The Portal Problem
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FRIENDS & CONTRACTS
Draessellor stirred the flames of his small fire and watched the burst of sparks drift up to wink out between the stars. He would be paid well for sitting here and waiting once he killed whoever arrived by the way described. The contract didn’t mention who was coming. That was fairly normal and, to be honest, it never crossed his mind to ask. He’d been a mercenary and murderer for hire for too many years to bother counting them anymore. Not fancy enough for assassinations, and not pretty enough for subterfuge, he’d simply killed a lot of people for money. Over those many years, he’d made a couple of friends as well. Not easy, considering. More of a surprise when it happened, actually.
Ruffling feathers caught his attention and one eye swiveled up to look at the messenger crow one of his friends had sent to him, reminding him of the letter she’d sent asking for his help if he was able. She’d even offered payment, and written a sincere wish for his continued well-being. He stirred the flames again. Ceil was a good friend.
He set aside the stick he’d been using to stir the fire. He needed to get some rest and locking his joints was easier than lying down, so he hunched a bit rounder and settled in for a comfortable night. The contract mentioned other killers but didn’t say who else was coming, or precisely when, so he decided it was best to be able to move quickly. The fire ebbed down to embers as his eyes closed to slits and he entered into the nearest state he was capable of that was akin to sleep as mammals understood it.
His subconscious watched the stars spin overhead, their positions counting the hours that aligned perfectly with how far the fire was burning down. The messenger crow stayed perched on the low branch of the nearby tree as it slept.
As dawn arrived, so did the forewarning scents of approaching scavengers. Draessellor stood and walked away from his fire so he could bring his weapons to hand without being seen doing so, and returned to find one of the serpents coiling around the heat of the embers. She lifted her head to speak with him and he snapped out a blade quicker than she could dodge, separating her head from her body. Serpents rarely had anything useful to say, and the ones that could speak tasted exactly like the ones that couldn’t. Her male companion attempted to attack from behind and lost his bottom jaw to the first sword swing. The second swing cut the serpent in half, the front writhing away to bleed out rather than turn back for a swifter death.
Draessellor ignored the dying, useless half of the male and set to inspecting the female. Her hide looked like she’d recently gone through a shedding and would make good leather he could sell for additional profit. The nearby half of the male wasn’t in as good of condition so wouldn’t be worth the effort of tanning. As he started skinning the female, he decided that tonight he would track the front half of the male and cut out the fangs to sharpen for daggers. The serpent ivory was too brittle for his preference, but some lords and royals paid well for the small blades due to the rarity.
His friend’s promised second messenger crow arrived with a pop of light on the fourth day of waiting for the target. Ceil had said in her first letter that, if he wasn’t able to help her, he needed to reply within three days using the first crow. If he was able to help, he didn’t need to reply at all and she’d send a second crow with a small portrait of her offspring that had gone missing. Of course he hadn’t replied. The second crow delivered the portrait to his hand and then flew up to the low branch to roost with the first. Draessellor studied the image of the young human, memorizing every line, and then tossed the page into the fire he always kept burning.
Her first letter had said her king was dying and a neighboring country had tipped over the brink into war, so her country had sent troops to help. One of her sons had gone to war, and then then other had disappeared. She didn’t ask him to come and fight, which is what he’d expected, but instead inquired that – if their paths happened to cross – could he please protect and guide her missing offspring safely home to her kingdom, as he’d once protected and guided her. She expected to compensate him at his usual rate, which was odd because he didn’t know where – or even if – he would cross paths with Ceil’s wayward offspring.
He smiled at the flames as he stirred the fire; her dealings were always so professional.
He set aside the stick and took a blank parchment roll out of his pack. Careful with making his letters because he rarely used them, he scratched out a short letter using charcoal that stated he would look to find her offspring. He paused, and then added his sincere hope that she was also well despite the problems she was facing. He cut the note from the roll and put the roll away, then called down the crows by holding up the letter. One of them plucked the note from his hand. The two circled for a moment, flipping and spinning around the column of smoke from the fire, before disappearing through a pop of light.
Teleportation was neat to watch, but only a few species were capable of surviving it. Draessellor didn’t know if he was capable, and he wasn’t willing to try and see. Crows did well at it, and rats. (The rats couldn’t be trusted to reliably deliver messages, they were too independently minded, however seeing swarms of them sent to harass enemies never failed to be entertaining.)
While his pack was open, he replaced the blank parchment and took a moment to scan over the contract he was here to collect on. Whatever he was meant to kill had been described as only ‘Human; male’, but the method of arrival was set out in detail: portal teleportation, unique due to the use of twelve stones that created a doorway appearance. The final sentence mentioned that there would be at least three other assassins present to ensure success, and all would be paid without question even if only providing eyewitness proof of seeing the Human killed.
Draessellor stirred the flames of his small fire and watched the burst of sparks drift up to wink out between the stars. He would be paid well for sitting here and waiting once he killed whoever arrived by the way described. The contract didn’t mention who was coming. That was fairly normal and, to be honest, it never crossed his mind to ask. He’d been a mercenary and murderer for hire for too many years to bother counting them anymore. Not fancy enough for assassinations, and not pretty enough for subterfuge, he’d simply killed a lot of people for money. Over those many years, he’d made a couple of friends as well. Not easy, considering. More of a surprise when it happened, actually.
Ruffling feathers caught his attention and one eye swiveled up to look at the messenger crow one of his friends had sent to him, reminding him of the letter she’d sent asking for his help if he was able. She’d even offered payment, and written a sincere wish for his continued well-being. He stirred the flames again. Ceil was a good friend.
