his own part of the suite.

The minotaur peeked his head inside as the bugbear left the door ajar. Garret had thrown his cloak over a chair and lay splayed out atop the bed, snoring softly and nose twitching.

“Huh, guess he was just exhausted from the trek,” Gannen said to himself before heading to the bathroom, eager for a bath to wash the dust from the road from his fur.

To the bard’s delight, his suite came equipped with one of those tubs with the jets. “Alright, maybe technomancy has some uses,” he conceded as he shed his travel clothes and settled down into the churning water.

About two hours later Gannen, bathed, groomed, and dressed, left the room intent on exploring the town. His preferred attire tended towards purple and gold but, being that he was in a kingdom and his knowledge of history reminded him of lands where wearing royal colors without being a royal was gauche at best and a capital offense at worst. So he wore his green and gold garb to be safe. He also strapped his lyre to his back, for a bard should never go without an instrument.

Gannen asked one of the kobold attendants about what parts of the city were open to him. “Largely anywhere,” came the answer. “Even the lower levels of the Castle. You’ll know where you can’t go. Also,” the kobold added, eyes darting about, “the guest manor is technically open to anyone, I’d advise steering clear of that place. It’s, uh, it’s unsafe,” she added and Gannen let the subject drop. He thanked her and set out to do some exploring.

---

On the royal unirail carriage Kyvyk gave the Corinos a choice on where they were going next. When asked to choose between the Royal Menagerie or the Sorcerer’s Workshops the children wasted no time in insisting on the workshop.

The carriage reached the next junction and turned towards an eclectic collection of buildings. Built seven miles away from the castle town walls in the event any of the experiments ran wild, the Sorcerer’s Workshop was a complex made up of two different sections. The unirail line made a sweep of the area similar to the one at the castle grounds before reaching the station so Kyvyk got to engage in being tour guide some more.

On the proper workshop side, he pointed out the hydroponic garden building which kept the kingdom fed without relying on too many outside imports. Then came the aqua tank where the mages strove to perfect underwater living, just as a precaution.

The girls squealed with delight at the sight of the hangar where, according to rumors that trickled north, his technomancers were working on their own airships. They were even said to be on the verge of solving how the riddle on how to get a vessel into space.

The carriage then swung in sight of the great sphere of ice that floated up to its equator in the great spring in the center of the complex. Since half of it was submerged at any time it looked like a dome from a distance. Legend held the Sorcerer himself was frozen at its core, that he did so to preserve his body in hibernation while his spirit roamed the cosmos.

That was to be the location of the next evening’s crowning festivities. The grandstands sat in various stages of construction in front if the dome.

The Corinos were less interested in what might have been an icy old man and, as soon as the carriage arrived at the station, they were off to see the workshops.

---

Left to his own devices, Gannen wandered north up the main boulevard, passing by the many shops that lined the broad avenue. Inside the castle walls, the stores had an uncanny quality but it made sense to the bard. This was a visitor’s district and everything here was built in mimicry of other places.

He stayed on the left side of the path and soon came to the plaza before the Castle itself. Gannen craned his head up to take in the whole edifice. It was certainly taller than it was wide, with multiple spires reaching for the hazy sky overhead. Lofty as the spires were, they were still dwarfed by the two mountain peaks placed on the grounds nearby.

Gannen wanted to find a good spot to get the lay of the land from. Any level of the Castle with a decent view was bound to be closed off to him. The Dweomerhorn certainly had the height, but the bard came prepared for warmth and his winter clothing was stashed back in the wagon. So that left the red-rock mountain west of the Castle. He walked across the wide lawn that stood between the moat and the base of the rocky height and set his hooves onto the trail carved into the stone.

It wound around a few buttes and soon arrived at a facsimile of a frontier town complete with saloon and train station. Unlike the overhead unirail, a conventional railroad ran on the rocky ground past the wooden buildings with their appropriately sun-bleached signs.

Gannen could see some more trails winding up the rocky face marked off with rope so he started to ascend. The sun still beat down through the haze and the bard was grateful he had the foresight to bring a full waterskin with him. Finally, he came to a point where the trail curved opened onto an outcropping beyond which could be seen a sweeping vista of the surrounding land.

The bard sat down on a shelf of stone that doubled as a bench and took in the view. Gannen could look right across at the middle levels of the Castle and down onto the roof of the guest manor. The border between the guest house’s grounds and the base of the red mountain appeared to host a cemetery made up of the clashing styles, wooden fences and grave markers on his side, wrought iron fencing and stone monuments on the manor’s side. Despite the time of day, fog coiled among the headstones or were they cenotaphs? Gannen didn’t know if there were actually bodies interred there or if the whole thing was another replica built solely as set dressing.

In any case, the manor house crouched among oak trees whose branches were heavily laden with possum moss, seeming to cast its own shadow over itself. If Gannen strained his eyes, he could see eerie glimmers of light behind the darkened windows.

The the music reached his ears.

The mansion must have had a pipe organ somewhere inside, Gannen presumed it must have a ballroom. For a moment he imagined what it would be like to play a venue like that. He took out his lyre and started plucking the strings, trying to replicate the doleful melody that drifted up to his perch like smoke from a pyre.

He hadn’t attempted more than a dozen notes of that song before a large bird alighted beside him, its cries interrupting the melody. Gannen froze, half from wariness at being so close to the raptor and half being in awe of it.

The bird had to have been some kind of eagle judging from its size and profile but Gannen reasoned that it must be one of the residents of the Menagerie who had gotten out. The eagle’s coloration lined up with no kind he knew to live nearby, not unless it got there by hopping among the southern islands as a bridge from the tropical lands on the other side of the Gulf.

The eagle's pinions were a deep blue that bordered on black with gold on the wingtips. Its head had a crest like an owl that also bore the yellow tips. Looking at the bird gave Gannen the impression of a thunderstorm.

His awestruck examination of the bird was broken when the bird cried again, a sort of low rumbling squawk followed by a trill. It made the call again and added to it. Then it went silent and held the bard in one golden eye. When Gannen made no move it spread its wings wide and stepped closer, gently knocking its beak against the lyre the minotaur held forgotten in his hand.

Gannen remember his instrument and held it up. Again the bird repeated its strange melodic call and waited. Gannen made an attempt to repeat it. The eagle cocked its head and did the call again. And once more Gannen played what he thought it sounded like and that time the raptor chirped happily.

Like any good bard, Gannen carried paper and the nib of pencil in his lyre case, to be ready should inspiration strike. He rapidly recorded an approximate notation of the birdsong. This had apparently pleased the eagle, which leapt into the air and took wing, circling the minotaur and singing what almost sounded like a second verse.

Gannen tried his best to repeat the call on his lyre and the bird did the call again. This went on for a while, the call and response between the big bird and the bard bull. The minotaur jotted down the song between each verse until he had filled the page.

Then the eagle landed once more and stared at Gannen with expectation in its golden eye. Gannen picked up the page, set it so he could read it while holding his lyre. He paused a breath and began to play. He started with the rumble of low notes that reminded him of rolling thunder and the bird joined in. Then they reached the trilling part. Then the second verse, then the third.

When they finished the eagle screeched in triumph and took off once again, vanishing from sight around once of the buttes. Gannen looked at his page, at the song the bird had given him. He sat there in silence for a while sorting his thoughts. He eventually settled on the explanation that the eagle had to have been some mage’s familiar, some mage with an interest in music. That was the most logical explanation Gannen embraced. After all, this was a land steeped in magic so an enchanted bird was not beyond the bounds of possibility.

Only when he saw where the sun was not did Gannen realize how far the afternoon had gotten on. Low angry clouds lurked on the horizon, threatening a storm. He also realized how long it had been since his last meal.

Gannen started his way down from the rock.

---

Garret kept up his sleeping act until he was sure Gannen had well and truly left. He hated to deceive his partner, these were the measures desperate times required. He didn’t follow his fellow bard in cleaning up after the journey. Instead, he crept out of the room and left the hotel by the back door. The building backed up to the jungle garden section of the castle grounds. The trees and their broad leaves cast deep shadows underneath and Garret melted into them, moving with the practiced ease of a jaguar through the undergrowth.

He reached the lawn around the castle in time to see Gannen start his climb up the rocky trail. As the minotaur hiked behind one of the crags Garret made his move, striding across the open space with purpose but without the kind of hurry that would draw attention.

The bugbear reached the oak trees on the other side and slipped into the misty gloom under their boughs. The fog devoured sound so that the carpet of dead leaves made barely a whisper under his tread. The front door of the mansion loomed above a short flight of stone stairs but Garret passed it by. He went towards the west wing, to a side door that faced the conjoined cemeteries.

It was where centuries of lesser sorcerers, residents of the realm, had been laid to rest and magic was said to cling to their bones. Eerie shapes took form in the constant fog, the outlines of people lurked in the periphery of the bugbear’s eye but dispersed when he tried to look directly at them. Despite the sky being cloudless the sun shone only weakly here, but it was enough light for Garret to pull out the invitation he’d shown the guards. They saw only a simple writ of passage, but the bugbear could read the code hidden among the characters, giving him directions.

Garret laid his hand on the doorknob and turned it. The door was unlocked not because it had been left open for him but because none of the doors there were ever locked. Or rather, they never stayed locked. The house wanted visitors.

The bugbear slipped inside. No lights lit the dusty hallway he found himself in but he didn’t need any. His eyes quickly adjusted to the gloom and the corridor revealed itself to his gaze. His night vision didn’t include color but he didn’t need it to tell how faded with age the wallpaper was.

He followed the instructions, heading down the corridor to the fifth door on the right. He went through and into another identical hallway. This time his destination was the seventh door on the left. Beyond was another hallway that looked much the same as the previous two. This time he went to the door at the opposite end.

It had occurred to Garret that he had already covered more ground that could logically have fit within the house he saw from the outside. The rumor was the open portal to the Other Side somewhere in the mansion caused the twisted space. But Garret knew enough about magic to know packing extra dimensions into fixed space was child’s play, if the child in question was one of those prodigies who went through college before going through adolescence.

Three more corridors, one landing, a mezzanine, and a gravity-defying tangle of stairways later, Garret came at last to the door he was looking for. Opening it and going inside saw him in a comfortable, if dour, parlor. First Apprentice Borusu sat in an overstuffed armchair that made even the broad wyrmkin seem small by comparison.

“Welcome,” he said. “Right on time as planned. Please, have a seat.” He gestured at the chair on the other side of a small table with a tea service on it.

Garret slid into the chair, taking in all possible exits to the room.

“Not much for conversation, are we?” Borusu asked as he filled a teacup with steaming water. “You brought the package, correct?”

Garret nodded and produced the vial from its pouch secured to his belt.

Borusu took it from the bugbear and held it up to his eye, examining the liquid within. It looked like water with tiny silver flakes in suspension. He raised a scaly eyebrow. “It is just as I expected.”

Garret finally spoke up and broke Borusu’s trance-like fixation on the vial. “You will report that it was delivered successfully?”

