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The Wayward Hearthstone was a small inn that was barely worthy of the title. It was nestled in the heart of a forest, where two crossroads met, at the edge of a babbling stream that flow just powerfully enough to turn its small watermill that ground the bread flour and pressed the late-harvest apples for the nightly cider no-one came to drink. By all rights it was two stories tall, but the ceilings were low and the building sagged in the middle where no beam supports held the rotting wood and ancient stone in place. A few windows were scattered around the inn, letting light into the tavern-like main room on three sides, and there were two fireplaces at either end - east and west - of the short rectangular room where hearth fires always crackled. Two tables sat at the center of the room, long and narrow, and stretched from one end of the room to the next so that whoever sat at the heads of the tables would have their backs warmed by the fires. Each table sat seven, one chair at either end, two along the inside edges, along the sides that faced the other table, and three along the outside.

A bar stretched across the back wall. Behind it were three things: the door that lead to the kitchen and the stairs up to the second floor and down to the storage basement; the racks that displayed the glasses and bottles of whatever poison a weary patron might which to drown themselves in; and a coyote. Anyone who came to the Wayward Hearthstone would know that the coyote went by no other name than "Bartender," Tender for short. He was plain of fur, average in height, thin as a rail, brown-eyed, and plainly dressed. The only thing of interest about him was the pendant he wore, carved of a stone so dark it seemed to drink the light around it. It had no scores of a jeweler's tools, nor any marks that might indicate natural shaping, either, yet all the same it was perfectly round, and hung at his chest like a black disk. But no patron would ever tell you that. They couldn't. The pendant was always tucked beneath Tender's plain, cotton shirt, obscured by all who could see it and tell tales of it, and so no patron could possibly know of it.

They would know, though, and would tell you that if you were to sit by the fires, drinking ale and eating the watery onion stew, served in wheat bread bowls that Tender was so fond of making and serving, that never would you see Tender stop working. The coyote was always cleaning, always serving, always cooking his stew or baking his bread, or pressing the cider he would drink, as he never drank the poisons he sold from behind his counter. A frequent patron would also tell you that he never seemed to sleep, or that they never saw him tending the fires that never seemed to go out - the Wayward Hearthstone was always staffed, by only one man, and always warm and toasty.

But you'd be hard-pressed to find a frequent patron, as no-one ever stopped at the Wayward Hearthstone. It was nestled in the heart of a forest that no man ever ventured into, for fear of the fae creatures rumored to roam it; it was at the crossroad said to be the place where devils made their contracts with mortals willing to sell their soul for a piece of music or the love of some beautiful maiden; it bordered a stream said to be filled with the bodies of drowned dead, angered by their early deaths, who hungered for the hapless passerby who didn't know better than to keep his ankles far enough away from the water's edge so as not to be grabbed and pulled under the water to be drowned himself, his soul feasted upon by the hungry ghosts.

But no-one came to the Wayward Hearthstone, so there'd be no-one to tell you these things. It was a place of evil and magic, a place of fate and destiny. A place that only Heroes found themselves, for only Heroes had the courage and wherewithal to brave the forest, stand at the center of the crossroads, approach the river, and enter the inn of ill-repair that the wisp-like coyote only known as Bartender watched over with eerie diligence.

Or, perhaps, it was naïve stupidity. Tender could never remember which it was that made Heroes.

He was in the middle of polishing the wood of the bar with a white cotton rag when the door of the Wayward Hearthstone banged open. In the doorway, when he bothered to look up to see who'd arrived, stood a tall, silver wolf. His shoulders broad, jaw chiseled, ears perfect triangles atop his smooth, beautiful head, and his eyes the piercing blue of glacial ice. He was clad in armor, from head to tail-tip, of steel so pure and polished it radiated shone like silver. His tabard was the same blue of his eyes, with a single white line that went from the center of his silver throat down to the tabard's edge between his legs. And that speaks nothing of his sword and shield, both of the same polished steel that his armor was shaped from, the sword sheathed in a scabbard of polished black leather with silver inlay and crested with an ice-blue jewel at its pommel, the shield strapped across his back.

The wolf looked impressive, like every hero Tender might or might not have heard about in every bedtime story he might have been told in his childhood. That is, he looked impressive until he let out a deep sigh and slumped his shoulders forward, his armor creaking and sliding. "Barkeep," the wolf bellowed. "Pour me a drink. I could use one, right about now."

"Tender," the coyote said. He flashed the best of his wan smiles he had saved up for whenever a wayward hero made his way to his wayward inn. "I prefer bar_tender_, if you may."

The wolf gave him a quizzical look. "Fine," he shrugged. "Bar_tender_, then. Pour me a drink."

"What would you like?" Tender said. He hadn't stopped polishing the bar since the wolf had come in, and angled his eyes back downward towards the wood as the wolf approached.

"What's the strongest thing you got?" The wolf said. He grunted and sighed as he heaved himself onto the ancient stool directly in front of Tender.

"What are you willing to pay for?" Tender said.

The wolf tapped the bar with a steel-plated knuckle. Tender looked up at him, then. His brown eyes met ice-blue. "The strongest thing you got," the wolf said.

Tender smiled again. "Coming right up." He tossed the rag onto the bar and reached under the counter to grab a bottle that he knew the placement of with such sureness, he didn't even have to look. "So what is it that brings you down these untraveled roads? Returning from service under some far-away kingdom?"