He set aside the stick he’d been using to stir the fire. He needed to get some rest and locking his joints was easier than lying down, so he hunched a bit rounder and settled in for a comfortable night. The contract mentioned other killers but didn’t say who else was coming, or precisely when, so he decided it was best to be able to move quickly. The fire ebbed down to embers as his eyes closed to slits and he entered into the nearest state he was capable of that was akin to sleep as mammals understood it.
His subconscious watched the stars spin overhead, their positions counting the hours that aligned perfectly with how far the fire was burning down. The messenger crow stayed perched on the low branch of the nearby tree as it slept.
As dawn arrived, so did the forewarning scents of approaching scavengers. Draessellor stood and walked away from his fire so he could bring his weapons to hand without being seen doing so, and returned to find one of the serpents coiling around the heat of the embers. She lifted her head to speak with him and he snapped out a blade quicker than she could dodge, separating her head from her body. Serpents rarely had anything useful to say, and the ones that could speak tasted exactly like the ones that couldn’t. Her male companion attempted to attack from behind and lost his bottom jaw to the first sword swing. The second swing cut the serpent in half, the front writhing away to bleed out rather than turn back for a swifter death.
Draessellor ignored the dying, useless half of the male and set to inspecting the female. Her hide looked like she’d recently gone through a shedding and would make good leather he could sell for additional profit. The nearby half of the male wasn’t in as good of condition so wouldn’t be worth the effort of tanning. As he started skinning the female, he decided that tonight he would track the front half of the male and cut out the fangs to sharpen for daggers. The serpent ivory was too brittle for his preference, but some lords and royals paid well for the small blades due to the rarity.
His friend’s promised second messenger crow arrived with a pop of light on the fourth day of waiting for the target. Ceil had said in her first letter that, if he wasn’t able to help her, he needed to reply within three days using the first crow. If he was able to help, he didn’t need to reply at all and she’d send a second crow with a small portrait of her offspring that had gone missing. Of course he hadn’t replied. The second crow delivered the portrait to his hand and then flew up to the low branch to roost with the first. Draessellor studied the image of the young human, memorizing every line, and then tossed the page into the fire he always kept burning.
Her first letter had said her king was dying and a neighboring country had tipped over the brink into war, so her country had sent troops to help. One of her sons had gone to war, and then then other had disappeared. She didn’t ask him to come and fight, which is what he’d expected, but instead inquired that – if their paths happened to cross – could he please protect and guide her missing offspring safely home to her kingdom, as he’d once protected and guided her. She expected to compensate him at his usual rate, which was odd because he didn’t know where – or even if – he would cross paths with Ceil’s wayward offspring.
He smiled at the flames as he stirred the fire; her dealings were always so professional.
He set aside the stick and took a blank parchment roll out of his pack. Careful with making his letters because he rarely used them, he scratched out a short letter using charcoal that stated he would look to find her offspring. He paused, and then added his sincere hope that she was also well despite the problems she was facing. He cut the note from the roll and put the roll away, then called down the crows by holding up the letter. One of them plucked the note from his hand. The two circled for a moment, flipping and spinning around the column of smoke from the fire, before disappearing through a pop of light.
Teleportation was neat to watch, but only a few species were capable of surviving it. Draessellor didn’t know if he was capable, and he wasn’t willing to try and see. Crows did well at it, and rats. (The rats couldn’t be trusted to reliably deliver messages, they were too independently minded, however seeing swarms of them sent to harass enemies never failed to be entertaining.)
While his pack was open, he replaced the blank parchment and took a moment to scan over the contract he was here to collect on. Whatever he was meant to kill had been described as only ‘Human; male’, but the method of arrival was set out in detail: portal teleportation, unique due to the use of twelve stones that created a doorway appearance. The final sentence mentioned that there would be at least three other assassins present to ensure success, and all would be paid without question even if only providing eyewitness proof of seeing the Human killed.
THE OTHER ASSASSINS
Draessellor scoffed and put the contract away again. He wasn’t an assassin, so the mention of there being ‘other’ assassins would never stop looking ridiculous to him; almost as ridiculous as there being a mage stamp in the contract’s seal. There was too much magic for his tastes these past years. Whole wars were being fought by mages rather than swordsmen and mercenaries. The last person he’d spoken to had even tried to convince him that the unnatural uses of magic all these mages were inventing were for something or other positive that supported some greater good. With honest murder becoming a scarce occupation, and deaths by potions and invisible means on a sharp rise, it was hard to believe that magic was some kind of ‘better’ goodness than a steel blade and some dragon scale armor.
Adding emphasis to the thought, Draessellor thumped a fist against the large scales protecting his soft underbelly. These had been a gift from another of his friends, a Storm Dragon from distant mountains he hadn’t crossed in many, many years.
“Call me Cliff,” was how the dragon introduced himself after a lengthy discussion of why Draessellor was perched in what he’d thought an excellent hiding place until Cliff had ripped the top off of it. Cliff had thought the small Reptillian was seeking fame or fortune by killing dragons, and the long conversation confirming he was only there to ambush a passing caravan had been carried out with Draessellor literally underfoot. (Perhaps the conversation hadn’t been lengthy, but only looked that way due to the amount and size of teeth asking the questions.) Cliff had apologized for the misunderstanding.
What solidified them into friends was that the queen who’d hired Draessellor for murdering the caravan had tried to hire him to hunt the dragons he’d spent a pleasant afternoon with. He hadn’t taken the job, she’d tried to have him killed under her kingdom’s treason laws, and Cliff heard about it. He and his wife had found Draessellor just before the execution and laid waste to half the palace and then carried their new friend back to the mountains so he could regain his health in peace.