Borusu waved him of. “Yes, yes, I will tell your family that their courier came through. You do not seem to want to stay for tea so I will not keep you any longer than necessary. Truth be told, this house does unnerve me as well. You should be able to retrace your route here to leave.”

The bugbear paid the First Apprentice a polite nod and rose out of the chair. “I will take my leave then,” said Garret as he made for the door. He stepped back out into the corridor and looked around. He was in an unfamiliar hallway now. The knot of of stairways he’d taken on the way in was nowhere to be seen. He spun around, looking to reenter the parlor but found a blank wall there.

“Sorcerers,” Garret growled and set off, arbitrarily going to the right.

This time there were no doors, not on either side and not at the end of the hallway. In fact, there was no end to the hallway, it just stretched on and on into the gloom. Worse, the gloom bore down on him and clouded even his excellent night vision. Time passed and an unfamiliar emotion reasserted itself within the bugbear. Fear.

It was supposed to be simple, deliver the vial and he’d be free from the family business. Garret, real name Garrote Ghrishkrik, his surname a goblin word that loosely translated to “Stab-You-in-the-Back-and-Throw-Your-Body-in-the-Sewer” came from a big family of bugbear ne’er-do-wells. His childhood had been full of lessons in the finer points of stealth, knife-play, and a not insignificant amount of stealth-magic.

Little Garrote was on track to become the family’s next star assassin when he gt bit by the show business bug. His musical education began as training for a cover identity blossomed into a career he wanted to pursue. But his was not a family that was easy to walk away from. To keep his cousins from treating him as a loose end, he ran errands for family stationed in faraway places, the kinds of places a traveling bard would not be out of place. He mainly ran messages, sometimes payments, and very rarely poisons.

This job was meant to be his final assignment. Deliver the vial to the First Apprentice and the Ghrishkrik clan would consider his debt squared. And now here he was, cut loose from his kin in a mansion that might actually live up to its macabre reputation.

A hot rush of fear threatened to well up inside his chest but Garret took several deep breaths to master it. He remembered his original name, Garrote, and why he had that name. His family named themselves after everything dark, grim, frightening, and morbid. The way there would be no reason for them to feel fear when if they themselves were already the most frightening things around.

“I am the knife in the dark, the stalker in the shadows, the bloody fangs in the night,” he told himself. “This house is nothing but… illusion,” he said aloud, looking to reassure himself.

He had been briefed when he accepted the vial, how King Dweomerhorn’s sorcerous gifts leaned into the illusory. He mainly used them to delight visitors with all manner of glamours, letting children act out their favorite stories. But Garret also knew that, when applied maliciously, illusion could drive a mortal mad, scramble their senses, or lock a person away in a dream from which they would never awaken. Garret really hoped his current predicament was not that last one.

But the bugbear did stop and pause. Going in this direction resulted in an endless hallway. But it couldn’t possibly be easier to turn around. Could it?

Garret turned around and saw the end of the hallway and a door.

“This is not funny,” he growled at the house. Somewhere something creaked and it sounded suspiciously like laughter.

But a door was a door and it was a way out of that corridor so he took it. He stepped into a ballroom. It should have still been light outside but only a dim and sickly green glow came from the floor to ceiling windows that lined one wall. Several chandeliers hung from overhead, only sullen embers burning in the sconces. A large pipe organ took up the entirety of the far wall. Garret wondered if the mezzanine that overlooked him now was the one he’d taken on his way towards the parlor.

For a brief moment he wondered if Borusu would take this path back and the need for payback itched at the back of his mind. Garret never went anywhere without a pair of blades hidden in the sleeves of his tunic.

He took a step into the ballroom, looking for some way up to the balcony when the windows opened and fog came streaming in. It swirled around him and collapsed into humanish forms. The figures, with obscured features like they were being seen through frosted glass, manifested in two lines, forming a path up to the pipe organ. Bereft of alternatives, Garret took a careful approach down the line.

Like the fog among the gravestones, he couldn’t make out details when he looked straight on the phantoms, but he could see faces out the corner of his eyes. And the faces that haunted the fringes of his sight dredged up buried memories.

There was Jorg Clefthammer. He was a dwarf merchant and the target on the first time Garret was sent out to shadow one of his cousins on assignment. Garret had looked away when Cousin Pyroclasm ended his life with a flaming dagger.

And then he saw Leremyr Wainwright. She was to be Garret’s quarry on his first solo assignment. But the bugbear made it clear he couldn’t go through with being a killer. Her shade her suggested someone else had finished his task.

Unless?

Were they really the dead? Or was this his own imagination? His own guilty conscience taking shape?

In any event, he had reached the organ. An indistinct shape took a seat on the bench and, without ado, began to play. It only played a short movement and then stopped. The fog twisted, as if it was waiting for Garret to react.

Garret looked around and shrugged, unsure of what was expected of him.

A cold breeze washed over him and, from the mist, a lute appeared and was thrust into his hands.

The phantom turned back to the organ and played again. Garret hesitantly tried to replicate the piece in strings.

Back and forth they went, the phantom organist playing and waiting for Garret to copy it. The piece was low, slow, and doleful, at once suggesting both evening rest and eternal rest. The spectral teacher drilled him, having him repeat it until the shade finally appeared satisfied with its living pupil. Its shape expanded back into a cloud of mist and blew away along with the rest of the vapor in the room.

Garret looked down and, after everything he’d just experienced, was only mildly shocked to find his borrowed lute replaced with a clump of sheet music crumpled up in his hand. Smoothing it out he was unsurprised to find it was the piece he’d just learned.

A faint susurrus arose from the wisps of fog that flowed in from the windows, it crossed the ballroom and disappeared out the now open double doors. Gifted with a clear path, Garret followed the chill breeze as it wound its way through a maze of rooms. Each had been richly appointed at some point in the past, full of glories from another age. But Garret paid them no mind, he wanted out.

Eventually, but too long for the bugbear’s liking, the vapor led him to the grand foyer. The great doors opened of their own accord and deposited him on the front steps.

Garret leaned against the stone post at the top of the banister and realized he was out of breath and shivering, his breath visible in the sunlight. Grateful to be outside, he started back for the hotel, not even trying to stay out of sight.

---

Kyvyk felt useless.

Not in a bad way, of course. It was more accurate to say he felt blessedly superfluous. His role as tour guide lost its necessity as the Corinos received a personal escort around the airship hangar by the Apprentice responsible for the workshop.

It was fortunate, as the family peppered Apprentice Eolin with questions almost as quickly as the gnome could answer, questions Kyvyk could never answer himself. In his usual experience, most children were less than impressed with the magitechnical aspects of his realm. By this time on his last tour, the family had already returned to the Castle and Kyvyk was using his illusion spells to let the children live their dreams of flying around on a pegasus. Obviously, allowing children to ride flying creatures unsupervised was madness, so he just wove a charm that convinced the riders they were in the sky while, in truth, they simply rode atop ponies with fake wings led around a course. Kyvyk knew illusions, the spell to slow a fall was something he’d never had the opportunity to learn.

In fact, the family was so taken with the hangar facility they declared their intention to spend the rest of the day there, picking the mage-engineers brains about their vocation. The king graciously excused himself, inwardly pleased at an early end to his duties. He boarded the royal carriage and headed back towards the Castle.

As the car glided along its northward course, Kyvyk looked out to see angry storm-clouds drawing near, thunderheads with flashes of lightning illuminating their depths. He wanted to will the unirail to move faster. Kyvyk didn’t enjoy being out on the rail during storms. The vehicles were insulated but he hated being that close to the thunder. He felt safer behind the sturdy stone walls of his home.

To his relief, the carriage returned to the Castle before the storm could break over him. His car circled the castle clockwise so he’d arrive from the west. Kyvyk looked down from the carriage and saw that bard from the morning crossing the lawn, moving to meet with a bugbear who, judging from his size, was the cloaked figure from the wagon. An idea struck the king. The clock was ticking towards dinner, he had no plans, and these two bards were about to be caught in a sudden storm. As soon as he arrived at the Castle station he called to one of the guards stationed there, giving them the message to send word that the bards outside that the king wanted to host them for an informal dinner. The guards had helmets specifically enchanted to allow such orders to be quickly relayed and so the request was sent down to the guards at ground level.

---

As Gannen made it back to the lawn on the west side of the castle, he spied Garret walking from the direction of the mansion. “Hey!” he called out. “Glad to see you up,” said Gannen as he went over to his partner. “Guess we did get a pretty early start this morning, huh?”

Garret looked at Gannen and blinked a few times, taking a moment to realize he was there.

“Are you sleepwalking?” the minotaur asked.

“What? Oh, oh no,” the bugbear finally replied. “it’s just… I thought I’d check out that guest mansion and...”

“I was told it’s not safe,” offered Gannen.

Garret let out a long agreeing whistle. “It really isn’t.”

“Because of the portal?”

“No, I think it’s full of illusions run amok,” replied Garret, trying to convince himself more than answer. “You would not believe the kind of day I had in there.”

“You wouldn’t believe the kind of day I had either!” said Gannen happily.

At that Garret’s stomach audibly rumbled, and was answered from above by a rolling peal of thunder.

“Maybe we should tell each other about our days over dinner?” Gannen suggested.

“About that!” said a voice from around both their knees and both musicians almost jumped.

One of the gnome guards had come over to them while they were talking. “His Highness, King Kyvyk Dweomerhorn I, extends a gracious invitation to join him for dinner in his private dining room.” Thunder rumbled again and the sun went behind a cloud. “Please choose quickly, I’m holding a lightning rod here,” the gnome thumped his pike in emphasis.

The two musicians looked up at the ominous sky, looked to each, then looked at the gnome and nodded. One of the rules of a traveling bard was to never refuse an invitation to a meal, especially when they didn’t have to pay.

The gnome, relieved to be headed inside, led the two bards across the bridge. He asked them about any food allergies or aversions to pass along to the chef. But traveling bards didn’t have the luxury of being choosy.

They followed the guard through a tangle of passages. Gannen marked down each turn they took, minotaurs had a knack for navigation. Garret was acutely reminded of the mansion’s hallways but at least these corridors stayed in one place, one size, and one constant concept of up and down.

They eventually arrived at a nondescript door, one among the many and were ushered through. Inside the pair found themselves in a small but comfortable room with a simple round table draped with purple tablecloth surrounded by half a dozen wooden chairs with plump cushions on them. Across from the entrance the wall was spanned by windows. The sky flashed and rain began to pelt the panes. Their guard bade them sit and let them know the king would be along shortly.

“He did say this was going to be an informal thing, right?” asked Garret as they sat down. In that moment he felt less than ready to be received by royalty. He hadn’t even really cleaned up since the morning’s wagon ride.

“I would hope so,” answered Gannen. The minotaur realized he too was a bit unkempt after his unexpected hike. He began to hear the siren song of their room’s bathtub calling to him.

“Hold on,” said Gannen as he pulled out his lyre. He began to strum a lively little ditty. Once the melody ended fur and mane and garment all looked more presentable. ‘Getting stage ready’ was what Gannen named that minor spell and it had saved their reputation many a time whenever they had gotten to a venue without proper time to clean up.