"No," the wolf said. Tender didn't figure. The wolf - barely more than a boy, the coyote could now see - bore no scars, no signs of battle. His face still rounded with baby fat. Pity, Tender thought. So young.

"Heading off_to_ service, then?" Tender said. He pulled a wooden tankard from the wall behind him. He filled it half-way to the top.

"I wish," the wolf said.

"A quest to slay a dragon, then? Or rescue some princess?" Tender said. "If it's the dragon, then it best not be old Martin up the road. He can be a bit stuffy, and stingy on the tips, but I'm fond enough of him to miss him if he were slayed."

"No," the wolf said. He picked up the tankard and chugged down several large gulps of his drink. It was the least dignified thing Tender had seen in ages - his throat bulged, and he made no attempt to quiet the loud glugging noises he made as he drank.

"What brings you to these parts, then?" Tender said. The wolf slammed the tankard against the bar and gave him a wary look. "Come, now, you can trust old Tender!" The coyote threw his arms wide and grinned pleasantly. He was careful not to show too much teeth.

The wolf dropped his shoulders in a deep and tired sigh. His face, already drooping, dropped further. "I just found out I'm a Champion of the Light," the wolf said glumly.

"Oh," Tender said. He pulled the bottle from beneath the bar again and upturned it over the wolf's tankard. He filled it to the top, this time. "That's rough, laddie. How'd it happen?"

"Picking apples in my pa's orchard," the wolf said. "My ladder tipped over, and when I fell, I fell into a hole at the base of the tree. Went down forever; I thought I was going to die when I hit the ground. But when I came-to, I was in a cave.

"Had to crawl and scrabble my way through that damned cave for an hour before I found this sword, too." He gestured towards the sword at his hip. "Saw it, and thought 'oi, that'll fetch a pretty penny in the city. I can sell that, and get my pa' that new plow he's been needing for the wheat fields.' But 'soon as I touched it, a whole bunch of monsters just came out of nowhere." He gestured wildly around him, nearly knocking his tankard over. "Just swarms of them! Goblins and fanged fairies and I think there were giant wasps, I'm not even sure. I was panicking so badly, I tell you.

"I thought I was going to die, and I just started swinging that damned sword as much as I could, all around me. Thought for sure it wasn't going to do a lick of good, but would you believe it? It was like I suddenly knew how to use it, and I was slashing through all of them like some sort of seasoned swordsmen. I think I even flourished. Flourished!" The wolf shook his head and drained the full tankard dry.

"What happened after that?" Tender said.

"I killed the last of 'em," the wolf said. "Then a voice came out of nowhere, big and booming. Said 'YOU HAVE PASSED THE TEST.' And I tell you what, I screamed. Like a little girl. A little sissy girl. I dropped that damned sword and curled up in a ball right there on the floor. 'DO NOT BE AFRAID, BRAVE KNIGHT' it said. Took me a moment to realize it was talking to me. 'FOR YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN. YOU ARE ONE OF THE FOUR, ONE OF THE CHAMPIONS OF LIGHT. YOU, BRAVE KNIGHT, ARE TO BE THEIR LEADER. TAKE MY SWORD, BRAVE KNIGHT, AND VENTURE ONWARD TO VANQUISH THE GROWING EVIL THAT THREATENS THE LAND.'

"'TAKE THIS ARMOR' it said, and would you know it, suddenly I was dressed all up in this getup." The wolf gestured towards himself. "Didn't even feel it happen, either. Just one moment, peasants clothes. The next, armor. 'IT WILL PROTECT YOU FROM THE EVIL THAT WILL SEEK TO HARM YOU' it said. 'AND THIS SHIELD. MAY IT WARD OFF THE HAIL OF ARROWS AND MIGHTY BLOWS THAT WILL COME YOUR WAY.' And then this damned shield appeared on my arm.

"'NOW GO,' it said. 'LEAVE THIS CAVE AND WALK THE ROAD YOU FIND YOURSELF ON. FIND THE REST. TAKE MY LIGHT WHEVER YOU MAY GO.' And then this passageway opened up in front of me. And, now, I was scared witless, so when I saw an exit to that cave, I ran as fast as my legs could take me, thinking 'I musta hit my head, fell on some mushrooms, at something off this morning, something.' And I thought I'd end up back at my pa's farm, where I started." He gestured behind him, back towards the crossroad just outside the door. "Instead, I found myself on one of those roads, heading this way."

"Really, now?" Tender said. He poured the wolf a third drink. "How long have you been walking?"

"'Bout five minutes," the wolf said. His face was stoic, voice flat and deadpan.

Tender raised an eyebrow. "So, I take it you've not found your companions, then?"

"Not 'less you're one of them," the wolf said. He tilted his head, thought a moment, then looked Tender in the eyes. "You're not one of them, are you?"

"Me?" Tender laughed. It was deep from the belly, and shook his body so hard he nearly fell where he stood. He had to brace himself against the bar, and even then his laughter shook him so much that his knees still buckled. It took almost a full minute before he could breathe normally again. "G-gods no," Tender said around a vestigial giggle.

"Then nope," the wolf said. He took another drink from his tankard. "Not yet."