Cliff’s eldest son had cut the strongest scales from his father’s body and fashioned them into armor for Draessellor when the old dragon passed on. It had been a gift of both unequalled kindness and unparalleled sadness. The armor had been how he’d learned the ancient dragon had died.
A familiar scent arrived on the breeze and Draesellor tasted the air for clearer definition, his tongue slipping out and back in like a snake’s. An Elf assassin and her daughter that were known to him from wars throughout the decades were coming. They weren’t friends of his, but also not enemies.
“Old lizard,” the mother greeted him politely once they arrived beside his fire.
“Good Elf,” he rumbled out the appropriate reply. “You’re expected here for the doorway portal?” he asked pointedly. In his mind it was best to be certain that they wouldn’t be in each other’s ways if their jobs were different.
“We are,” she agreed. He uncurled his hands to show they were empty as an invitation for them to join his fire. They made the same gesture before sitting down. “Might I ask you to allow my daughter this kill?”
He’d heard the rumors that the younger Elf had started doing more in her apprenticeship. A controlled kill like this would be a good place to practice.
“I’ll watch,” he agreed. The mother smiled kindly at him, and then beamed at her daughter. The younger female sat prouder.
“Do you know who the third and fourth assassins are?” the daughter asked. He decided to not bother correcting her that he was just a murderer because she was obviously attempting to be polite while discovering if he had any further information that could help her.
“No,” he replied honestly.
“Do you have a description of the Human?” she asked another question.
“No.”
“What about the stones that were mentioned. Do you –”
Her mother interrupted her by placing a restraining hand on the daughter’s arm. He stayed staring at the thwarted questioner and swiveled only one eye to look at the mother.
“The impatience of youth,” the mother excused her child before turning to look at her daughter. “When speaking with an equal regarding a joint effort, we assume they have the same contract that we do, delivered by the same means,” she instructed quietly.
“He’s only a mercenary,” the daughter hissed, her condescension much quieter than what she expected him to be able to hear from this distance.
“He’s been my colleague in combat for more years than you’ve been alive,” the mother replied at the same volume, her tone chastising. “Isn’t that right, old lizard?” she asked, her voice dropping even quieter for the question.
“I lost count of the years we’ve fought on the same and different sides many years ago,” he replied.
The daughter gaped at him for a moment and then slammed her mouth shut and sullenly glared at the fire. The mother hid a smile by digging through her pack. The rations she took out smelled and looked delicious to the two of them. However, having tasted Elf food before (and considering the amount he trusted these two) he easily declined the offer of sharing with them in favor of eating from the serpents he’d killed the other day.
Once the customary meal was complete, confirming they would eat together so must be on the same side, Draessellor packed his kit and slung it across his back before walking away to go check on the serpent hide he was tanning into leather. The younger Elf peppered her mother with questions as soon as she believed him out of hearing distance, because he was out of sight, and he chuckled quietly while trying to remember ever being that young and naïve.
Another scent he recognized arrived with the evening wind while Draessellor was sorting through the dead serpents’ bones. He’d cleaned and scraped them, and now he was looking for one that would carve and dry nicely to make a delicate hilt fit for a Human female’s hands. He was decided since this morning that it would be appropriate to actively look for his friend’s son due to the logic that she must be extremely worried if she’d contacted him. Plus, the pay would be fair, it would be pleasant to see her, and if her kingdom was going to war then there was likely more profit to be made… and she would likely need a new knife. He wasn’t good at gifts, but practical weapons he understood well. After some consideration, he selected the female serpent’s skull.
The scent in the breeze grew stronger as what Draessellor called ‘the winged thing’ approached. He sighed as he tensed and relaxed to settle his scales comfortably for standing after crouching for so long. Whoever had done the hiring for this job wasn’t very smart, or was young and not very well informed. Neither provided a comfort for what would be the irritating night ahead.
Draessellor scoffed and put the contract away again. He wasn’t an assassin, so the mention of there being ‘other’ assassins would never stop looking ridiculous to him; almost as ridiculous as there being a mage stamp in the contract’s seal. There was too much magic for his tastes these past years. Whole wars were being fought by mages rather than swordsmen and mercenaries. The last person he’d spoken to had even tried to convince him that the unnatural uses of magic all these mages were inventing were for something or other positive that supported some greater good. With honest murder becoming a scarce occupation, and deaths by potions and invisible means on a sharp rise, it was hard to believe that magic was some kind of ‘better’ goodness than a steel blade and some dragon scale armor.
Adding emphasis to the thought, Draessellor thumped a fist against the large scales protecting his soft underbelly. These had been a gift from another of his friends, a Storm Dragon from distant mountains he hadn’t crossed in many, many years.
“Call me Cliff,” was how the dragon introduced himself after a lengthy discussion of why Draessellor was perched in what he’d thought an excellent hiding place until Cliff had ripped the top off of it. Cliff had thought the small Reptillian was seeking fame or fortune by killing dragons, and the long conversation confirming he was only there to ambush a passing caravan had been carried out with Draessellor literally underfoot. (Perhaps the conversation hadn’t been lengthy, but only looked that way due to the amount and size of teeth asking the questions.) Cliff had apologized for the misunderstanding.
What solidified them into friends was that the queen who’d hired Draessellor for murdering the caravan had tried to hire him to hunt the dragons he’d spent a pleasant afternoon with. He hadn’t taken the job, she’d tried to have him killed under her kingdom’s treason laws, and Cliff heard about it. He and his wife had found Draessellor just before the execution and laid waste to half the palace and then carried their new friend back to the mountains so he could regain his health in peace.
Cliff’s eldest son had cut the strongest scales from his father’s body and fashioned them into armor for Draessellor when the old dragon passed on. It had been a gift of both unequalled kindness and unparalleled sadness. The armor had been how he’d learned the ancient dragon had died.
