Chapter Index

Kobie shouted over the roaring wind. “Watch your lines!”

“We’re doin’ what we can, cap’n,” said one of the men, “but if don’t get out of this storm, ain’t no manner of manpower what can help us.”

“If you can complain, you can pull that line in.”

The crewman dipped his head. “Aye, sir.”

The rest of the crew of the Vahana worked feverishly to keep the ship steady. Two days after rescuing Wilton and Greg, they encountered heavy winds on their way to the nearest settlement. The winds carried dust and sand with them, forcing the crew to adopt goggles and headwraps just to be able to move and work.

Read more

Chapter Index

Ephy’s voice had risen an octave. “I don’t want them on my ship.”

She’d been irritated with Nisaba, Satchel, and Hastiand for jumping down to help, but when they insisted on bringing the two men and their luggage on board the Vahana, she became irate. Her voice was loud enough to pierce through the wind that swept across the deck of the ship.

“Too bad,” replied Satchel. “If you want my help, you’ll have to help them. At least until we can get them back on their feet.”

The girl’s mouth worked. “This wasn’t part of our deal.”

Read more

Chapter Index

Wilton grunted as he pulled himself up onto the carriage’s roof. His arms and shoulders ached at the strain, but he forced his body to comply.

By the hells, I’m out of shape, he thought. I should not be doing this at my age.

He stayed low and moved gingerly toward the driver’s seat. The bouncing and swaying of the carriage made Wilton lose his grip more than once and he nearly slipped over the side, but he snagged the edge each time and regained his position. He finally reached the seat and eased his way down.

Read more

Chapter Index

The professor reached down underneath his seat and produced a steam pistol.

He handed it to Greg and said, “Check with the driver. Find out what’s going on.”

Greg hesitated, sighed, and grabbed the pistol. He never felt comfortable around firearms. He had nothing against them, but the thought of that much power in his own, untrained hands made him uneasy. With a firm grip on the pistol’s handle and his finger well away from the trigger, Greg opened the door and leaned out.

A harsh wind kicked up dust, making him rub his eyes. He was about to shout something at the driver but stopped when he noticed that the driver was gone.

Read more

Chapter Index

Hastiand gripped the railing, leaned over the side, and promptly threw up.

“That better not have landed all over my window,” said Ephy from her deck chair.

“Fuhhh...bleuuuu,” replied Hastiand.

“What did you say?”

“Er...” said Satchel, “I don’t think you want to know.” The young thief had a firm hold on the bard’s belt, making sure he didn’t tip over the side and plummet to his death.

Read more

Chapter Index

Who-knows-how-long ago

Addie crossed her arms.

“There is no way,” she said.

The moment she had realized that the Arbiter was asking her to work with the mandolin, she had turned away, opened a door at random, and began pacing up and down the hallway. A few minutes later, Luthais firmly, but gently escorted her back to the dining table. The mandolin was nowhere to be seen.

Read more

Chapter Index

Satchel and Basco sat in silence for a few moments, stunned by what they had just read.

“Jarek told me about the Great Goblin War,” Satchel finally said. “It led to their extinction, didn’t it?”

“Officially, that’s the story,” replied Basco, “though one should always dig deeper than the ‘official’ narrative. The truth, I find, is often more complicated than at first glance. Some theorize that the remnants of that race went underground. I’ve heard rumors of goblin sightings here and there, so it’s possible they survived in hiding. Even this account we’re reading, while illuminating, should not be treated as the full truth, and, unfortunately, we have no way of confirming its veracity.”

Read more

Chapter Index

Amon and Hastiand stood before Forstomur awaiting his response. The dwarven sheriff of Estella glared at them with crossed arms and simultaneously tapped his foot. He’d been like that for several uncomfortable minutes after the pair had finished relaying their story. Hastiand felt like they were being scolded by a schoolteacher.

Finally, Forstomur pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath. “I have a problem, gentlemen,” he said. “Gerald was the son of one of the local landowners. They’re still demanding answers regarding the death of their boy.” He looked up at them. “And now I have those answers, but it’s a tale so incredible, it defies believability.”

Read more

Chapter Index

When Satchel and Hastiand returned, they called a meeting to discuss everything that had happened in Ire. Basco had his own news to share, but let Satchel go first. The three of them along with Amon sat in the study of the Capestrelli manor on the island of Istburn. Dusk approached as the pair of travelers relayed the events of the past day.

“While I understand your point of view,” said Basco when Satchel finished explaining the details of the arrangement he’d made, “I share Hastiand’s apprehension. The Order’s past actions involved death and destruction on a wide scale.”