"Well, then," Tender said. He raised his paw as if he were holding a tankard of his own. "Here's to hoping then. Will you be wanting to rent a room for the night, or just hoping to wet your tongue a bit before venturing on?"

Before the wolf could answer, the door banged open. A fox stood in the doorway, bracing the frame with both of his paws. His arms were slight but lean, and his shoulders had the tell-tale signs of disfigurement of a lifelong archer. His chest was lean, stomach tight and bright white framed against the fiery red fur of his back, tail, and arms, which were boldly displayed, as the fox only wore an open vest of forest green that only worked to make his red fur stand out that much more. His pants, green as well, were plain and baggy, held up only by a simple belt with sheathed daggers at each hip. Across his chest was a strung bow as long as he was tall. His eyes, the same green as the clothes he wore, darted between the wolf and coyote.

"Welcome," Tender said. "Could I interest you in a drink?"

"What woods are these?" The fox said. His voice was thick with an accent Tender didn't recognize, and sounded heavy and sluggish, as if the fox wasn't even familiar with the words he was speaking. "I do not recognize these trees or trails."

"It is an old forest," Tender said. "Ancient, even, some would say. Untouched by civilization. Wild and wicked." He shrugged. "Depending on who you're talking to. I just call it my woods."

"And whose woods would those be, then?" The fox said. He tilted his head towards the coyote, pitching his voice so the question asked for many different answers.

The coyote just smiled. "The Tender Woods." Before the fox could ask any more questions, Tender said, "What brings you here?"

"Ah," The fox said. "That is a tale with an ending even I know not."

"Come sit, then," Tender said. He gestured towards the stool to the right of the wolf. "Tell us your story. Our friend here had just finished telling his." He grinned. "Perhaps by hearing yours, we might find an answer to all our questions, spoken or unspoken."

"Perhaps," the fox said. He eyed the coyote skeptically. "It is a thirsty tale, though, if you catch my drift."

"I do," Tender said. He pulled a second tankard off the wall and poured from the same bottle he'd been serving the wolf until the tankard brimmed with dark liquid.

"Then perhaps I will, then," the fox said. He made his way across the room and sat himself beside the wolf. He moved with such grace and lightness that had they not been watching him, they wouldn't have known he'd been there at all. He picked up his tankard and sipped from it lightly, no sound passing his lips, and his throat barely moving as he tasted the dark drink that resided within. The fox set the tankard down just as soundlessly as he drank from it.

"I was in the forest of a lordling," the fox said. "His name's not important, as I've doubts you've heard of him this far ... whatever direction 'here' is from where I come. Needless to say, woods are a rare thing in my homelands, and any man with power has wealth, and with wealth power. No tree lays unclaimed by someone who does not also claim lands another man lives upon.

"I come from a village claimed by the lordling who also claimed the forests I was in," the fox said. "I was hunting there, which is forbidden, as only the lordling and his men may hunt in his forest. But we are poor in my village. Few things worth hunting dwell the deserts we are surrounded by, and little trade with other villages had come our way this season, so my people and I, we were close to starving. Many had thought to defy the petty laws of the lordling and his thugs and hunt among his trees, but few ever dared. Of those who did, only a handful were not caught."

The fox looked between the others. His face was grave. "I was not among those few. I had been hunting a turkey for the last few hours, hoping that by tracking it I might follow it back to others. In truth, it might have, but in my greed for meat, I tarried too long in the lordling's lands, and was found by his hunters. They slew the turkey I had been tracking, and before I could make my retreat, they spotted me among the trees. They shouted, demanded I come to them so that I may be cuffed in irons, but I fled, knowing the fates of those they captured.

"I ran, but not far, for after not but a few minutes of chase did they catch up to me when my flight brought me to a river. Not knowing how to swim - for as I said, we are desert people, and water is not something we find in abundance - I climbed a tree, hoping they would not think to look up when searching for me." The fox took another drink from his tankard and sighed through his nose. "Alas, they did.

"Unwilling to kill them - for I may be a thief, but I am not a murderer - I resigned myself to my fate, knowing I was to be captured. But as I was beginning to climb down, a voice whispered to me." The fox reached up and tapped the tips of his ears. "I thought it my imagination, at first. I thought it the wind. The babble of the river, for it was not a sound I was accustomed to. But it persisted, and it whispered to me louder. It told me that prison was not my fate, but the fate of another, and that I had been chosen! Chosen for my actions, my risk, my sacrifice - chosen by the powers of Light to be its champion, its rogue, the one who danced within the darkness to steal back the light. The voice whispered to me, and me alone, that I was to be the Light Thief.

"And then it said to jump!" The fox threw his arms up for dramatic effect. "Jump into the river, and I protested! I said 'but voice, be you god or spirit, I know not how to swim,' and it told me 'be not afraid, for I will protect you, and keep you from drowning.' 'What must I do,' I asked it, and it told me 'have faith in me and jump,' and so I did. I scrabbled to the highest branch, dodging the guardsmen's arrows as they flew past me, and leaped towards the river without a second thought of myself.

"I awoke on the side of a river," the fox said. "Whether it was the same river I jumped to, I know not, but my fur was dry, and my clothes undamaged, and my bow was still at my back, though my arrows were gone. I called out to the voice, begging it for guidance, but it would not answer me. And so I walked. I walked along the river until it became a stream, and found along it this inn." He crossed his arms across his bare chest and leaned back on his stool. "The rest, you know."