No sooner had the minotaur spruced the pair up a different door opened and King Kyvyk Dweomerhorn entered. Both bards scrambled to get to their feet.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Kyvyk waved off their gesture. “Be at ease. You are not my subjects, I am not your king. This is an informal affair. Tonight I am but a simple music aficionado dining with fellow instrumentalists.” He carried a violin case that he placed on a side table next to the door he came in from.

Gannen and Garret exchanged a look. Neither had heard anything about the king of Summer Haven having musical talent.

“I didn’t realize you played,” said Gannen as Kyvyk took a seat across from them. “Uh, your majesty?” he added, unsure of protocol.

“Oh no,” Kyvyk waved him off. “None of that. No titles. I’m simply Kyvyk tonight.”

“Garret Ghrishkrik,” said the bugbear as he reached across the table, the length of his arm leaving Kyvyk slightly shocked by how far bugbear arms could go. But he was trained for diplomacy and recovered quickly enough to accept the handshake.

“Gannen Gairm,” the other minotaur said as he walked around the table. He lowered his head and pointed his horns forward, waiting.

And waited some more.

Kyvyk cleared his throat. “Am I… I don’t know this gesture.”

Gannen looked up, taken aback. “The horn grab? Others call it the ‘Minotaur Handshake’?”

Kyvyk’s ears started to twitch rapidly and he started to feel warm under the collar. Sure, he’d encountered fellow minotaurs during his time as king, but it just now dawned on him that, in almost all of those interactions, it had been a formal setting where his status as king overrode his identity as a minotaur.

“Uh, forgive me, that’s not really a thing around here,” Kyvyk tried a recovery. “But, please, go on. I would like to learn your custom.”

“….alright,” said Gannen as he lowered his head again. “I point my horns to you and you either grab the tip for a second or even just tap it. The tap works best for when they have a missing or broken horn. Even just tapping the base where a horn would be suffices.” He tried to hide his amazement that a minotaur king would be that unfamiliar with a near universal gesture among horned kind.

Kyvyk reached out and tapped one of Gannen’s bronze horn caps.

“And now you do likewise,” said the bard. “It’s a sign of peace. That our horns are just part of us and are not brought here for violence.”

Kyvyk bowed his head haltingly. His horns had thin stripes of leather wrapped around like a lattice. Gannen lightly tapped his right prong.

“So, handshakes are a thing too among bugbears, I take it?” said Kyvyk turning back this other guest and trying to smooth out his embarrassment.

Garret grinned, baring his fangs. “In cross-cultural contexts. You said this was informal but I can’t imagine you’d be comfortable with me trying to sample your scent.” he wrinkled his bearlike nose to accentuate his point.

“Ah, yes, very good,” said Kyvyk with a nervous chuckle as he sat back down. “I know you only arrived this morning but have you been enjoying the kingdom so far?”

Gannen nodded. “So far, yes. I took a hike up your red rock mount over there. It’s beautiful but was it right to take it from its home and bring it here?”

Kyvyk started to pour wine for his guests. “I’ve always been told the Sorcerer brought it here because it was a gift.”

The two bards exchanged another look. “That’s not the way the Otrega tell it,” said Gannen.

“What is the Otrega?” asked the king.

“A people from out west,” replied Gannen. “The way they tell it the Sorcerer decided he wanted their sacred mount for his garden so he just,” the bard snapped his fingers, “took it.”

Kyvyk went silent, unaware that the glass he was filling was now full and all he was currently doing was staining the tablecloth. He realized what he was doing and hurriedly tried to sop it up with a napkin but only accomplished soaking his sleeve. “I, uh, hadn’t heard that. At least, not according to my kingly education. The Academy must have skipped that lesson.”

Gannen’s ears perked up at that. “The Academy? Which one?”

“Oh, uh, well,” the king fussed with the mess of his napkin and sleeves and tablecloth. “Royal Academy. For royals. Small place, way up north. You probably wouldn’t know it.” That wasn’t truly a lie. He did come from a small place far to the north that the bards were unlikely to know. And it was called an academy, though that was only because it was the nicest closest synonym. It couldn’t really be called an orphanage because Kyvyk really hadn’t been an orphan, as least he thought so. A less charitable term would have been ‘asylum’ for the fortress-like building that filled his earliest childhood memories. All those who exhibited side effects from exposure to the wild magic that night were taken there to protect their families and communities from the often uncontrolled energies. And once Kyvyk’s powers appeared to settle down, people arrived to take him down to Summer Haven to be further educated and trained to be its Sorcerer King.

“Oh look at that we need another bottle of wine,” said Kyvyk, trying to divert attention. “Allow me to fetch another and I’ll check on what Chef is preparing.” He ducked out the door.

Garret and Gannen looked at each other. Him. Strange, Garret signed in their personal shorthand sign language. A condensed version of the more common sign language, Garret had pared it down to basic concepts that could be transmitted through subtle gestures. It enabled them to communicate during performances and let Gannen know when Garret sensed lies during negotiations. The bugbear claimed he could smell lies but Gannen suspected that was a bit of an exaggeration.

Is lying? Gannen signed back. He saw the wisdom in communicating this way, in the event anyone was listening in on them. Royalty had the habit of building secret eavesdropping nooks into their residences. Hiding something, the minotaur added.

Lying no, hiding yes, the bugbear replied. Talk past nervous make, their cipher was good for basic concepts but left grammar as more of an afterthought. But it worked.

They both looked up in unison as Kyvyk came back in, his stained robe exchanged for a simple tunic. He carried a silver ewer and filled the glasses with water. “I gave a tour today and it took a little more out of me than I thought so I hope water is alright. Chef assured me the eggplant fillets will more than make up for the lack of more wine.”

“Tell us about these tours, if you don’t mind,” said Gannen. He was legitimately intrigued.

That was a subject back in Kyvyk’s comfort zone and he launched into accounts of families he’d led around the kingdom over the years, regaling the pair with anecdotes of his favorite moments. He told of how families loved riding the exotic fauna in the Menagerie, the Warden convincing some of the rowdier beasts to tolerate being a mount for a few minutes. He also shared tales of how some of the visiting children loved it when he used his illusion spells to let them live out portions of their favorite stories, playing heroes and heroines, princes, princesses, and villains.

“So you’re an illusionist?” asked Garret next. “Care to show us what you can do?”

Kyvyk scratched his chin. “Well… Borusu said I should conserve it for tomorrow’s festival, but I think I can spare a little bit.” He closed his eyes and wove his hands in a complex pattern. Garret could hear him muttering under his breath. Wisps of color flew out from the corners of the room and gathered in the center of the table, assembling themselves into an adorable griffin cub-chick. “Behold!” Kyvyk exclaimed proudly. “The little griffin from the beloved tale ‘The Littlest Griffin’!”

Gannen pulled out his lyre and started to play a jaunty little tune and an illusory hoop appeared in the air over the table. “Can you make it fly through the hoop?”

The illusory beast jumped into the air and passed through the ring. “Child’s play!” said Kyvyk. “Literally. Kids love this one!”

Gannen made more hoops appear and Kyvyk had his griffin fly through each, adding loops and barrel rolls as flourishes. So Gannen made them move around and the griffin picked up the pace, chasing them down and diving through them.

A particularly close bolt of lightning flashed outside and the thunder rattled the windows. The fur on the back of Garret’s neck stood on end. While Gannen and Kyvyk focused on their illusions the bugbear folded himself under the table and pulled the cloth to obscure his location.

The door flew open and in strode First Apprentice Borusu.

“Your Highness,” he hissed, hands clasped together in exasperated supplication. “I thought we discussed you conserving your spells for tomorrow’s event? Entertaining itinerant… minstrels,” he said the word like a curse, “is not a prudent exercise of your time.”

“Come now, Borusu,” said Kyvyk, “the tour wrapped early and I figured I had time in my schedule tonight.”

“An early end to the tour means more time to prepare,” said Borusu. From his vantage point under the table Garret could see the wyrmkin tapping one talon impatiently on the wood floor.

“And these musicians,” the Apprentice went on, “need to prepare themselves. They are to be joining you for the climax of the festivities, at the main stage.”

“What?!” Gannen blurted out. “On the main stage? In front of everyone?” he was told they’d be playing one of the small side venues, one act among many during the evening leading up to the main event. The idea of an audience of at least several hundred flooded his stomach with dread. He was an intimate venue bard! he wanted to cry out.

“Yes, you and your scraggly accomplice, wherever he is now, will perform before His Majesty himself brings the ceremony to its apex. Play whatever you think appropriate for occasion. I’m sure every piece in your repertoire is equally underwhelming.”

Gannen was about to object to that description of their act but the wyrmkin turned back to the king. “Now, your highness, we must be off.”

“But they haven’t even eaten yet!” said Kyvyk.

Borusu sniffed in disdain. “They may eat down in the kitchen with those of their station if they wish but we really must be going.”

The wyrmkin was practically dragging Kyvyk out the door by his sleeve and the king offered no real resistance. “I’m sorry about this,” he grunted as he was steered away. “We should try this again somet-!” he managed to get out just before being pulled out of sight.

Garret rolled out from under the table. The two musicians shared a look as the bugbear stood up.

“I get the feeling that ‘king’ is a less prestigious role in this land than I was lead to believe,” said Gannen.

“Borusu seems to pull a lot of weight around here,” agreed Garret.

“What was with that disappearing act under the table?”

“Oh, uh,” sputtered Garret for a second. “I, uh, ran into him in the guest mansion. Made an ass out of myself in the meeting and I didn’t want to risk another scene.”

“Oh,” Gannen scratched his chin. “Guess that’s why he has a such a low opinion of our vocation.”

Garret swallowed his doubts as to the accuracy of that statement. “I don’t trust that scaly creep,” he muttered. “Maybe I should take a look around.”

“He’s a bit of an ass but I don’t know if you need to do all that,” said the minotaur.

Garret was about to object but another chill ran down his spine. “Maybe you’re right. I don’t do my best work on an empty stomach anyway.”

“Down to the kitchen, then?”

“Alright,” the bugbear relented.

---

From his vantage point high in one of the Castle spires Borusu watched the rain finally taper off. The clouds parted and the last sliver of a waning crescent moon sat high in the sky.

He stood before the tall narrow window, clawed hands clasped behind his back. Glancing down he saw two figures who had to be the two minstrels cross the bridge over the moat, making their way back to their lodgings. Borusu hated that his plan included indulging them a suite at the Grand Haven, that was a room that could have hosted paying guests.

Borusu also had no idea how that mangy bugbear managed to find his way out of the mansion. He had planned on the house claiming another soul, cleanly clipping a possible loose end in his plan. Still, he was but a performer. Him and his ignorant partner would serve to keep Kyvyk at ease during the ceremony.

The wyrmkin’s gaze drifted to the ice dome in the distance. “Soon,” he purred to himself. “Soon all my plans will come to fruition.”

It was inevitable. He was the smartest sorcerer in the kingdom for now, and none of the ignoramuses that surrounded him had any idea that he was even plotting.