Read more

Chapter Index

Ephy led Satchel and Hastiand out of the abandoned section of the Pipes, past Ledion Square, and, to their surprise, through the checkpoint and into Upper Ire.

“Where are we going?” asked Satchel as they entered the queue to pass through the checkpoint.

Ephy smiled and said, “Somewhere we can talk in peace that doesn’t smell like sewage.” With a glance back to Hastiand, “And don’t worry, it’s not a trap.”

“That makes it sound more like a trap,” the bard replied with a frown.

Read more

Chapter Index

The smell of rotted garbage and aged human waste invaded Hastiand’s nostrils, making him pinch his nose as they walked. Their sojourn into the old tunnels of the Pipes had been more disgusting than the bard had anticipated. They’d been walking for over two hours with only the small lantern Satchel had grabbed on their way out of the house to light their way.

“How much farther is it?” he asked. His voice sounded nasally.

Read more

Chapter Index

The old scholar stared at the page for a long moment. Basco had heard and read tales like this a hundred times, but something intrigued him about this story. It reminded him of Beatrice, his own wife.

He sighed. “No time for that,” he said to no one.

Read more

Chapter Index

Read more

Chapter Index

The house, it turned out, was not in one piece. Most of the windowpanes were broken, and the door had been pried open. But the door was made of heavy oak and whoever finally broke in would have worked long and hard at it. The bits of wooden laying on the ground still looked fairly fresh, so it hadn’t been long since it happened. This was the only consolation Satchel had as he and Hastiand stood a few paces away from the entrance.

“Filthy thieves,” said Hastiand. “No offense.”

Read more

Chapter Index

Now

A sharp pain ran through A sharp pain ran through back of Hastiand’s head as it struck the stone wall.

“Ow,” he yelled. “Don’t you know how to drive that thing yet?”

An old man’s voice sounded incredulous as it said, “I am not a thing, bard.” The voice came from the brass spyglass in Satchel’s hand.

Hastiand groaned. “I got dirt on my new clothes, too. Why did I get volunteered for this job anyway?”

Read more

Chapter Index

Fifteen Years Ago

Rickard awoke with Rickard awoke with a streams of cold sweat running down the sides of his face. The moon shone brightly, bathing the forest in a silver hue. The odd angles of the shadows played with Rickard’s eyes, and it took him several seconds to focus.

It had been two days since the incident in the alley. He had been moving nonstop during that time and fatigue was catching up with him. Already, he had slept longer than he meant to, and panic began to set in. The Guild would not have given up after their last hunting party failed. Next time, they would send those wretched automatons after him. Rickard cursed himself for helping those fools build their machines.

Read more

Chapter Index

Addie blinked a few times. The Arbiter referred to the All Father as though he was a real person. The man’s words and tone spoke to a soldier-commander or servant-master relationship. Jarek had expressed his faith in the All Father and importance of following his principles, but Addie rarely gave it much credence beyond a nice story. If the Arbiter was speaking the truth, the implications were staggering. However, she had more pressing concerns, chief among them was how to leave this place.

Read more

Chapter Index

Who-knows-how-long ago

The air left Addie’s lungs as she was tugged into the portal. As she tried desperately to breathe, the opening began to close around her. Her body twisted and contorted in painful ways, but she couldn’t scream. Pain wracked her entire body, and she felt as though her very bones would break apart. A hollow roar filled her ears, punctuated by Sylljack’s screams. Satchel’s shocked expression was the last thing she saw before darkness filled her vision. She vaguely remembered saying something to him before getting yanked back as Sylljack grabbed her.

Read more

Chapter Index

The Jade had cleared the path that led from the mansion down to the town center, so Satchel’s walk was quick and easy. Even two weeks ago, he would have had to take a machete with him to clear out brush.

Claps of hammer against wood and nail, and the rasping of saws reached his ears long before he arrived. Torchlight and lanterns bathed the area in a warm golden glow. When he caught sight of the construction crew, he stopped and watched. The way the Jade worked together in perfect unison with no wasted movement was a sight to behold.

Read more

Chapter Index

Basco rubbed his one good eye and sighed. The words and symbols on the page in front of him were beginning to blur together. He wanted to press on, but months of long days and short nights were beginning to catch up to him. Ezio Sciarra’s journal spoke of the Capestrelli schism and hinted at some archive, but where that archive was, no one had yet discovered.

He grabbed the handle of the ibrik sitting on his desk and checked its contents. The dark residue of coffee grounds—long since dried out—had collected on one side. His eye went to the brass grinder, and his other hand started for it, but stopped. More coffee at that point would have done little more than give him the shakes.

Read more