Tender looked from the fox to the wolf. The knight, having listened too, looked from the fox to the coyote. "Well," the wolf finally said. "It certainly wasn't no whisper for me, that's for sure."

The fox looked over to the wolf. His eyes were wide. "You heard the voice, too?"

The wolf nodded. "It told me I'm its Knight. The leader of its champions."

The fox turned towards Tender, his eyes still wide with wonder. "And you?"

"Are but a simple Bartender," Tender said. He stepped back from the bar and gave a flourished bow. "Here to serve." He straightened his back and leveled his eyes with the fox's. "And, if I might guess from your story, the best way to serve you is not with drink, but with food."

The fox half nodded, half bowed. "If you would be so kind."

"I would," the coyote said. He knocked out a little tune on the wood of the bar with his knuckles. "Give me two shakes, and I'll bring you both stew."

Tender retreated through the door behind the bar, into the kitchen. At the back of the room was a stove, and atop that stove was a pot large enough for Tender to bathe in with room for one more. Any frequent patron would tell you, though, that Tender wasn't one to take such company, and that, in fact, they've never seen him with anyone of the sort. Not wife nor husband nor whore of either gender. Of course, as already said, there were no frequent patrons. But if there were, they'd also tell you that they never saw Tender make the stew or the bread. Sure, he kept busy preparing the food, or so they were lead to believe, but never did he disappear for hours to cut the onions for the stew or knead the dough for the bread. It was as if, by some magic, the food was already made, warm and ready for him to serve as if he'd just finished making it.

And by that same magic, Tender opened the oven that sat beside the stove, and within it he found two perfectly round loaves of bread, fresh and warm. They toasted his paws as he set them on the counter to prepare, and steamed when he cut into them with a knife, carving out the bowl his stew was to be served in. And, just like with the bread, when Tender lifted the lid from the massive pot and dipped his ladle inside, it came back up brimming with hot, fresh onion stew, with chunks of potato, carrot, celery, and thyme. He ladled the stew into the bread bowls, found two spoons in the drawer beneath the counter without glancing down, and was about to carry the stew back out to his Heroes when he heard the front door open.

Without missing a beat, Tender reached back into the oven, found a third lone loaf sitting alone atop the baking stone, carved out the bowl, ladled the fresh stew into it, and balanced it and the two other bowls in his arms as he walked back out into the main room.

Sitting with the other Champions of Light, to the left of the wolf, was a hare. She was slight, but not frail, shorter than the wolf but taller than the fox. There were hard lines in her face, not of age but of aestheticism - of decades of denied pleasures and simple means served infrequently, and of small sizes. Her fur was plain and brown, but beneath her bright, sun-yellow robes it made her look the golden-brown of fresh, warm biscuits. The robe itself was simple - simple cloth, simple cut - but bore a bright white outline of the sun at her breast. To say a staff leaned against the bar next to her would be an understatement; it was a bar of raw iron, with the long head of a mace at the end Tender could see. He had no doubt the other end was identical. And from the look she gave him with her piercing yellow eyes, Tender had no doubts she knew how to use it.

Tender decided to give her a wide birth.

"Ah!" The wolf raised his tankard as Tender approached the bar. "Just in time. Our new friend, here, was just about to tell us her story."

"How fortuitous," Tender said. He had to work to hide the nervous flick that threatened to creep into his ears as he stood near the hare. He set the bowls of bread down in front of each of them, and the wolf and fox tore into them almost as soon as the bread hit the bar, the fox so starved he waylaid his spoon and simply poured the steaming stew right into his muzzle (and, somehow, managed to still make it look graceful). But the hare merely looked at the bowl with silent, mild disdain.

"It is only vegetables," Tender said. "No meat, and still fresh. I pulled them from my garden this morning," he lied. "Didn't even use tallow or lard to thicken it, only butter."

The wolf grunted at that. "No wonder it's so thin," he said around a mouthful of soaked bread.

Tender opened his mouth to speak, but the fox beat him to it. "It is offered freely," the thief said. "To complain so openly is to insult our host's hospitality."

"I 'aint complaining," the wolf said. "I'm just saying. My ma could make a better stew than this."

"Well," the fox huffed. "Your 'ma' isn't here."

The two continued to bicker, but Tender ignored them. He kept his eyes focused on the hare, who still sat silently as she stared down at the offered stew. She bent down and sniffed at it gingerly, breathing in the aroma. She dipped a finger into the stew and brought the wetted finger to her mouth to taste it. She took her spoon and stirred the stew inside the bread bowl, looking at each chunk as it floated to the surface. And when she finally brought a spoonfull of it to her mouth to taste it, her face relaxed and she sighed around the bite. Her eyes closed as she hummed to herself.

"Carrots," she finally said. As she spoke, the Knight and Thief quieted. "We do not have carrots at my monastery. It has been years since I had any."

Tender breathed a quiet sigh of relief. "Can I get you something to drink, too?"

"Water," she said.

"No, no," Tender said. He waved a paw dismissively. "Water is what a traveler sips while weathering the road, not what you drink when road-weary and resting at an inn by the hearth fire." He pulled a tankard from the wall and set it in front of her. "I doubt you want what these two have been drinking. Bit too stout for a lady like you. Perhaps some wine?"