A familiar scent arrived on the breeze and Draesellor tasted the air for clearer definition, his tongue slipping out and back in like a snake’s. An Elf assassin and her daughter that were known to him from wars throughout the decades were coming. They weren’t friends of his, but also not enemies.
“Old lizard,” the mother greeted him politely once they arrived beside his fire.
“Good Elf,” he rumbled out the appropriate reply. “You’re expected here for the doorway portal?” he asked pointedly. In his mind it was best to be certain that they wouldn’t be in each other’s ways if their jobs were different.
“We are,” she agreed. He uncurled his hands to show they were empty as an invitation for them to join his fire. They made the same gesture before sitting down. “Might I ask you to allow my daughter this kill?”
He’d heard the rumors that the younger Elf had started doing more in her apprenticeship. A controlled kill like this would be a good place to practice.
“I’ll watch,” he agreed. The mother smiled kindly at him, and then beamed at her daughter. The younger female sat prouder.
“Do you know who the third and fourth assassins are?” the daughter asked. He decided to not bother correcting her that he was just a murderer because she was obviously attempting to be polite while discovering if he had any further information that could help her.
“No,” he replied honestly.
“Do you have a description of the Human?” she asked another question.
“No.”
“What about the stones that were mentioned. Do you –”
Her mother interrupted her by placing a restraining hand on the daughter’s arm. He stayed staring at the thwarted questioner and swiveled only one eye to look at the mother.
“The impatience of youth,” the mother excused her child before turning to look at her daughter. “When speaking with an equal regarding a joint effort, we assume they have the same contract that we do, delivered by the same means,” she instructed quietly.
“He’s only a mercenary,” the daughter hissed, her condescension much quieter than what she expected him to be able to hear from this distance.
“He’s been my colleague in combat for more years than you’ve been alive,” the mother replied at the same volume, her tone chastising. “Isn’t that right, old lizard?” she asked, her voice dropping even quieter for the question.
“I lost count of the years we’ve fought on the same and different sides many years ago,” he replied.
The daughter gaped at him for a moment and then slammed her mouth shut and sullenly glared at the fire. The mother hid a smile by digging through her pack. The rations she took out smelled and looked delicious to the two of them. However, having tasted Elf food before (and considering the amount he trusted these two) he easily declined the offer of sharing with them in favor of eating from the serpents he’d killed the other day.
Once the customary meal was complete, confirming they would eat together so must be on the same side, Draessellor packed his kit and slung it across his back before walking away to go check on the serpent hide he was tanning into leather. The younger Elf peppered her mother with questions as soon as she believed him out of hearing distance, because he was out of sight, and he chuckled quietly while trying to remember ever being that young and naïve.
Another scent he recognized arrived with the evening wind while Draessellor was sorting through the dead serpents’ bones. He’d cleaned and scraped them, and now he was looking for one that would carve and dry nicely to make a delicate hilt fit for a Human female’s hands. He was decided since this morning that it would be appropriate to actively look for his friend’s son due to the logic that she must be extremely worried if she’d contacted him. Plus, the pay would be fair, it would be pleasant to see her, and if her kingdom was going to war then there was likely more profit to be made… and she would likely need a new knife. He wasn’t good at gifts, but practical weapons he understood well. After some consideration, he selected the female serpent’s skull.
The scent in the breeze grew stronger as what Draessellor called ‘the winged thing’ approached. He sighed as he tensed and relaxed to settle his scales comfortably for standing after crouching for so long. Whoever had done the hiring for this job wasn’t very smart, or was young and not very well informed. Neither provided a comfort for what would be the irritating night ahead.
A SMOLDERING ASSEMBLY
“Well, well, well… how inconspicuous,” the winged thing taunted the Elves. “A blazing fire in the dark.”
“It’s not our fire,” the mother snipped back.
“Of course not,” he replied, landing with a swish of wings that stirred up a spiral of hot embers and sparks tall enough for Draessellor to see above the hill cliff he was climbing around.
“Hey!” the daughter yelped. Draessellor tasted the next breeze and discovered traces of burned leaves, fabric, skin and hair. He crested the path to see the mother draw a blade against the aggressor who had just showered her offspring with hot ashes.
“Oh, please do!” the winged thing smiled, his pointed teeth reflecting the stirred up firelight as he drew his own sword and squared off to begin circling with the mother and daughter.
Draessellor hefted his knife from his belt and flicked it down, stabbing the ground nearby the fire, directly between the combatants. The heavy thud of it sinking deeply into the roots of the tree made the statement clearly of his approach. All three glanced at the blade and then stared out at the dark in the direction the knife had flown from. Draessellor knew it would be fun to simply pause so that they wouldn’t see his motion, but didn’t want his fire put out because of their squabble. The Elves sheathed their weapons first in spite of the winged thing seeing him walking down the hill before they did.
“Oh,” the winged thing stated, frowning as if he’d just smelled something awful. “You’re here,” he added as Draessellor got close enough to see. “That explains the stupidity of a fire.”
“Don’t you have a mountain to hang off of and screech at travelers from?” the mother asked the winged thing.
“How original. Did you manage to think that up yourself?”
Draessellor walked between the squabble, ignoring it because the winged thing and Elves all backed quickly out of what they thought was his striking distance. He retrieved his knife and checked it in case the careless handling had caused the blade to strike a stone. Luckily the only difference on the blade since he drew it was the addition of some sap and some dirt.
“Well then, ancient snake, how have you been keeping?” the winged thing smirked the question, straightening his light armor after stumbling during his recent retreat. Draessellor ignored him because that wasn’t a name he answered to. He crouched down, facing the fire, and took what he needed from his kit to clean the knife properly.