---

“So what’s Borusu plotting?” asked Gannen as he flopped down on the overstuffed sofa in their suite. Both he and Garret carried leftovers from the Castle kitchen wrapped in foil and made to look like wyverns in flight. Their food was all fruit and vegetable based, the chef explains they used all the produce of the realm’s hydroponic garden complex.

“Call me crazy, but I think he means us harm?” Garret offered as he sat down in the room’s armchair. “He seems protective of his king. Or at least the concept of his king.”

“And he expects us to perform on the big stage, for the big moment,” mused Gannen. “I don’t know if we have anything for an audience that big. I don’t know if I can handle being in front of an audience that big.”

Garret leaned over and put his hand on Gannen’s shoulder. “I know you prefer dim taverns to big arenas. And, if we weren’t involved in the schemes of someone who’s both sorcerer and politician, I’d recommend a blindfold. But it seems we need to keep both eyes open.”

Gannen drew in a breath and let it out slowly. “Ask if we can get a spotlight. If I don’t see the crowd I can pretend they’re not there. Oh!” he perked up and reached for his lyre.

“I didn’t have the chance to mention that I did pick up a new tune today!” he pulled out the parchment on which he’d written the strange eagle’s song.

Garret took it and scanned it, humming it to himself. “Good lead in, nice crescendo, I think this could work. Me on my lute can handle this part. What about you?”

“I’m thinking flute for this part,” replied Gannen. “Based on where I learned it from.”

“And where was that?”

Gannen related his tale of the strange eagle on top of the rocks with an unusual grasp of melody. “I think it had to have been someone’s familiar,” the minotaur added.

Garret scratched his neck thoughtfully. “This is land full of mages. Who knows what’s seeped into the groundwater and what it’s done to the local wildlife? Anyway, you’re not the only one who picked up a new tune.” Garret produced his own notes taken from the ghostly organist and shared his story of his time in the mansion.

The minotaur too hummed the song to himself. He stopped midway through and his eyes went wide.

“What’s wrong?” asked the bugbear.

Gannen spoke slowly, unsure of if he was right. “These notes here… Reversed they’re a common melody used among those bards of necromantic bent. A Danse Macabre, if you will.”

“What does it mean if they’re reversed?”

“Music that makes the dead rise but backwards? It’s possible this is about putting them back in the ground?”

Garret snorted. “You’re the trained bard here and you don’t know for sure?”

Gannen sighed. “What I do… It’s like wizardry in some ways but very different in others. You know how a very skilled mimic, the performer kind, could replicate a mage’s gestures and words perfectly but actually cast a spell?”

Garret, no stranger to spellcraft himself, nodded.

The minotaur went on. “You have to internalize what the words and motions mean, really understand them to make the spell happen. Bardsong, true bardsong, is easier in that we work with notes and melodies instead of math made into words. But while book mages can carry around any spell they might want and call upon it when needed, a bard can only work magic through those songs that resonate with them. I haven’t studied this strain of morbid music so I can only go off of what other tales tell. Believe it or not, most respectable bard colleges don’t teach this sort of thing and I really wouldn’t want it resonating with my soul even if they did.”

“So we...”

“So we practice both,” said Gannen. “We’ll make ‘What the Weird Bird Sings’ be our number for the big moment but keep ‘Necromantic Nocturne’ in the back pocket just in case.”

“We’re not calling them that,” the bugbear snorted.

“Code-names until we think of better titles,” Gannen said with the hint of a grin. “Anyway, I have a strange premonition these songs just might be what this kingdom needs.”

The tingle on the back of Garret’s neck told him the minotaur may have been correct.

---

The day of the Black Moon Festival dawned hot and steamy, the sun once more rising through a thick haze blanketing the kingdom.

Gannen and Garret spent the morning practicing their new songs in the shadow of the Dweomerhorn. They had located a cavern within the peak near the base where the endless winter that shrouded the rock met the outside climate and resulted in tolerable temperatures. Some intrepid tourists stumbled upon them and listened to their rehearsal for a short while but left when they didn’t recognize the songs. “Come see our real show at the Chimera and Cockatrice Coffeehouse later!” said Gannen to some of the spectators. He received noncommittal grunts in reply.

But their actual performance at the Coffeehouse went spectacularly. The room was dimly lit as was requested. “Bugbear eyes work best in low light,” Garret explained, covering so Gannen didn’t have to admit he floundered when he could see the audience.

The due went with their tried and true “Lute and Flute Combo” so Gannen could move around on stage, keeping the crowd out of his sight while worked the woodwind. Garret sat for some numbers, but stood up and moved to the music on others, weaving around Gannen in practiced ease.

Today’s set list they chose from their favorite folk ballads from both sides of the ocean and from up north. Tears flowed from “The Wind That Stirs the Heather,” toes tapped to “Star of the Barrow Downs,” and knowing glances were shared among the adults of the room during “Hey Ho Did The Sailor Blow.”

But then their time on the small stage ended and the sun slid towards the horizon. Borusu sent a small honor guard to escort them to the main stage before the ice dome, the unspoken message was deafening. The guards allowed the pair to collect their other instruments before taking them to the nearest unirail station and putting them on a train heading south. “You’ll be met with your next escort at the workshop’s station.”

“You know,” observed Garret once their car left the station, “I could probably jump out now and land on a rooftop. But then I’d miss seeing all this play out.”

“And you’d never let me hog all the fun,” said Gannen with a light chuckle.

“You could jump out too,” the bugbear shot back. “You’re sturdy, I’m sure you’d limp away.”

Gannen leaned back and let out a sigh. “Are we insane? Meddling in the affairs of sorcerers in the heart of their kingdom while attracting the specific attention of the most ambitious and ruthless of them?”

Garret sat in silence, weighing whether to say he had seen similar scrapes before. He took solace in the pair of shortblades strapped to the insides of his forearms.

“Then again,” mused the minotaur, “we did each pick up a new song from the kingdom itself. Fortunes have hinged on less auspicious omens.”

“Yeah but what’s the ratio of history to fable there?” snorted Garret.

“It skews more towards myth but not by as wide a margin as you’d think,” said Gannen. “Like the time Lord Bartleby IV of Clovinia escaped an assassination attempt because he thought he saw a pixie beckoning to him. Of course, he was a little mad so it might have been a stopped clock situation. But we’ve met a king too and I think this whole place is more than a little mad.”

Now it was Garret’s turn to laugh.”Then I guess we fit right in.”

“Not too much, I would hope,” said the minotaur. “This place is pretty but I’d rather see the places it’s imitating.” He gestured out the window. In the fading daylight they could see the complex that sat across from the Workshops.

The Sorcerer ordered the construction of numerous pavilions to house the tribute he received from nations across the globe, and each part contained a miniature replica of some famous building from their home region. The pair could see a pagoda spire, a castle made to look more like a fortress than a palace, several squat stone buildings, and pyramids in the style of two different continents. Outsiders called the pavilions pale shadows of the originals but were better than nothing.

Their train made its way to the station and another honor guard flowed inside to see the pair safely delivered to their destination. That destination being the large plaza between the huge icy dome and the pavilions. Grandstands rose from either side, turning the plaza into something like an amphitheater or arena. Every seat appeared occupied, every resident and visitor must have turned out for the rare occasion of a Black Moon Festival. Without any moon that night to overpower them the stars began to peek out of the deepening gloom. Soon they filled the vault of the sky overhead.

The lights around the complex dropped low as their escort led the two performers to the large dais. A faint light emanated from deep within the ice dome, legend held that was the spirit of the Sorcerer, still tethered to his preserved body at the heart.

Close to their dais rose the royal box. Through the low light Garret could see His Highness sitting on a smaller throne. First Apprentice Borusu stood by his side. Garret thought he could almost see the wyrmkin fidgeting with a glass vial before stuffing it into the sleeve of his robe. He considered the benefits and drawbacks of throwing himself at the sorcerer knives out, but all the armed guards and sorcerers made sure that notion faded quickly.

As the two performers situated themselves on the stage the voice of some announcer ensconced in some out of sight booth boomed out. “Sorcerers and honored visitors! Welcome to Summer Haven’s Black Moon Festival! Our honored sovereign, King Kyvyk Dweomerhorn I, wishes you to have an unforgettable evening.” A spotlight illuminated the royal box and the minotaur within rose to wave to the crowd. A huge cheer went up from the stands.

“We have a very special evening planned for you all, and it begins with our guest musicians!”

The spotlight over Kyvyk went out and a new one lit up Garret and Gannen’s dais. To the minotaur’s relief, everything beyond their circle of light sat lost in shadow. The whole amphitheater went silent. Gannen closed his eyes and drew in a breath. Tock tock tock echoed throughout the complex, Gannen stomped his hoof, counting off the beat. Subtle enchantments woven into the bandstand amplified the sound without distortion to all corners of the realm. Neither musician knew it, but their song was being heard even among the Castle grounds.

Garret took up his lute and started strumming, low and rapid, a rumbling thunder in the distance that picked up the pace. The melody built up until Gannen brought his flute to his lips and broke the tension with a long, high note that cut through the heart of the crowd.

The tempo changed, the key changed, Gannen flowed right into the trilling, a wondrous flowing river of notes that twisted and turned like a summer breeze. Garret took it up, playing counterpoint. Both musicians dodged and wove around each other, adding a dance to the melody.

The crowd stared enraptured. Kyvyk leaned in on his throne, obvious to Borusu trying to push him back in his seat as he felt it unseemly for a king to be seen enjoying things by those who did not pay extra for the opportunity.

Finally their song reached its conclusion and silence descended again. The crowd released a breath they didn’t know they had been holding. Then came the applause. The wave of sound washed over the bugbear and minotaur, and they bowed, grateful for the crowd’s reaction.

The unseen announcer’s voice came back. “And now, a rare performance from out gracious and wise ruler, King Dweomerhorn!”

Lights embedded in the ground illuminated a path from the royal box up to the dais. Garret’s heart pounded in his ears as he saw Borusu hand Kyvyk a glass. The king downed its contents and the bugbear had no doubts as to what that vessel contained. Then the wyrmkin stared directed at him and waved his hand in an arcane gesture. Garret’s feet became rooted to the spot. He looked over at Gannen and saw fear in the minotaur’s eyes. Gannen had enough control to be able to sign no way out but through now.

Kyvyk came forward carrying a finely crafted violin and bow. Gannen didn’t need to cast anything to sense the pure magic pouring from the wood. The king stepped up to the dais and his part of the floor rose higher, lifting him up onto a pedestal. He looked down at the two performers. If he saw the terror in their eyes he did not react to it. The king then looked over at Borusu, who stood in the shadows beside the royal box. The First Apprentice motioned for him to begin already.

The king closed his eyes, held the violin up to his chin, and drew the bow across the strings. He began to play a strange warbling tune and Borusu’s spell compelled Garret and Gannen to accompany even though they had never encountered the piece before.

In his mind, Garret tried to fight back. He knew some of the trickier ways to evade magical control but whatever spells Borusu employed far exceeded his training. He could only hope Gannen was faring better.