"Just water," she said, and then added, "Thank you."

"No, no, no," Tender said. "Water will not do, and if you will not have wine, then perhaps some cider."

"Please," she said. "Just wat-"

"Fresh pressed," Tender said. He pulled an earthen jug from beneath the counter and uncorked it as loudly as he could. "Picked, squeezed, and fermented to perfection, with just the hint of alcohol." He poured the clear cider into her tankard despite her look of protest. "More like apple juice than anything."

"I'd rather water," she said. But her eyes darted to the tankard. Her nose twitched as she sniffed it. Tender grinned.

"I know you must have vows," Tender said. "But come now. You've just been given a heavy burden, to be a Champion of the Light, no?" He saw her face shift into mild shock, and then change back into practiced stoicism. "Surely your god can understand how great a burden this must be, so much expected of you, so much hanging in the balance." He pushed the tankard towards her. "One mug won't kill you."

The hare hesitated, then took the tankard in both her paws. "No," she said. She brought it to her lips and took a long, slow drink. When she set it down, she let out a sigh that sounded as if it'd been held inside her all her life. "No, it will not."

"Atta girl!" The wolf patted her on the back. She shot him a glare that made him stop.

"Now!" Tender said. "You were about to tell us your tale?"

"Yes," she said. She took a few more spoonfulls of stew into her mouth before she began. "I come from a monastery set high in the Andran mountains that is dedicated to the worship of the Sun and all its Light and Life it gives us. I came there ten years ago, at the age of change, and have lived there ever since in unwavering dedication." She eyed the cider for a long, guilty moment, then continued. "We live a routine every day - wake at dawn, pray until the sun has reached its apex in the sky, share a meal beneath our lords high light, and observe our assigned chores until the sun has set again, when we return to bed until the sun may rise again.

"I was praying this morning, as I always had," she said. "Prostrate before the sun in my traditional robes. When, suddenly, the world went dark, and it felt as if I was falling from a great height into a bottomless void. My whole world jarred, tilted and turned, and seemed to be torn from beneath me. My heart raced, my breath caught, and for an instant I thought I had died." She clutched her chest as she spoke. Her face was unchanged, but her voice carried a hint of panic in it. "And then I saw the light.

"It was pure and bright, and came from no source I could see. It began in front of me, and then engulfed me in its bright warmth. I felt as if I were floating. And then, the light spoke to me. It told me the story all priests and nuns know by heart - that the light won the ancient battle with darkness, and sealed the darkness away for a thousand years so that life might flourish and we may prosper. At the end of that thousand years, though, the bonds around the darkness will shatter, and it will be the job of the four chosen - the four Champions of the Light - to venture forth and seal the darkness away again."

She looked to the wolf. "First the Knight, who will slay darkness' summonings and defend the light by the edge of his sword and himself by the rim of his shield. He will unite us, the other Champions, and lead us, and draw us to our destiny to face the great darkness."

The wolf puffed up at that. He brushed imagined dirt from his shoulder. "That's what the voice told me!"

"Then you have heard the Light yourself," She said. She turned to the fox. "Next the Thief, who will steal away the Darkstone from Darkness himself, to stop him from devouring the light by the power of his stone, with its insatiable hunger for all life and joy, and in so doing, steal from Darkness his very own strength."

The fox nodded. He kept silent, though, chewing on the remains of his bread bowl.

"And I," the hare went on. "Am to be the Priestess of the Light, to heal the wounds Darkness deals to the world and those around, and to protect us from his dark creatures and vile magics."

"And hit him with your staff thing," the wolf said.

The hare scowled at him. "That, too."

"What of the fourth?" The fox said.

The hare opened her mouth to speak, but as she did the door flew open and banged against the wall next to it. The Champions turned to look back to the newcomer. Tender turned to grab a fourth tankard from the wall.

"Welcome," The fox said. He threw his arms open as if to invite the newcomer to hug him. "Let me guess: Champion of Light?"

In the open doorway stood a mouse. His white-furred head barely made it up to the door handle, but what he lacked in height himself, the tall, pointed hat, dyed dark the color of dried blood, that sat between his ears made up for it nearly twofold. The hat had a wide brim, stretching out past his narrow shoulders, and was tilted back on his head so as not to obscure his face. Beneath the hat he wore robes of just as dark red, with a burnt orange sash that cut across his chest from left shoulder to right hip and curled around his waist until it was tucked back in on itself. He held no weapons in his furless, pink paws, but rather a book with a spine as thick as his own that looked to weigh more than he himself did. There was a stunned look in the albino's red eyes as he looked back and forth across the bar, from the hare to the wolf to the fox to the coyote that grinned at him, all teeth and ears.

The mouse looked back at the fox. "How did you guess?" He shifted his weight from one foot to the next.

The fox patted the empty stool next to him. "I can recognize a pattern when I see one. Come, sit."

"I'll get more stew," Tender said. He retreated into the kitchen, gathered the food, and returned to find the mouse settling in at his place. The book, when set atop the bar in front of him, obscured him save for his hat. Tender set the bread atop the book and pulled the earthen jug from beneath the counter. "Here," he said. He poured cider into the mouse's tankard. "Something lighter for you, too. I imagine you don't go drinking too often."

The mouse shook his head. "No, not all that often. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," Tender said.