“I collected more firewood for you, old lizard.” The young Elf had obviously been prompted by her mother, but she was trying her best to sound polite. The winged thing was sneering out a laugh at the young Elf’s expense as Draessellor looked at both the Elf and the restocked wood pile.
“You selected good timbers. Thank you.”
Her mother relaxed visibly and nodded slightly when her daughter looked to her for guidance of how to accept the minuscule compliment.
“I got you firewood,” the winged thing mimicked in a squeaky voice before the Elf could say anything else.
“Respect is earned through deed,” the mother chastised.
“I’m a Celestial Being. Everyone respects me because –”
“Half,” Draessellor interrupted. “You’re half Celestial. You inherited the look of your father without any of his wisdom,” he added before the winged thing could continue bragging. The winged thing glared at him in surly silence.
The Elves sat together at the fire’s edge, the mother checking that the daughter’s new burns were slight. She loudly instructed her daughter for how to best maim or kill the flying thing either during or after killing the target Human. The winged thing hunched across the flames from them and interjected insults whenever he could, which was often because he believed being clever made up for being unwise. Draessellor cleaned his knife meticulously, sharpened it while he had it out, and tidied his things back into his kit so that he could begin working on the gift he was going to make for his friend. The winged thing sprang back from the fire and stumbled to his feet a short distance away.
“Five stars of… is that a Giant Poisonous Viper skull?” the winged thing demanded, staring out at the night fearfully.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” Draessellor replied.
He scored the skull deeply with his claws in the general shape that he wanted the finished hilt to have, making certain that any splinters from breaking it wouldn’t make it too small, then gripped it in both hands and snapped off the pieces he was planning to discard. The part he was left with was larger than what he’d wanted, but that was better than too small to fit the fang properly into.
The winged thing fled to a stand of nearby trees for the night, keeping himself off the ground and well away from more vipers. The younger Elf swallowed hard as Draessellor used his thumb claws to begin whittling the hilt. She didn’t say anything to interrupt him though, which made for company that was more pleasant than expected. He picked up one of the larger, useless pieces and sucked at the marrow as he worked, the rough shape of the hilt smoothing into something that he would be able to easily work on beside the fire. The skull bone was thick enough to add an engraving detail, as well, if he could think up something that his friend might find attractive.
After a while the Elves set out bedrolls and tucked into them. They slept lightly so Draessellor didn’t move around much out of respect that they needed sleep more often than every few days. A crow popped in very early in the morning, circled the fire once before dropping a note into Draessellor’s hand, and then popped back out again. The scrap of paper was small and smelled of his friend. There were only two words on it, and that she thought to send them was a kindness he didn’t expect. Both Elves were staring at the note when he swiveled an eye to check their statuses so, because Ceil’s simple ‘Thank you’ didn’t concern them or require their knowledge, he burned it.
He was happy with his progress on the little hilt. It was small enough for a Human hand now, but the edges were likely too rough to feel comfortable against his friend’s soft skin. He wrapped it into the same cloth as the better of all the fangs and tucked the package into his kit.
“Well, well, well… how inconspicuous,” the winged thing taunted the Elves. “A blazing fire in the dark.”
“It’s not our fire,” the mother snipped back.
“Of course not,” he replied, landing with a swish of wings that stirred up a spiral of hot embers and sparks tall enough for Draessellor to see above the hill cliff he was climbing around.
“Hey!” the daughter yelped. Draessellor tasted the next breeze and discovered traces of burned leaves, fabric, skin and hair. He crested the path to see the mother draw a blade against the aggressor who had just showered her offspring with hot ashes.
“Oh, please do!” the winged thing smiled, his pointed teeth reflecting the stirred up firelight as he drew his own sword and squared off to begin circling with the mother and daughter.
Draessellor hefted his knife from his belt and flicked it down, stabbing the ground nearby the fire, directly between the combatants. The heavy thud of it sinking deeply into the roots of the tree made the statement clearly of his approach. All three glanced at the blade and then stared out at the dark in the direction the knife had flown from. Draessellor knew it would be fun to simply pause so that they wouldn’t see his motion, but didn’t want his fire put out because of their squabble. The Elves sheathed their weapons first in spite of the winged thing seeing him walking down the hill before they did.
“Oh,” the winged thing stated, frowning as if he’d just smelled something awful. “You’re here,” he added as Draessellor got close enough to see. “That explains the stupidity of a fire.”
“Don’t you have a mountain to hang off of and screech at travelers from?” the mother asked the winged thing.
“How original. Did you manage to think that up yourself?”
Draessellor walked between the squabble, ignoring it because the winged thing and Elves all backed quickly out of what they thought was his striking distance. He retrieved his knife and checked it in case the careless handling had caused the blade to strike a stone. Luckily the only difference on the blade since he drew it was the addition of some sap and some dirt.
“Well then, ancient snake, how have you been keeping?” the winged thing smirked the question, straightening his light armor after stumbling during his recent retreat. Draessellor ignored him because that wasn’t a name he answered to. He crouched down, facing the fire, and took what he needed from his kit to clean the knife properly.
“I collected more firewood for you, old lizard.” The young Elf had obviously been prompted by her mother, but she was trying her best to sound polite. The winged thing was sneering out a laugh at the young Elf’s expense as Draessellor looked at both the Elf and the restocked wood pile.
“You selected good timbers. Thank you.”
Her mother relaxed visibly and nodded slightly when her daughter looked to her for guidance of how to accept the minuscule compliment.
“I got you firewood,” the winged thing mimicked in a squeaky voice before the Elf could say anything else.
“Respect is earned through deed,” the mother chastised.