For his part, Gannen fumed inside. How dare he hijack my music?! raged inside the minotaur’s mind. Some might say that a clear head was needed to throw off an outside will. But in Gannen’s experience fury sometimes had its place. He called up all his indignation at being made to play a song against his will, girding himself with memories off all the juvenile rebellion songs he learned before going off to university, throwing his righteous anger against the strings puppeting his body.

And the strings snapped.

Borusu’s haughty expression dropped as Gannen ceased playing his flute. He made to charge the wyrmkin when a flash of light blinded everyone present. The bard blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to see through the multicolored light that bathed the vicinity.

It came from Kyvyk, who had stopped playing and now levitated several feet above his podium. Garret had also been freed from the Apprentice's control. He had dropped to his knees, tears streaming down his face as his sensitive eyes reeled in pain.

The king emanated all the colors of the rainbow and then some. Borusu stepped forward, casting a new spell. He pointed at Kyvyk and then at the ice sphere. Kyvyk’s shifting shroud of chaos shot forward like a dart and burrowed deep into the core of the frozen mass. Then the king fell back to earth and slumped down on the podium.

“It is done!” the First Apprentice crowed in triumph. He began to walk towards the hole in the ice. “Finally, after all these years pretending this ignorant ox was worthy of your legacy, I offer his wild magic up to you, oh mighty Sorcerer!” he cried aloud, heedless of everyone around him. His plan had succeeded and no one could stop him now. “I have given you fresh power, of the kind you once wielded! Now return to us, oh lord, that I might be your hand in this world!”

The edges of the hole gave birth to cracks that spread outward, covering the surface of the ball. The blue light inside grew brighter, and then dimmer as a vast shape could be sen moving inside. Then, all at once, the sphere broke apart.

Terror entered the world.

Amid the frozen wreckage rose a dragon, its body easily over fifty feet long. Whoever operated the spotlights shone them on the dragon and thousand of gold coins and gems embedded in the beast’s hide sparkled, speckling the crowd with pinpricks of light. The crowd, for their part, stared in open awe at the spectacle.

Borusu stood frozen like a statue as the dragon pulled itself free from the ice. He dimly registered that a full grown dragon stood before him. Right now his thoughts churned as he tried to understand what had gone wrong.

His mind retraced his plan and fumbled through his understanding of the facts. The Sorcerer was frozen inside the sphere and tonight was the night of a black moon when the right stars were finally properly aligned with the realm’s landmarks. He had even arranged the meteomancers to work extra hours to ensure a clear sky. On such a night the Sorcerer’s spirit would be close to his preserved body, all he lacked to return was an infusion of the same kind of wild magic he wielded all those centuries ago. Kyvyk had that same wild magic. He’d procured Aqua Magus to make Kyvyk’s wild magic run wild, so wild it could be drawn from him and funneled into a new vessel. It should have worked. Only there was a dragon where the Sorcerer should have been.

Sadly for Borusu, he did not see the dragon’s massive paw come sweeping in from the side. His body went flying over the grandstands.

Gannen possessed more wherewithal than the First Apprentice. As soon it became clear the dragon was no friend he drew his flute to his lips and played a short ditty, one that demanded an answer. And he shouted “HYUT!” in reply. The air before him shimmered as a solid wall of sound slammed into the dragon’s chest, sending coins and gems scattering everywhere. But the dragon held its ground and turned its baleful red eyes on the bard. The dragon’s head darted forward, jaws wide.

---

Several miles away an odd occurrence visited the red-rock mountain. Minutes earlier the song Gannen and Garret played, the one the minotaur learned from the strange eagle, had been broadcast throughout the town and castle grounds. It echoed around the crags and reached a small fissure hidden at the apex of the hill. The fissure had been slowly carved by the rain over the centuries the stolen mountain had sat there and only recently opened onto a cavity within the rock. Long ago that cavity would have been accessed by a passage that lead up from below but its original entrance had been buried when the Sorcerer transported the rock without regard to its inner honeycomb of caverns.

Inside that cavity a sky spirit had indeed been sleeping. Deprived of any route to the sky, direct or indirect, the spirit fell dormant in the stagnant darkness. But once the rain cracked its prison, the spirit stirred, drawn by sunlight and music. It sent out a tiny fragment of itself to the source of that song, hoping that find someone it could teach its own song to. And then that musician would find a way to play it loud enough to awaken the rest of its being.

The broadcast provided just that.

Those around the castle grounds heard the distant crack of the ice sphere shattering, the crowd there exchanging words of confusion and concern. A minute later, the sound of rushing wind came from the top of the red-rock mount as the spirit inside had fully awakened.

---

Time seemed to slow for Gannen as he watched those terrible fangs bear down on him, each as long as he was tall. But in that place of stretched time his eyes beheld something that his mind couldn’t believe. The dragon’s head came in slowly, then a fragment of the sky broke loose and came swooping in from overhead. Vicious talons raked the dragon’s neck and time returned to normal, the dragon’s strike going wide as the impact threw it off course.

A deafening shriek rang out through the arena as the piece of the sky whirled around and revealed itself to be a massive eagle, it’s feathers black as the firmament above yet edged with the vibrant gold of the midday sun. The crest atop its head was also golden, and two long golden tails trailed behind it.

Gannen’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of the majestic bird. Part of his mind though that the sailor tales of rocs in remote southern island had a ring of truth and might not be the result of am excess of grog. Another part realized the similarities between this giant and the bird who sang with him the other day.

The great eagle flapped its wings and electricity crackled among its feathers. Lightning arced from its wings into the dragon, who withstood the hit and roared back defiantly. The dragon dragon spread its wings, er, rather, it spread the limbs. It had no membrane between any of the wing digits. Yet it still rose ponderously into the air to give chase to the eagle.

The dragon distracted for the moment, Gannen ran over to Garret, who still rubbed his eyes. “Can you see yet?” asked the minotaur.

“Working on it,” grunted the bugbear.

The bard then scrambled up onto the podium to check on Kyvyk. The king lay curled up in the fetal position.

“Come on, we have to move!” said Gannen as he knelt down to assist the other minotaur. Kyvyk’s hide felt far too warm under the bard’s touch yet he was shivering. Both minotaurs were of similar size, though Kyvyk had a more nourished physique. At least the podium started to descend back to the level of the dais. By the time it lowered all the way a squinting Garret came over to help Gannen get the king to his hooves.

“What’s happening?” the bugbear grunted, wishing the spotlights would shut off. He got his unspoken wish when the dragon’s tail knocked over the one that shone directly down on their location.

“Borusu released a dragon from the ice, then a giant version of my bird friend showed up and now they’re fighting in the sky,” said Gannen hurriedly. As if in response to being mentioned the sky light up with an angry red glare as the dragon spat a lance of flame at its quarry. The eagle rolled out of the way but one of its trails fell away burning.

“Speaking of burning, this guy’s on fire,” Garret remarked, he too could feel the unnatural heat coming from the king’s body.

“He’s been overdosed with a half vial of Aqua Magus,” explained Gannen. “Borusu used it to trigger a magical overload in the king so he could funnel the overload into whatever was lurking in the ice.”

Garret narrowed his eyes at his partner, not solely due to the remaining glare. “How do you know all that?”

“Because of this,” Gannen pulled on a chain around his neck hidden under his collar and produced a small glass vial full of liquid with whirling silver flakes inside.

Garret’s eyes went wide. “How in all Hells did you get that?!”

“I need you to trust me to explain everything later but right now we need to act fast. Kyvyk needs a second dose.”

“What?! You just said he was overdosed!”

“Please, trust me on this!” Gannen implored. “I know what I’m doing.” Inwardly he prayed he was right.

Garret shifted Kyvyk so he faced upward and got his mouth open. The king’s breathing was shallow and rapid. Tears flowed from eyes clenched shut. The bard pulled the cork out of the vial with his teeth and poured the contents down Kyvyk’s throat. “Come on… please work,” the minotaur pleaded.

From somewhere in the distance the eagle screeched and the dragon roared.

Kyvyk opened his eyes, they looked bloodshot. “Wuth’s… wuth’s happ’ning?” he slurred.

“Ice broke and a dragon escaped,” replied Garret

“Oh,” said Kyvyk, dazed. “So that’s where Isynde went...”

“Who?” Garret and Gannen asked in unison.

Kyvyk shambled to his hooves, almost fell, but managed to stay upright with Gannen’s aid. “The Sorcerer’s secret dragon companion,” the king answered the musician’s question before adding, “But, shhh, don’t tell anyone. It’s a secret.”

“Alright,” said Garret, snapping into action. “That bird has bought us some time but how do we deal with a dragon?”

“What about our other song?” asked Gannen. “The one I learned proved useful, let’s see what your dirge can do.”

“How will it reach up there?” he pointed to where the eagle was still dodging the dragon’s attacks, but each gout of flame or talon slash or bite grew closer.

Gannen tapped his hoof on the dais. “Is this thing still transmitting?” The two musicians then shared a look as they realized Kyvyk may have just blurted a kingdom secret to the whole land. “Oh well, no putting the cat back in the bag. You ready?”

Garret held up his lute. “As I’ll ever be.”

Kyvyk stumbled to get his violin. “I’m ready too,” he mumbled.

“Uh, just stand back, your majesty, and if you can’t stand then have a seat. You can join in next time,” said Gannen. “Once you know the tune.”

Up in the distance, the Isynde, the dragon managed to trick the eagle into dodging the wrong way and it flew right into a firestorm. The eagle vanished in a thunderclap. Garret and Gannen nodded to each and began to play once more.

The mournful tune began slowly, low and steady. As they got into the groove their breath started to steam in the air before them. Despite the muggy heat of the evening they found themselves standing in a pool of cold air. Mist rose from the floor around them. Accompaniment came from the clouds as the fog took the shapes of other musicians and joined in. The specters played a violin and an oboe. A full xylophone materialized and its bars looked like a collection of femurs. An entire pipe organ appeared behind the two living performers.

Their doleful piece washed across the kingdom. Isynde, even though it didn’t flap its wings, began to struggle to stay aloft. It dipped dramatically in places but managed to return to almost the same altitude. But its strength gave out just as it returned to the amphitheater. It landed on the floor of the arena but it landed hard. As it struggled to regain its footing, its armored coat of coins and gems began to fall away, exposing taut gray flesh underneath where its scales had long ago sloughed off.

“Oh, great. It’s undead,” Garret growled. “I hope you have a plan because it’s got no vitals for me to stab!”

“Keep playing!” said Gannen between breaths.

And play they did, fighting their own panic to keep time as the huge leathery beast came crawling closer, its wings dangling uselessly on its flanks. “Fighting a frost mummy dragon is not how I saw our last show going!” Garret shouted.

Gannen said nothing, he needed his breath for his flute. His fingers danced over the holes as he concentrated, willing Isynde to succumb to whatever power was held within the notes.

Isynde’s fiery eyes darted between the pair as it neared the stage. Garret’s predatory gaze tried to pick out parts in the exposed hide where he might do so damage. Living or not, there might be a way to sever a limb or even the neck. Something. But his frantic strategizing was interrupted when Kyvyk’s violin started.