The wolf nudged the hare in the shoulder with his elbow. It was a little rougher than he intended. He had, after all, been drinking the longest out of all of them. "What's he supposed to be, then, eh? You were just about to say."

The hare leaned over the counter and looked at the mouse. Here eyes were critical, piercing. "The Enlightener," she said. "The knower of things."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The wolf slurred his words. "Sayin' we don't know things?"

The hare looked at the wolf. "You? Not likely." The fox snickered at that. "The Thief? Probably. Myself? My own knowledge is limited." She gestured down the bar, to the mouse. "He? He comes from the Crimson College. He will know things none of us can imagine."

"The what?" The fox said.

"The Crimson College," the mouse said, answering for himself. "It is one of the schools in the Arcane University."

"Arcane?" The wolf looked over at the mouse again. He looked as if he was truly seeing him for the first time, a look of mild horror tinted with years of superstition and hearsay plastered over his glass face. "You're one of those Warlocks, aren't you? Those no-good spell-slingers, hexing people and throwing curses around like nobody's business?"

The mouse's brow furrowed. "I am a Wizard, trained by the best there are, not some low and common Hedgemage content to harass hapless fools like yourself." He picked up the spoon from his stew and pointed it menacingly towards the wolf. "And who are you to throw baseless accusations around like 'nobody's business', hmm?"

"I," the wolf said, puffing up his chest. "Am the Knight! Your valiant leader. So you best show some respect, rodent."

"There is no need for name-calling," the hare spat. She gave the wolf a glare so glacial it chilled him into sobriety.

The wolf laid his ears back against his head, which he lowered and looked down at his uneaten bread. "Yes, ma'am." He said.

There was a lull in conversation by that point. The hare returned to her stew and cider; the wolf picked at the bread in front of him, though his appetite had left him; the fox drank, having nothing left to eat; and the mouse fidgeted in his seat, holding his tankard of cider in both paws as he stared down at his own reflection in it.

It took Tender stepping in to re-kindle the talk. "So," he said. He stood in front of the mouse, placing his sandy paws on either side of the Wizard's book to lean over the counter to look at him. "All the rest of them had stories of how they got here. What's yours?"

"Aye," the fox said. He raised his tankard. "I agree, I'm curious to hear how someone versed in the arcane managed to come here. Was it powerful sorcery that let you run faster than the swiftest cheetah, jump further than the mightiest of the 'roos, or perhaps fly on the wind like a great hawk?"

The mouse started to speak, but the hare interjected before he could. "Yes, I must admit I am curious, myself. I've heard of arcanists who can create portals between two points and cross great distances with just a single step, and others who can walk the plains, step into the realms of the gods and the devils, both, to travel faster than any man on mortal earth ever could."

The mouse squeaked at that, a slight, terrified noise. He was about to begin speaking again when the wolf cut in. "Or maybe you killed a man, used his life to teleport yerself here! Or stole a cart. Or something wicked." He was about to take another swig of his drink when he stopped himself. "No, wait, stealing a cart would be the fox's job, wouldn't it? Thieves do that. Warlocks just curse people - maybe you cursed somebody to carry you all the way here, and you rode them like some salt-drake mount!"

"Are you finished?" The hare said.

"No," the wolf said. He glared back at her with drunken fire. Not enough to melt her ice, but enough to stave off the chill of her eyes.

"Are you both finished?" Tender said. They were like children, he swore. "Because if you are, I'm sure he'll tell us himself."

"Agreed," the fox said. He turned in his stool to face the mouse. His tail wagged excitedly behind him, his eyes wide with wonder and whimsy.

"It's really not that much of a story, really," the mouse said slowly. "And I'm not much of a story teller, to be honest."

"Try us," the hare said.

"I think you'll be disappointed," the mouse said.

"Then disappoint us," the fox said. "Better disappointment than mystery, I say."

"How like a thief you truly are," the hare said. "No reverence to the unknown."

"And how like a priest of you to revel in your ignorance," the fox spat back.

"Are you finished?" Tender said. For the first time that entire night, his voice had been raised above a pleasant whisper. "This is the second time I ask this, and I will not be pleased need I ask a third!"

"Yes," the fox said. He turned in his stool to face forward again, looking towards the wall behind Tender.

"I am," the hare said. She, too, looked forward, but had the hard-set jaw and frown of one not accustomed to being chided.

"Good," Tender said. He glared at them both, making sure they each saw his eyes before turning back to the mouse with a mollifying smile. "Now. As you were?"

The mouse shrugged. "As I said, there's not much to tell. I was preparing for an exam - a final exam for the term, and one that would determine next term's tuition - when I-"

"Tuition?" The wolf snorted. "Exam? I'm not so drunk or ignorant to not know what that means. I thought you said you were a Wizard."

"I am!" The mouse protested.

"Then why are you paying tuition?" The wolf said. A thought slowly lit up his stupefied face. "How old are you?"

"Old enough!"

"That 'aint an answer, kid," the wolf said.

"Neither is 'aint' a word, you farmer," the mouse shot back.

"What you got against farmers, huh?" The wolf started to rise to his feet.

Tender slammed a fist against the bar. "Here's a better question," he said. "What did I just say about needing to quiet you a third time?"

The wolf sat back down.

The fox cleared his throat. "It is a fair question," he said. "You implied yourself a master, and then go on to talk of still being in school."