“I’m a Celestial Being. Everyone respects me because –”
“Half,” Draessellor interrupted. “You’re half Celestial. You inherited the look of your father without any of his wisdom,” he added before the winged thing could continue bragging. The winged thing glared at him in surly silence.
The Elves sat together at the fire’s edge, the mother checking that the daughter’s new burns were slight. She loudly instructed her daughter for how to best maim or kill the flying thing either during or after killing the target Human. The winged thing hunched across the flames from them and interjected insults whenever he could, which was often because he believed being clever made up for being unwise. Draessellor cleaned his knife meticulously, sharpened it while he had it out, and tidied his things back into his kit so that he could begin working on the gift he was going to make for his friend. The winged thing sprang back from the fire and stumbled to his feet a short distance away.
“Five stars of… is that a Giant Poisonous Viper skull?” the winged thing demanded, staring out at the night fearfully.
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask,” Draessellor replied.
He scored the skull deeply with his claws in the general shape that he wanted the finished hilt to have, making certain that any splinters from breaking it wouldn’t make it too small, then gripped it in both hands and snapped off the pieces he was planning to discard. The part he was left with was larger than what he’d wanted, but that was better than too small to fit the fang properly into.
The winged thing fled to a stand of nearby trees for the night, keeping himself off the ground and well away from more vipers. The younger Elf swallowed hard as Draessellor used his thumb claws to begin whittling the hilt. She didn’t say anything to interrupt him though, which made for company that was more pleasant than expected. He picked up one of the larger, useless pieces and sucked at the marrow as he worked, the rough shape of the hilt smoothing into something that he would be able to easily work on beside the fire. The skull bone was thick enough to add an engraving detail, as well, if he could think up something that his friend might find attractive.
After a while the Elves set out bedrolls and tucked into them. They slept lightly so Draessellor didn’t move around much out of respect that they needed sleep more often than every few days. A crow popped in very early in the morning, circled the fire once before dropping a note into Draessellor’s hand, and then popped back out again. The scrap of paper was small and smelled of his friend. There were only two words on it, and that she thought to send them was a kindness he didn’t expect. Both Elves were staring at the note when he swiveled an eye to check their statuses so, because Ceil’s simple ‘Thank you’ didn’t concern them or require their knowledge, he burned it.
He was happy with his progress on the little hilt. It was small enough for a Human hand now, but the edges were likely too rough to feel comfortable against his friend’s soft skin. He wrapped it into the same cloth as the better of all the fangs and tucked the package into his kit.
LIZARD, ELF, SERPENT, & ANGEL
Today was the predicted day that the target was meant to arrive. Draessellor walked over to check his soaking leather and stayed in the cool shade of the shelter to sharpen all of his blades. It was better to be prepared in case the Human was dangerous, which was the only reason he could think of that called for four killers to be lying in wait here. As he wouldn’t be making the kill, and that meant he had time to dry and condition the serpent skin, he quickly made a rack and stretched the hide. With the tanning settled to his liking, he returned to sit at his fire and wait.
The winged thing and the Elves were muttering insults at each other, all parties of the argument refusing to eat in the presence of the others. Draessellor crouched by the low flames and watched the winds blow dust across the stones. While he’d been walking back after stretching the hide, he’d heard the Elves discussing how to split payment. Only the mother had received the contract, and she’d decided independently to include her offspring. Counting only himself, the winged thing and the old Elf being here, the threat remained of another killer nearby that Draessellor hadn’t discovered. He dug through his long memory for who he knew, or knew of, who could remain completely hidden to him and came up with only those who had died many years before. So maybe there was someone new?
The argument bantering around him ceased when he drew his best blade and settled it across his knees. He rippled his skin and settled his scales for comfort while crouching, hunched beside the flames. Best to be ready for any surprises.
“Is our previous agreement broken?” the old Elf asked, her voice straining to remain polite.
“No.”
The winged thing guffawed, sounding more like cackling than laughing after the initial outburst. “Of course it isn’t!” the winged thing taunted. “He always prepares to attack when he’s not planning to attack,” he added, rolling his eyes far enough up that barely any of the blue of his irises was showing.
“Holding a weapon is not using it,” Draessellor reminded the winged thing, who only scoffed another laugh in reply.
The winged thing and the young Elf both roused to begin pacing the same place the portal was predicted to appear. Their weapons shone brightly under the clear sky. It was a matter of seconds before they were busier hurling insults and threats – in spite of the old Elf cautioning her daughter to studious observation – and soon were circling to attack each other rather than watching for the portal.
The impending rend in reality charged the air nearly a full ten seconds before the actual split of it appeared. The building energy tickled over Draessellor’s skin and pulled his gaze to the exact spot where the portal materialized… likely eight strides from where the young Elf and the winged thing were bickering, which was half again how far it was from him.
Both youngsters and the old Elf were surprised at the appearance of the portal, turning toward it only after the Human had surged through and rolled defensively at a right angle away. His hand slapped out and the pebbles racing around the portal’s perimeter too quickly to see scattered across the hard ground. Half an arm that ended in talons on one end, and was perfectly severed on the other, dropped to the ground from the middle of where the portal had been.
The Human’s roll finished with him closer to the fire than the youngsters, and he fell back onto his ass from the crouch he’d finished in when he glanced up at where he was and who was looking at him. The obviously quickly made weapon in his hand, a flint-bladed knife with the sharp stone simply tied to a sturdy stick with a rag, never faltered from being protectively held out. The young Elf and the winged thing didn’t waste time with yelling as they charged from behind the Human, she intent on getting her first solo kill and him spitefully intent on stopping her from being able to.