Gannen had to concede the king had an ear for music. Even inebriated from the potion’s effects, he had picked up their song and added decent accompaniment.

The three musicians and their ethereal partners assailed the beast with the song, daring to hope as the fire in Isynde’s eyes faded. The great head rolled back and then came slamming down on the area floor with an echoing thud. The dragon’s skull hit the ground with such force its serrated fangs went scattering.

Their song stopped. Nobody moved. The ghostly orchestra faded away like fog dispersed by the wind.

“Is it… dead?” asked Garret. “You know what I mean,” the bugbear added, sensing Gannen’s imminent clarification. He stepped closer to the beast for a better look and Kyvyk came behind.

A premonition of danger ran down Gannen’s spine as he remembered how Isynde had outmaneuvered the Storm Eagle. Undead or not, the beast showed cunning. “Garret, wait!” he cried out, too late.

The red fire blazed anew as Isynde’s head shot forward, maw agape.

The dragon would have swallowed the bugbear in one bite but Kyvyk, throwing aside his violin, pulled Garret back. The two spun around, the king disappearing behind the snapping jaws.

“NO!” roared Gannen.

Garret just roared. He saw red and hurled his lute aside. The bugbear threw his arms to the side and flicked his wrists, causing the blades hidden along his arms to spring out into his waiting hands. They were technically daggers as they were not longer than his forearms, but bugbears had long forearms and that made for distressingly long blades. He rushed forward, long limbs pumping with each stride, and leapt up onto Isynde's face, burying his blades up to their hilts its its eye sockets.

The dragon screamed in rage and tried to shake the bugbear off but Garret clung with ferocious tenacity. With his long shaggy arms and legs, the bugbear resembled a hunting spider hanging on by its fangs. This was, combined with their ursine noses, said to be how bugbears had acquired their common name.

Gannen saw his partner clinging to Isynde’s head, brought his flute up to his lips and played a martial tune, triggering the spell he’d laid upon it earlier that evening back at the room. He held the flute to the sky and, in a flash of light, the instrument exchanged itself for a curved saber whose blade glimmered like the stars on a winter night. The weapon sported a musical staff engraved along the fuller and the evening breeze sang as it passed across its edge.

Praying the dragon was blinded, or at least could only see the daggers, the minotaur dashed forward, his hooves very nearly kicking up sparks on the stone floor. Songblade in hand he hacked at Isynde’s nearest leg, blade cutting deep into the desiccated flesh of the joint.

Gannen dove to the side as the dragon whipped its head around to snap at this new source of pain. Blind as it was, Isynde’s jaws clamped around its own wrist and finished the job Gannen started. The beast rolled over, suddenly unbalanced by the lost of a paw. Coins and gems cascading down from its hide. Garret placed both feet on the dragon’s muzzle and kicked off, pulling his blades free. He landed with a roll and stood up into a fighting crouch.

He had rolled right next to Gannen and both musicians realized their peril at the same time. Isynde drew in a great breath. Its eyes blazed brighter than ever.

And its fire died before it could reach it mouth. Instead, only the sound of a violin being massacred came out.

Isynde opened its maw in mute fury as the sound echoed out from its cavernous jaws. “What the-?” marveled Gannen.

Garret, despite the peril, put his hand to his ear. “It’s… it’s the dirge,” he said, disbelieving.

The dragon tried to rear up again but its body was failing. It was losing not just its coat of treasure but the leathery hide, which began to flake away at a quickening pace. The two musicians rolled away to either side as its head came plummeting down, the impact knocking away all armor and hide and exposing stained bone.

All over Isynde’s body the skin fell away, the ribs now visible. And amid the curving rib bones, stood Kyvyk. He drew his bow across the dried out sinew that filled the dragon’s chest cavity, barely aware that they were disintegrating around him.

Within second all the remained of Isynde was a pile of dry bones.

The two musicians ran to the king’s side as he looked around for more strings to play. Kyvyk’s eyes were red and watery he swayed unsteadily on his hooves. “Is the show over?” he slurred.

“How did you do that?” asked Gannen, genuinely impressed.

“I lost my fiddle,” replied Kyvyk. “I didn’t know what to do but then this thing started glowing,” he nudged a sphere of solid glass with his hoof, and both musicians realized it gave off a subtle light. They also noticed that the orb was surrounded by what appeared to be human bones. Kyvyk went on, “and I saw all those old muscles. I was inside a gut, strings are made of gut. It just made sense.”

Gannen and Garret stared at the king slack-jawed for a moment. And then both burst out laughing.

Then the audience stood up and gave them thunderous applause.

“They thought this was the show?!” Garret yelled into Gannen’s ear to make himself heard over the roar.

“They were promised a very special performance,” Gannen replied. “So let’s live it up!”

They clasped hands, Gannen took Kyvyk’s hand, and they bowed to the crowd. Well, Garret and Gannen did. Kyvyk got the message by the third one.

They were getting ready to step down from the stage when First Apprentice Borusu stepped out from behind the box and limped forward into the amphitheater. The applause vanished in an instant. One of his eyes was swollen shut and he held his right arm protectively over his left side but his expression was one of pure anger.

“You ignorant cow! You wretched… actor!” he spat the words, and some teeth besides. “Do you know how long I prepared for this? How dare you ruin it!?”

The two musicians moved to stand before Kyvyk, who was clearly in no shape to handle the furious sorcerer. “You’re the one who tried to steal his sorcery!” Gannen fired back. “You were the one who revived the damn dragon!”

Borusu’s fury was beyond both Gannen’s words and practical wisdom. “Stand aside, you string-plucking simpletons! I bought that idiotic wannabe sorcerer from that filthy orphanage and put him on a phony throne. If he’s still breathing, he’s got an iota of magic left in him, I won’t stop until the Sorcerer returns and sees my talent!”

“Sorcerer!?” scoffed Garret. “There’s your precious Sorcerer and he won’t ever return!” the bugbear gestured at the skeleton that had been inside Isynde’s stomach.

The wyrmkin let out a laugh so cruel and ugly the sound of crying children arose in the grandstands. “Then I’ll wring every last drop of magic from the king’s body and make myself the new Sorcerer. And then all of you,” he swept his good arm around the arena, “will serve me and only me!” He turned his maddened gaze upon the trio on stage, on Garret specifically. “I’ve heard enough from you, musician. You should have let the mansion claim you. It would have been a kinder end.”

Borusu thrust his hand out and unleashed a stroke of white-hot lightning right at the bugbear. But Borusu’s ire had caused him to fixate on Garret to the point he didn’t see Gannen until the minotaur charged into his tunnel vision. The bard held both his sword in hand and a note on his lips. He whistled high and sharp and the Songblade vibrated along with it. The blade bit into the bolt and held it fast, the electricity arced between bard and sorcerer.

Borusu’s brow furrowed as he poured his anger and resentment into his spell. Sweat beaded on Gannen’s forehead as he sustained the note. The air shimmered under the strain of the opposing energies.

Gannen’s hooves began to slip, he was being pushed slightly backwards. But then Garret’s long arms came from behind. The bugbear wrapped his hands around Gannen’s and whistled too. The sword vibrated so rapidly it began to glow red.

Suddenly Borusu’s eyes went wide as the counterspell won out. The backlash flung him backwards and rolled across the stone floor.

But then the Songblade exploded.

The crowd screamed. Garret’s ears rang. Cries of dismay and confusion came from the sorcerers around the royal box.

“No, no, no! Gannen!” Garret screamed as he knelt down. The minotaur took the full brunt of the blast. Even if anyone in the audience had healing magic they’d never reach him in time.

Kyvyk stood as if in a daze. His body was wrapped up in torpor but his mind snapped to perfect clarity. He saw the sword explode from behind Gannen, saw the minotaur fall backward and the blood spray outward. But something unlocked in his head.

His dream. His repeated dream.

Kyvyk was there. He saw the comet shard explode and his father shield him with his body. But now he saw beyond that moment. His father rolled over and Kyvyk saw his father’s face. That was where Kyvyk learned he looked like his dad.

His father had been slashed by the fragments. His eye looked bad, he probably lost it afterward. But his father ignored that and reached for his son. “I got you, Kyvyk. I got you. I love you, son. Come on, stay with me. Just hold on.”

“Stay with me,” Garret pleaded, holding Gannen’s bloody hand. “Just hold on.”

Kyvyk snapped back to the present. He knew what he had to do. The knowledge came to him, borne by his wild magic, and he understood what he risked.

The soul of sorcery within himself, Kyvyk could feel it pulsing weakly after being assaulted by Borusu’s spell. It needed time to recover but time was a luxury Gannen could not afford. By will alone he reached within himself and pulled at the fringes of that inner core of magic, drawing it like like a dying star flinging its outer layers away. Kyvyk took on that font of chaos and became one with it.

Kyvyk never moved. He simply erased the distance between himself and the two musicians. He didn’t know any healing spells, but he instinctively knew chaos. He forced it to undo what had been done.

Magic flared. Light flashed. The threads of reality groaned as the king sundered effect from cause, clove consequence from action, and forced the universe to ignore how Gannen had stood at the epicenter of the blast.

Kyvyk fell to his knees beside Gannen, who drew a shuddering breath. Kyvyk’s vision swam but he saw it. The bard’s clothes were still a wreck but the sorcerer could only undo catastrophe for a single object and he had chosen the minotaur’s body. Not even a hint of a scar marred the bard’s cream-colored hide.

Gannen sat up, looking as surprised as anyone to still be alive. Garret knocked him back down with a hug.

The crowd went berserk, cheering so loudly the ground itself trembled.

Kyvyk looked up. He saw Borusu staring at him, mouth agape. Before the First Apprentice could cast another spell, a cloud of angry ghosts, the orchestra, swirled up from the ground around him and engulfed him. When the cloud cleared, no trace of the wyrmkin remained.

“Looks like he was… spirited away,” said Kyvyk with a delirious grin. He then toppled over. Only Garret’s long reach kept him from hitting the floor any harder than he did.

At that, a veritable army of guards and lesser sorcerers rushed the stage. Calls went up for medimancers Someone cast an illusion over the stage to conceal the proceedings from the crowd’s eyes and a loud voice thanked them for their attendance for a very special performance and to please take care while leaving the arena.

Garret grabbed the nearest sorcerer, a slight half-elf, by his collar and held him up so they were nose-to-muzzle. “Why didn’t you do anything sooner!?” Garret snarled into the man’s face.

He went white and stammered, “We thought it was part of the show! Borusu told us to hang back, everything would be under control!”

“You have a lot to learn about show business,” the bugbear growled and dropped the mage. “Now go see to them before I have to disembowel someone as encouragement.”

---

Under cover of an illusion of calm, the guards and mages took Gannen and Kyvyk away. Garret walked out under his own strength, although he was harried a kobold who kept casting diagnostic spells on him to ensure he was hale. “I’m fine!” he snarled. “I just need a stiff drink and a soft bed!”

The medical staff felt it prudent to not move the minotaurs far. The pavilions across from the workshops did have lodging and commandeered several of the closest ones for the star performers.