"I never claimed myself a master," the mouse said. "She called me a 'knower of things,' and then all of you went on to spin wild stories of what I might do with magic. All I ever said was that I am a Wizard, which are what the students of the Arcane University are called."

"Fair enough," the fox said quietly. He lowered his ears and looked down into his tankard. "That doesn't answer the question of your age, though."

The mouse fidgeted. "Sixteen years, next month."

The wolf snorted into his drink. "Sixteen? And here I was, afraid of the great 'Wizard,' when really he's nothing more than an educated child. Ha!" He likely would have gone on, but all eyes turned to glare at him. The wolf lowered his head again and drank to quiet himself.

"I've been at the College two years, now," the mouse said. "I'd need another four to call myself a Mage, a member of the Arcane, but for now I am a Wizard, and know enough magic to use it well." He darted a glare at the wolf, and then settled his eyes back on the drink still held in his paws. "I am not just some 'educated child,' I assure you."

"For what it's worth, I believe you," Tender said. "Now, your tale."

"Not much to tell," the mouse said. Before another person could interject, he went on. "I was studying for an exam, left to choose a subject of history and write a dissertation," he paused. "A paper. No, that doesn't clarify anything - choose a subject and write about it. Well, the subject I chose was the Thousand-Year Prophecy." He looked around to see if any faces lit with recognition. When no-one's did, he continued.

"The prophecy goes that in the beginning, Light and Dark were in balance, Ahura Mazda the king of the Lightlands, Angra Mainyu king of the Darklands. And we all lived in harmony, until, on one fateful day, a stone fell from the heavens and landed in the Darklands. Angra Mainyu took the stone and twisted it into an artifact of evil and destruction, using it to strengthen and channel his power so darkness could cover the world. Ahura Mazda, losing ground and power, scoured the light-covered part of the world until he found four champions - a Knight in his service, a master Thief who could never be caught, a Priest whose faith had never wavered, and a Mage who knew a great deal of things - and poured the last of his energy into them, making them the Champions of the Light. Through the Knight, he united them, and lead them against Angra Mainyu, killing his spawn. Through the Priest he dispelled its darkness. Through the Thief he stole the stone. And through the Mage he sealed it away for a thousand years. After that was done, balance was returned to the world, and Angra Mainyu was locked away with his stone where he could do no harm, leaving us with a thousand years of light and peace."

The mouse shrugged, and took a drink from his tankard. "It's been a thousand years since then."

A silence fell over the room. The Champions all looked amongst themselves, then settled their eyes somewhere else. "That's our mission, then?" The wolf said.

"If we're the Champions this time around, then yep," the mouse said.

"Even I didn't know," the hare said. "All I knew was that they were the chosen. I had not known what they were chosen to do."

The wolf slumped his shoulders. "And here I was just starting to get excited about being a knight."

"I'm only here because I was caught," the fox said. "By a petty lordling's guards, no less, not Darkness incarnate."

The hare took hold of her tankard and drained it dry in a series of short gulps. Before that point, she'd only had about half the tankard. "Give me what they're having. I need something stronger than 'apple juice'."

"Fill me up, too," the wolf said.

"And me," the fox said.

Tender was happy to oblige.

"You still didn't tell us how you got here," the fox said.

"Ah," the mouse said. "Right." He looked down into his drink. A blush crept across his white-furred face, tinting his cheeks the color of his hat and robes. "I, uh, was studying. Reading a book, really. This book." He tapped the tome in front of him. "And then I, uh, well I fell asleep."

All eyes turned to him.

"You fell asleep?" The hare said.

"Yes," the mouse said.

"And then what?" The wolf said.

"And then I dreamed of a voice that told me I was the Magician of Light," the mouse said.

"And after that?" The fox said.

"And then I woke up," the mouse said. He gestured behind him. "Back there. At the crossroads." He looked around. Saw their expectant faces. "And ... then I walked in here. And met you."

"That's it?" The fox said. Disappointment plain in his face. "No magic flight, no portals, no plains-walking?"

"Nope," the mouse said.

"Not even riding a man all the way here?" The fox said.

"Nope," the mouse said. "I fell asleep, dreamed, and woke up here."

The fox grumbled something in a language no one else there spoke. "You were right, Priest. I should have left it up to mystery."

They drank in silence after that. The weight of their mission keeping their mouths shut as their hearts sank and they thought drunken thoughts of what they must do. Eventually, Tender cleared the bar of the hunks of leftover bread and began to wipe down the wood of the bar with a clean cotton rag. Once the bar was cleared, Tender moved to one of the hearth fires and pushed the tables away from it, clearing space in front of the fireplace. He laid down five cushions in a semi-circle facing the fire, and then disappeared through the door to the kitchen.

The Champions, knowing their cue, all moved to sit at the cushions. The Knight and Mage taking the two closest to the fire, the Thief sitting next to the Knight, and the Priest next to the Mage. After a few long moments of silence next to the fire, Tender returned from the kitchen. There were five steaming mugs in his paws, three in his left and two in his right, which smelled of rich chocolate and hot milk as he approached. He handed a mug to each of the Champions and then sat down at the last cushion, at the apex of the semi-circle, with his own.

They drank in further silence, all staring off into the fire. Tender was the first to finish his mug of chocolate. He was also the first to speak again.