Draessellor tensed his skin and snapped his muscles. He was on his feet, three strides from his fire, with his best blade extended before either of the competing youngsters had a chance to finish their swings. The killing was made easier due to the Human’s low position. The old Elf remained near the fire, a second snapping finishing her long, long life while the Human was still blinking in surprise about Draessellor’s first attack.
Draessellor tasted the air in all directions, stooping low and watchful in anticipation of the undiscovered assassin’s attack as he backed slowly nearer to the Human, stopping only when the Human drew up his knees to keep his feet out from under Draessellor’s. Seconds passed with nothing occurring. The breeze brought no new scents and the air carried no new sounds.
The Human panted into breathing after a stretched moment of holding his breath. The cobbled together knife dropped from loose fingers to clatter against the ground and he folded around his tucked-in legs to press his face against his knees. The pose left him looking even more like his mother; she had often sat that way while crying during the time she and Draessellor were travelling to the kingdom she now claimed as her home. Ceil’s offspring was not as well-groomed as in the ink painting she’d sent, and the smell of old blood proved he currently was or recently had been injured, but there was no mistaking that this was the offspring she’d named in her letter as being called Aston.
“A lizard, a serpent, an Elf, and an Angel,” Aston muttered against his legs, the volume obviously meant to be a private whispering. He steeled himself with a deep breath and looked up from his knees to glance over both shoulders and then across the fire. “Two Elves, an Angel, and… a lizard?” he asked, uncertain, as he looked up at Draessellor. “Are you going to kill me?”
“What is the list for?” Draessellor ignored the question to ask his own, the importance of which seemed much higher due to the fourth killer remaining undiscovered even after the violence that had just been committed.
“The… that”– Aston pointed at the half of an arm which had followed him through the portal –“taunted me that I’d be facing ‘a lizard, a serpent, an Elf, and an Angel’ if I used the stones again.”
Draessellor remembered that the serpent whose skull he was carving had attempted to speak to him when he’d first seen her at his fire. Which, with this new information, explained the odd satchel he’d found hidden nearby where the male had bled out.
“That’s a strange taunt,” Draessellor noted after concluding that the fourth killer had been dealt with already, by accident.
Today was the predicted day that the target was meant to arrive. Draessellor walked over to check his soaking leather and stayed in the cool shade of the shelter to sharpen all of his blades. It was better to be prepared in case the Human was dangerous, which was the only reason he could think of that called for four killers to be lying in wait here. As he wouldn’t be making the kill, and that meant he had time to dry and condition the serpent skin, he quickly made a rack and stretched the hide. With the tanning settled to his liking, he returned to sit at his fire and wait.
The winged thing and the Elves were muttering insults at each other, all parties of the argument refusing to eat in the presence of the others. Draessellor crouched by the low flames and watched the winds blow dust across the stones. While he’d been walking back after stretching the hide, he’d heard the Elves discussing how to split payment. Only the mother had received the contract, and she’d decided independently to include her offspring. Counting only himself, the winged thing and the old Elf being here, the threat remained of another killer nearby that Draessellor hadn’t discovered. He dug through his long memory for who he knew, or knew of, who could remain completely hidden to him and came up with only those who had died many years before. So maybe there was someone new?
The argument bantering around him ceased when he drew his best blade and settled it across his knees. He rippled his skin and settled his scales for comfort while crouching, hunched beside the flames. Best to be ready for any surprises.
“Is our previous agreement broken?” the old Elf asked, her voice straining to remain polite.
“No.”
The winged thing guffawed, sounding more like cackling than laughing after the initial outburst. “Of course it isn’t!” the winged thing taunted. “He always prepares to attack when he’s not planning to attack,” he added, rolling his eyes far enough up that barely any of the blue of his irises was showing.
“Holding a weapon is not using it,” Draessellor reminded the winged thing, who only scoffed another laugh in reply.
The winged thing and the young Elf both roused to begin pacing the same place the portal was predicted to appear. Their weapons shone brightly under the clear sky. It was a matter of seconds before they were busier hurling insults and threats – in spite of the old Elf cautioning her daughter to studious observation – and soon were circling to attack each other rather than watching for the portal.
The impending rend in reality charged the air nearly a full ten seconds before the actual split of it appeared. The building energy tickled over Draessellor’s skin and pulled his gaze to the exact spot where the portal materialized… likely eight strides from where the young Elf and the winged thing were bickering, which was half again how far it was from him.
Both youngsters and the old Elf were surprised at the appearance of the portal, turning toward it only after the Human had surged through and rolled defensively at a right angle away. His hand slapped out and the pebbles racing around the portal’s perimeter too quickly to see scattered across the hard ground. Half an arm that ended in talons on one end, and was perfectly severed on the other, dropped to the ground from the middle of where the portal had been.
The Human’s roll finished with him closer to the fire than the youngsters, and he fell back onto his ass from the crouch he’d finished in when he glanced up at where he was and who was looking at him. The obviously quickly made weapon in his hand, a flint-bladed knife with the sharp stone simply tied to a sturdy stick with a rag, never faltered from being protectively held out. The young Elf and the winged thing didn’t waste time with yelling as they charged from behind the Human, she intent on getting her first solo kill and him spitefully intent on stopping her from being able to.
Draessellor tensed his skin and snapped his muscles. He was on his feet, three strides from his fire, with his best blade extended before either of the competing youngsters had a chance to finish their swings. The killing was made easier due to the Human’s low position. The old Elf remained near the fire, a second snapping finishing her long, long life while the Human was still blinking in surprise about Draessellor’s first attack.
Draessellor tasted the air in all directions, stooping low and watchful in anticipation of the undiscovered assassin’s attack as he backed slowly nearer to the Human, stopping only when the Human drew up his knees to keep his feet out from under Draessellor’s. Seconds passed with nothing occurring. The breeze brought no new scents and the air carried no new sounds.