So Garret found himself in the bedroom of a villa modeled after those found in the warm lands across the southern sea, with terracotta roof tiles and adobe walls. The bugbear sat in a chair next to the bed upon which Gannen napped. The minotaur had discovered that being subject to reality bending chaos magic really took it out of person.

Some overeager aide had taken Garret’s quip as a request and procured a bottle of fine beer from a nearby eatery. The bugbear nursed it as he waited for his partner to come around. He was nocturnal by nature and could stay up all night if needed. It was around 2 am that Gannen finally stirred.

The staff felt they couldn’t leave him clad in only the tattered remnants of his tunic so someone claimed a set of minotaur-sized work coveralls from the workshop laundry. The bard yawned and stretched and sat up. He looked towards Garret. The bugbear stared back at him. Silence reigned for a long moment.

“About the Aqua Magus-” Gannen began but couldn’t finish as he found himself crushed by a bugbear hug.

“I don’t care,” said Garret. “I don’t care about that. My family, that job they gave me. I don’t care about any of it. You’re my family and playing by your side is the only job I want.”

“Are you sure?” the minotaur asked from under the embrace. “I practiced my dramatic reveal speech and there are some nice things about you in there I’d like you to hear.”

Garret released him and sat on the bed beside him. “Uh, okay, I guess.”

“How long have we been partners?” asked Gannen. When Garret didn’t respond, Gannen said, “Long enough to know that I don’t know everything about your family, Garret. But I know enough. I’ve heard the stories about the Ghrishkrik clan.

“But I also know a lot about you. I know how hard you’ve trained to evade detection, to make it seem like you’re not there when you are. But that same training makes it easy to tell when you’re actually no longer around. I can tell when you duck out to handle other business. And, believe it or not, I knew enough about Aqua Magus to recognize it on sight. You may have extensive training, but I have extensive education. I took a class or two on notorious poisons, you know.”

Garret sat in silence.

“I knew what you were carrying and where we were going. I didn’t know what your objective was but I knew you’d regret...” Tears began to form in the corners of the minotaur’s eyes.

“You talk in your sleep sometimes,” Gannen tried to stay on his speech, aware he probably should have written it down. “When you’re sleeping while I’m driving the cart I hear what haunts your dreams and… I figured if I split the dose without you knowing, I could mess up whatever your family had planned and spare you another bad dream. And you’d be innocent in sabotaging the plot.”

The bugbear stayed silent.

“I know I betrayed your trust,” Gannen went on. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t sit back and see you tortured by your family anymore. You’re not an assassin. I see you on stage and… that’s the real you. Garret, not Garrote. I was going to say I’d understand it if you wanted to part ways-”

“You meddling bard,” Garret cut him off, saying it with a toothy smile.

“You’re becoming quite the meddler yourself,” replied Gannen. “Getting yourself haunted by a ghost band? That’s some peak meddling.”

“That was an accident.”

“I’m going to tell you the secret to being a bard. It’s saying ‘I meant to do that’ when you stumble ass backwards into success.”

Garret chuckled. “So tonight was...”

“Something we totally meant to do. That’s our story and we’re sticking to it.”

“Alright, now that we poured out our hearts to each other, you should get some rest,” said the bugbear. Gannen laid back and was asleep before his horns hit the pillow.

Garret reached over and moved Gannen’s braid off his face. The bugbear had watched the minotaur in his sleep as well, and knew he would sometimes chew on the braid if it got in his mouth.

---

The following days saw the pair wined and dined and feasted and feted by the grateful residents of the kingdom. Word reached them that their spectacle at the Black Moon Festival had been very well received, although some parents expressed dismay at some of the saltier language used and the shocking gore at the finale. The Kingdom’s official line was that it Borusu’s special event to celebrate retiring from his role as First Apprentice. Privately, some sorcerer pulled Garret and Gannen aside to thank them for relieving them of the overbearing mage. Word was that they were reorganizing things so that Summer Haven’s actual government ran on a council of equals without having one above the rest.

In all the tumult when the mages and guards rushed the stage Garret’s lute had gotten trampled underfoot. But the sorcerers opened up the kingdom’s vault of instruments and felt it an honor to present the bugbear with a finely crafted replacement. The timing was fortunate because, although the kingdom offered the two musicians free room and board for as long as they stayed, they were uncomfortable with indefinite hospitality, especially since they got upgraded to the poshest guest suite in the Castle itself. The minotaur and bugbear requested they be allowed to sing for their suppers, and other meals beside. The coffeehouse performances drew such numbers that it helped Gannen get over his aversion to big crowds. He figured if he could stare down an undead dragon and defy a deranged mage then playing to a triple-digit crowd was child’s play.

After his ordeal, Kyvyk remained sequestered in his chambers, being attended to by a crew of medimancers as he endured the trial that was a sorcerous hangover of epic proportions. When asked about it the castle staff said visitors weren’t safe while the king’s wild magic was running uncontrolled.

In fact, the first night back in the castle, he had an episode where he started levitating out the window, lit up like the moon come down to earth.

The guard mistook him for an intruder and readied archers. Kyvyk was spared injury when his magic flared when the captain gave the order “LOOSE” and all their bowstrings came undone. They’d had to herd him back onto the balcony with a patient griffin rider wielding a barge pole.

Finally, a full week later, Chancellor Vendryx visited the musicians and let them know King Kyvyk Dweomerhorn was ready to receive them. With Borusu gone, the little kobold held himself taller when he walked and no longer winced at loud noises.

He led the bugbear and minotaur to the door to the royal suite and knocked politely, waiting until he heard a faint “Come in” from the other side. Vendryx opened the door and motioned the pair in.

The room was a wreck.

The furniture was all askew. The king-sized bed leaned up sideways against the wall. Scorch marks ran the length of the ceiling and on the exposed stone floor where the thick layer of carpet had been burned away.

Across from the door, on the other side of the carnage, the balcony doors stood open and Kyvyk leaned on the railing beyond. He wore a simple dressing robe, its burned patches glaringly apparent.

Gannen strode across the room to stand before Kyvyk, before dropping to his knees and laying prostrate before the king, tilting his head so that his horns touched the floor, heedless of the soot that he got into his mane and beard.

Garret was right beside him, kneeling on one knee with head bowed.

“My... friends,” said Kyvyk, testing the word as he spread his arms. “You do not need to bow before me. I am not your king.”

“But you are the reason I still draw breath,” said Gannen from somewhere near the floor. “I owe my life to you.”

“As do I,” Garret concurred. “You threw yourself at the dragon for me.”

“After we brought the poison that nearly killed you,” added the bard.

Kyvyk laughed.

“And you saved my life and the lives of all those present,” said the king. “Borusu’s plot was derailed by your actions. Without you, I would have died, drained of sorcery, and that dragon would have been released with greater power and cunning. Without you, no one would have summoned the Storm Eagle to fight Isynde, or the ghost band that sapped its strength.

“If you hadn’t brought the Aqua Magus, Borusu would have still gotten from another courier and I would be dead along with many innocent people. I think I owe the two of you the greater debt. You’ve saved this land I love, but not for me.”

Gannen’s ears perked up as he got back to is hooves and Garret to his feet. “What do you mean?”

Kyvyk’s shoulders slumped.

Gannen nodded slowly. “So the Aqua Magus...”

“Overloaded whatever mystic channels my sorcery supposed to flow through,” Kyvyk finished the statement. “Medimancers say I might recover in time but there’s a chance I might never get it back.”

Garret piped up. “What does Aqua Magus even do?”

“It was restorative for sorcerers. Once,” replied Gannen. “Magical energy, concentrated and distilled in liquid form. Has the weird quirk of being very hard to detect if it’s been watered down since it makes regular water look like itself. Its ingredients have become rare so only certain alchemists-”

“And assassin clans,” added Garret.

“And assassin clans can make it. Aqua Magus is supposed to restore spent sorcery, but if a sorcerer drinks it while at full strength-”

“Their magic runs rampant,” Kyvyk finished the bard’s sentence.

“Like pouring more wine into already full glass while shaking it so it all spills out,” said Gannen.

“And that’s why Borusu was insistent on you not casting any unnecessary spells!” Garret exclaimed as he turned to Kyvyk.

“Yes,” Gannen continued. “He wanted to steal every last drop of wild sorcery to revive the old Sorcerer. And got a mummified dragon instead. By the way, how did that happen?”

Kyvyk scratched the back of his neck. “Yes, so the Sorcerer had a dragon partner in founding the kingdom. We keep it out of the official histories because it’s not the proudest moment of the kingdom. No one actually witnessed what happened when that ice sphere was created, just that neither the Sorcerer nor Isynde were seen again. I guess back then they wanted to go with the pleasant tale that he preserved himself inside, instead of the truth where Isynde probably ate the Sorcerer just as he unleashed his last spell.”

Garret raised a hand. “So what if you’re not a sorcerer for a while. This is still your home!”

The former king looked right at the bugbear. “You two have surely traveled wide, right? Then tell me, was I ever really a king?”

The bugbear scratched his chin. “Well, er, I guess...”

But Gannen stepped in. “If you mean ‘king’ as in monarch, sovereign, or supreme authority, then, no. But if we’re talking about courage and compassion, you’re a damn emperor!”

Kyvyk gave the other minotaur a warm smile. “You’re kind to work your prettiest words for my sake, but I’ve already made my choice. I’m not being dethroned because I lost my sorcery. I’m advocating.”

“You mean abdicating?” offered the bard.

“That too.”

“And give up all this?” Garret gestured at the lands beyond the balcony.

Kyvyk turned to lean on the stone railing and gaze out across his realm. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. “I realize now that I was just… an actor. Dressed as a king and trained to play one on a giant stage. And Summer Haven,” he waved his hand at the view, “is just a theater big enough for that stage. I want… I want something real. To be something real I want… I want to...”

“Travel with us,” said Gannen. It was not a question.

“Yeah,” agreed Garret. “You play a pretty good fiddle so we’ll give an ex-king his due. We’re going to need a bigger cart though. Me and just one minotaur are already pushing it.”

“I’ll see what I can swing,” Kyvyk said joyously. “I can’t believe I’m actually going to, you know, be out there. Then again. I’d also refuse to believe there was actually a dragon in the ice or a giant lightning bird in the mountain.”

“Yeah, that poor bird,” muttered Garret.

“We do still owe a debt to the Storm Eagle,” Gannen pointed out.

“But Isynde destroyed it,” objected Garret.

“The dragon banished its material form. But you can’t kill something like that with fire. Even undead dragon fire,” he added, anticipating Garret’s interjection. “Hmm, the minotaur thought for a moment. He’d brought his flute with him, he kept getting requests from Castle staff and residents so he kept it at his side. An idea came to him and he played a short segment of the Storm Eagle’s song and a cry from overhead answered. The Bird’s avatar, currently no larger than a kestrel, landed on the railing and stared at the trio with golden eyes that seemed lit from within.

“Umm, hi,” Kyvyk waved to the bird, unsure of how to address a spirit avatar.