"So," Tender said. He waited until all their eyes focused on him. "I've given you three things each - my drink, my food, my hearth and hospitality - and asked for only one thing in return: your stories. In the spirit of fairness, I ask for two more things in return from each of you."

"Sounds fair," the wolf said. All nodded in agreement, except the mouse, who hesitated, then nodded.

"Good," Tender said. "First was your stories, so second I ask your names," he said.

"Aerin," the wolf said. "Son of Oderin, from the Aprhys Farm."

"I am Nurik," the fox said. "Of the Village of Tamia."

"I gave up my name for my order," the hare said. "But if I were to reclaim it, it would be Clair."

"Roth," the mouse said. "Roth Weissman."

Tender nodded. "Aerin. Nurik. Clair. Roth." He looked to each of them as he said their name. He made sure to meet their eyes as he did. The coyote smiled. "Last I might ask that you hand over your weapons before taking my beds. A precaution, you must understand. I'll keep them safe."

There were a few grumbles from all around, but the Champions obliged, handing over their weapons to the coyote. His grin only widened, but not until their weapons were in his arms, and his back was turned to them. Tender laid the weapons behind the bar, placing them each with care as he did so. He made sure his face fell back to a neutral, pleasant smile when he turned back and approached them.

"That is all that I ask," Tender said. "You make rest in the beds on the second floor. The staires are through the kitchen, just to the right. Impossible to miss." The coyote stretched. "I, myself, am going to retire for the night, as it's been rather long, and rather strange, to say the least." He gave each of them a bow, and then turned towards the kitchen.

He was about to make it to the stairs when Aerin stood. "Hold a minute," he said. Tender froze. He turned to face the wolf.

"Yes?" Tender said.

"You asked us our names, but did not give us yours," Aerin said. "You've been so generous to us, I'd like to know who to thank by name."

"I agree," Nurik said.

"As do I," Clair said. "I am not one to dismiss generosity offhand."

Roth, however, stayed quiet. He was not a full Mage, but as a Wizard, he knew the power names held over people. To give a Mage your name is to hand him power over yourself; to ask him his without invoking a favor is to invoke his wrath instead. Roth was trapped into giving his name, and had to give it willingly. He knew, however, what asking the coyote his name would mean. For Roth to have the coyote's name by virtue of him being asked would not give Roth power over him, but give the coyote power over Roth. Roth knew this. Tender knew Roth knew this.

And so, Tender smiled. It was warm, and pleasant, and full of charm. "You may call me Bartender. Tender if that is too long for you."

"No, no," Aerin said, waving his paws drunkenly. "That won't do. I would have your name, as I can't proper thank a man whose name I don't know."

"Agreed," Nurik said. Clair nodded in agreement.

"And I would give it," Tender said. "But for me to give it is for you to promise me something in return. And, after all, only three of the four of you are asking." He nodded towards Roth. "Our Wizard friend here has not asked, and because of that I will not give it."

"Oh, come on, Roth," Aerin said. "Don't be rude. A man's name is what is needed for proper gratitude."

"I will not ask him," Roth said. He kept his eyes on the coyote.

"The rest of us our curious," Nurik said. "Don't be an ass and deny us our answer for your own selfish reasons."

"I am inclined to agree with the Thief," Clair said. She looked across the fire to where Aerin stood. "And the Knight," she added, begrudgingly.

"That's three against one," Tender said. His smile showed teeth, now. "What say you, Roth? Will you ask me my name?"

"No," Roth said. Though he felt the pull, the gentle tug on his soul, as the coyote spoke his name. "I will not ask. Not without knowing the favor you'll demand in return."

"Oh, come on!" Aerin said. "He's given us food, fire, and drink, not to mention offered us his beds, for no more than our stories, our names, and our weapons to be stored safely. Whatever favor he'll ask of us for his name, it'll be a pittance in return for what he's already given us." The others nodded in agreement.

But Roth knew. He knew what the coyote could ask in return. "No," he said.

"Come now, Roth," the coyote said. His voice was gentle, and dripped sweetly with honeyed words. "Your companions wish my name. Don't stand in their way, Roth. It's not polite, Roth, to deny them."

Thrice spoken, thrice compelled. Through gritted teeth, Roth sighed. "Tell us your name, Bartender."

The coyote smiled. "Gladly," he said. He approached from here he'd stayed standing, in the doorway to the kitchen, and stood in front of the fire the Champions were gathered around. Aerin, seeing the coyote approach, sat back down at his cushion.

The coyote looked to the wolf. "Ask me my name, Aerin."

"What is your name?" Aerin asked. The words spilled out from him without him even realizing he spoke them.

"And you, Nurik."

"What is your name?" Nurik asked.

"And you, Clair."

"What is your name?" Clair asked.

The coyote looked to Roth. He smiled. It was a smile only worn by someone who'd just won. "Ask me my name, Roth."

"What is your name?" Roth asked. But it was a pointless question. Roth had already figured it out.

"Asked four times, and answered once," the coyote said. "Four debts for one name." He paused. He, after all, loved dramatics. Any patron would tell you that. Unfortunately, it had been one thousand years since he'd had patrons come his way. And much is forgotten in a thousand years. Much left unsaid.

"My name is Angra Mainyu," the coyote said. It had been so long since he said it. It tasted sweet on his tongue. "And all I ask in return for telling you is your lives."