Gannen bowed graciously to the tiny raptor. “We are in your debt, Storm Eagle. We don’t currently have the ability to return your peak to your lands.” Which was true. Not even Borusu could manage that task and he had been the mightiest sorcerer in the realm. “But, is there something else we can do for you?”

The miniature eagle cried its melodic cry and hopped back and forth on its tiny talons. It took to the air and flew down to bridge across the moat below. Its bright eyes looked up to them expectantly.

“I guess we follow that bird,” said Garret, shrugging.

“I hope you don’t mind if I stay here,” said Kyvyk. “Don’t think I’m up for bird watching right now, let alone bird chasing.”

“Yes! And you need a bath before the public sees you again!” a gravely voice piped up from around Kyvyk’s knee.

The trio looked down to see Veldoryx at the head of a veritable army of kobolds, who all wielded implements of hygiene or housekeeping. “This place is a mess and you look like you just crawled out of a slaughterhouse,” she said to Kyvyk. She turned to Gannen and pointed at the soot still staining his mane and beard. “Lean down! You’re not a king but I’m not letting you leave here looking like you used your head as a chimney sweep!”

---

Garret stepped out onto the bridge alone. He’d barely escaped Veldoryx’s attention and had to abandon Gannen to a grooming session. The little bird chirped in confusion at seeing just the bugbear.

“Yeah, sorry, just me,” he said, feeling more than a little odd addressing the Eagle in such a small body. “The other two are getting baths. It was non-negotiable.”

This appeared to satisfy the Eagle, who took off again and flew in the direction of the red rock peak. Garret had to run to keep up with it, which suited him just fine as the route wound past the mansion and he wished to spend as little time in its shadow as possible. Being haunted upon leaving was something he did not want to experience again.

The bird’s size made it hard for Garret to keep track of it, but its feathers glowed, a guiding light. It flew to the top of the rock and perched atop the crag. The bugbear sized up the hike. It would be an ordeal for an average climber.

But he was no average climber.

Garret looked around to see if anyone was around. There were some people milling about so he stepped behind a boulder. His years of training taught him to keep his own magical talents close to the vest, plus he didn’t know how any sorcerers would react to his brand of spellcasting. He chanted a short spell and felt his hands tingle. He once more embodied both bug and bear as he started scuttling up the cliff face, reaching the apex in only a few minutes.

The Eagle perched beside a fissure in the rock. Garret knelt down and peeked inside. His night sight revealed a cave on the other side. In the stone face reverent hands had carved an image of the Storm Eagle. The bugbear turned to the bird. “Is that you?”

The bird screeched and started jumping and fluttering about. Garret felt as if he was being warded off. Then the little Eagle flew into the hole and a glow began to emanate from the crack. The air became charged and the bugbear’s fur stood on end.

Garret managed to turn away and throw himself flat on the peak as a lightning bolt shot up and out of the crevice. Rock cracked and splintered, Garret was pelted with harmless gravel. He stood back up and saw the stone around the Eagle’s carving had been blasted away, leaving the idol untouched but protruding from a 10-foot wide diamond-shaped slab of rock that teetered precariously on a too-small column.

The eagle appeared again, flew around Garret’s head, and then vanished into the carving. Even the tiny bird’s delicate body was enough to tilt the slab backwards and it slid down the mountainside amid a cascade of gravel.

Garret scrambled down the rocks and came to where the slab had stopped, at the base of the red-stone and onto the surrounding lawn. The bugbear felt sorry for whatever gardener would have to smooth out the churned turf.

The citizens and visitors Garret saw earlier came running over, jaws wide at what they had just witnessed. Some sorcerers eyed him warily. “Working on the king’s orders,” said the bugbear, hoping his newfound fame translated into trust.

Then Gannen came running over, fur still wet and wearing a borrowed dressing robe. “I saw the blast. Are you alright?”

Garret shook the grit and dust from his own hide. “I’m fine. I found the bird’s home.”

The bard walked around the slab and examined it. “Yeah, this is where the Storm Eagle’s spirit rests. It is… more portable than the whole mountain but-”

“We’re going to need a bigger cart.”

“We’re going to need a much bigger cart,” agreed the minotaur.

“YOU!” shouted a voice from the direction of the Castle. The horde of kobolds Gannen had escaped from and outpaced finally caught up to him. Despite hims towering over them the kobolds showed no fear as they corralled the minotaur, steering him back to the palace.

“You! Guards!” shouted Gannen. “Secure that relic. King Kyvyk needs it!”

A detachment of kobolds broke off from the main force and surrounded Garret. Their leader took one look at his dusty fur and then scowled at the bugbear. Garret knew where this was going. “Alright, alright. I’ll go quietly.”

The two musicians found themselves whisked back into the royal suite and into the royal bath. Kyvyk stayed silent as he sat submerged up to his armpits in the tub so big it may as well have been called an artificial hot spring. The kobolds drove the other minotaur back into the water. Garret was quickly stripped and dunked as well.

Kyvyk smiled to himself as Veldoryx gave Gannen the worst scolding the bard had ever endured for running out before she was done. Still, she made sure to put his braids back exactly as he liked them. It dawned on Kyvyk that maybe her fussiness was how the old lizard expressed affection.

Garret, for his part, leaned back in the hot water and left the kobolds to their work. He found he actually enjoyed a little pampering, though he resolved not to make a habit of it. Still, he thought maybe he should adopt the tusk polishing routine.

The two musicians told the king what had transpired with the Eagle and the mountain, letting him know that they now had a several ton cargo to take with them so they would need a more robust mode of transportation. Dinner followed the bath and Kyvyk vowed to requisition a vehicle that would serve all their needs.

---

Garret and Gannen didn’t see Kyvyk again until two days later. He looked back to his old self. The king summoned them to the place where the slab had come to a halt. They arrived to find a flatboat, some 90 feet long, sat upon the lawn. It had a forecastle and sterncastle. Gannen looked about the aftdeck for a wheel but did not see one. Instead, there was a seat with two levers in front of either armrest.

A team of sorcerers concentrated in unison, arms raised as they lifted the slab into the air and set it gently down on the boat’s main deck. Kyvyk stood to the side, supervising the work.

“What do you think?” he asked the other minotaur and the bugbear as they approached.

Garret knew Kyvyk led a sheltered life but this was something else. “Where we’re going is pretty arid. Don’t think we can sail this thing all the way there. Or even out of here.” The vessel did look a little overlarge for the creeks around the realm, even if it wasn’t beached.

“Don’t look at me that way,” said Kyvyk as he read Garret’s expression. “But take a look at this!”

Once the slab was secured with multiple lines, the king went to the ladder that hung over the side, climbed up onto the main deck and then ascended the steep stairs that led up to the aftdeck. He seated himself in the helm and produced a small amulet from his robe. The minotaur pressed it down into an indent in the deck between his hooves and the hull shuddered. The sound of bubbling water came from underneath the flat keel and then the whole vessel lifted up, buoyed by a cushion of water.

Everyone stepped back as Kyvyk pushed and pulled on the levers, displaying his control of the boat. It rolled forward, crept backward, and even pivoted in place. “They told me she can make 20 knots at full speed! However fast that is!” he shouted, clearly having fun.

“Kyvyk, this is amazing,” Gannen exclaimed, legitimately impressed with the king’s choice of vessel.

Garret was inclined to agree.

“And I’m not done yet!” said Kyvyk, beaming. “It’s not just the boat. Wait until you see her fully fitted out!”

“We can just have this?” asked Garret.

“Sure,” said Kyvyk as he disengaged the water. He climbed down the helm and onto the deck. “I mean, I’ve essentially been employed as kingdom mascot for years and they owed me backpay.”

“Mmmm, Backpay would be a good boat name,” mused Garret.

“I like it!” said Kyvyk. “I’ll have them paint the name on the rear.”

“Stern,” corrected Gannen.

The other two gave him a look.

“What?” asked the bard. “Landboats are still boats and we should use boat terms.”

“Yes, we get it. You went to college,” Garret replied with mock annoyance.

---

Precisely one week later at noon was their chosen departure. The Backpay sat in front of the Castle, her prow aimed southward towards the city gates. Since she moved under her own power, she had no need for sails or oars so the main deck had become a spider web of lines holding up a series of tents. An awning shielded the sterncastle while the forecastle was left open, as a stage.

The entire kingdom had come out, both to see the trio off and to see their vessel in action. Kyvyk stood atop the foredeck, wearing humble garb still trimmed in purple and gold. Gannen and Garret stood back by the helm, in the shade. Gannen felt best out of sight from the crowds. The crowd fell silent as Kyvyk stepped to the front and put his hoof on the railing.

Only then, with his vessel underhoof and all his people gathered to see him off, did it hit him that he was leaving all that he knew. Yes, he knew a lot of it to be false or a facsimile, but it was safe and familiar.

But then recalled his dream, his expanded dream. Somewhere out there, there had been a father who cradled his son after they were bathed in the blast of a shard of pure wild magic, who put aside his own pain to see that his son was safe. And Kyvyk needed to know if he was still out there.

Suddenly, the king who had given speeches to his people countless times before felt a tightness in his chest and the words died on his tongue.

Gannen leaned over the Garret and whispered, “You handle the boat, I’m going to help him out.”

“What are you going to do?”

The minotaur sighed. “Something regrettable.”

Gannen hopped down onto the main deck, went into one of the tents, and mace out carrying a violin, one among Kyvyk’s new set. He carried it up onto the foredeck and stood beside the other minotaur. He took a deep breath and tried to limit his vision to only a few members of the audience.

“Your love for your former king has touched him. So much so he’s overwhelmed by it. And where I come from we have a saying. ‘Where words fail, melody must prevail.” He then closed his eyes to shut out the crowd and laid the bow on the strings.

He tapped out a time signature with his hoof and began to play the most poignant, plaintive string piece he knew. Few who heard it remained unmoved and Gannen didn’t even need to weave any subtle bardcraft into the song. By the time the last notes echoed into the distance, countless teary eyes looked on.

“But let’s not leave you with something so somber. I’m sure we will all meet again some day!” And then Gannen started a new, jaunty tune. Garret took the hint and set the Backpay gliding forward. A cheer went up from the crowd, the wave carrying the vessel ahead along with its watery cushion. Kyvyk stood at the railing and waved to his former subjects. More than few roses and other assorted flowers landed on the deck.

For his part, Gannen stepped and cavorted about the foredeck, moving with the beat, his hooves untouched by any thorns he might have stepped on. He found he was getting used to large audiences.

From his perch at the wheel atop the sterncastle, Garret watched the two minotaurs. He heard cheers from behind the vessel. The bugbear looked backwards and saw the audience following the Backpay, waving and shouting. More flowers landed at his feet. The bugbear waved at the adoring fans and they cheered for him as well. Caught up in the moment, he shifted in the seat, putting both feet on the levers to keep the course true, and unslung his lute from his back and joined in.

The crowd followed the ship to the city gates and the Backpay sailed right through. Kyvyk waved at the people until the ship’s course carried them out so far he could not longer see individual figures.

Kyvyk finally looked away, to the west and the open road ahead.