The Human panted into breathing after a stretched moment of holding his breath. The cobbled together knife dropped from loose fingers to clatter against the ground and he folded around his tucked-in legs to press his face against his knees. The pose left him looking even more like his mother; she had often sat that way while crying during the time she and Draessellor were travelling to the kingdom she now claimed as her home. Ceil’s offspring was not as well-groomed as in the ink painting she’d sent, and the smell of old blood proved he currently was or recently had been injured, but there was no mistaking that this was the offspring she’d named in her letter as being called Aston.
“A lizard, a serpent, an Elf, and an Angel,” Aston muttered against his legs, the volume obviously meant to be a private whispering. He steeled himself with a deep breath and looked up from his knees to glance over both shoulders and then across the fire. “Two Elves, an Angel, and… a lizard?” he asked, uncertain, as he looked up at Draessellor. “Are you going to kill me?”
“What is the list for?” Draessellor ignored the question to ask his own, the importance of which seemed much higher due to the fourth killer remaining undiscovered even after the violence that had just been committed.
“The… that”– Aston pointed at the half of an arm which had followed him through the portal –“taunted me that I’d be facing ‘a lizard, a serpent, an Elf, and an Angel’ if I used the stones again.”
Draessellor remembered that the serpent whose skull he was carving had attempted to speak to him when he’d first seen her at his fire. Which, with this new information, explained the odd satchel he’d found hidden nearby where the male had bled out.
“That’s a strange taunt,” Draessellor noted after concluding that the fourth killer had been dealt with already, by accident.
A PRINCE
“She… he…? I don’t even… it promised to give me a head start if I gave over the stones,” Aston shook his head as he spoke, as if trying to rattle all his thoughts into place. The severed arm was close enough that even if there was another serpent to worry about, it wouldn’t reach Aston before Draessellor could kill the threat, so Draessellor walked over and picked up the arm to smell it.
“Kanvar,” he confirmed to himself before dropping the limb.
“What?”
“His name is Kanvar. An old Warlock twisted up by his own magic ages ago. He likes to think of himself as accomplished. He’s too pompous to be any good at anything,” he explained. “You shouldn’t have dropped your knife,” he reprimanded, turning back to look at Aston. The young Human looked at the length of blade in Draessellor’s hand and laughed. The tone of the short burst bordered on hysterical.
“Are you going to kill me?” he asked again, timidly this time.
“No.”
“I… all right.”
Aston picked up his little flint knife and staggered to his feet to begin looking for the stones which created the portal. To Draessellor’s eyes, the appearance of Aston’s hand wavered more and more – as if surrounded by heated air – as he collected up each stone.
“Are you certain that’s wise?” he asked, eyeing the hand suspiciously.
“How else am I going to get home?” the young Human snapped, not turning to look back. His clothes were torn and a long scar marked him from shoulder to hip across his back. It was only recently healed, but hadn’t healed well and a few dark stains of embedded dirt and small gravel showed clearly under the fresh skin.
“Walk.”
“From here?” Aston spun around. “I don’t even know where here is!”
“So you choose instead to trust a cursed tool?”
That question shocked Aston into silence. He opened his fist and looked down at the collection of polished pebbles, as if only realizing for the first time that the mode he’d been using to transport himself might not actually be helping him.
“No,” he shook his head to the negative, discounting the accusation of the stones being cursed, and closed his fist tightly again. “There’s no way these are cursed because they were made specifically for my father and our High Mages would never harm my father; especially with him being sick and with Drevin gone to the war. There just isn’t any possible…”
His voice trailed off as Draessellor straightened from opening his kit and held out the contract with the mage stamp in the sealing wax. Aston’s steps to approach were tentative and his hand was shaking when he dropped the pebbles to reach for the parchment. He traced a thumb over the stamp, stating the mage’s name who had signed the contract before he unrolled it and read from start to finish.
“Oh,” he said, looking at the toes of his boots after handing back the contract. “So why are you helping me?” he asked, not releasing the parchment after Draessellor’s hand already gripped it.
“Your mother asked me to protect you and guide you home should our paths cross,” Draessellor stated. The admission startled the young Human into releasing the contract as if it had burned his hand.
“You know my mother?” Aston asked, even his smell shifting to astounded shock.
“She is my friend.”
“I…” Aston simply stopped talking and covered his eyes with one hand, his thumb and fingers rubbing both his temples at once.
Aston’s mutterings were filled with half-finished words and sentences, nothing intended as a statement or question requiring a reply, so Draessellor doused his fire with sand and collected his kit together. The young Human looked underfed and smelled of exhaustion, filth, and old blood – and the serpents’ hides were still drying – so it was best to leave this camp and move onto the hill. They could hunt any scavengers that came here to feast on the bodies so that they’d have meat to dry and pack when they ran out of serpent. From experience, Draessellor knew he didn’t like the taste of Elf. The thought of eating something with such a distasteful personality as the winged thing was far beyond unappealing.
“We should go before scavengers smell the bodies,” Draessellor interrupted the ongoing flow of half-made statements that Aston was still thinking (although he’d stopped muttering). “Pick weapons to bring,” he added, nodding to the bodies.
“You want me to steal?” Aston blurted, actually offended. Draessellor swivelled his eyes to look at each body and then blinked before looking back at the Low Prince.
“They’re dead.”
“But they’ll have families, or people they care about who –”
“Will be coming to try and kill you once they learn of the deaths,” Draessellor interrupted to finish the sentence correctly. “So you should be armed better than that,” he concluded, flicking a claw toward the stone-bladed knife.
“I shouldn’t just leave cursed items lying around, either.” Aston frowned at himself for having dropped the stones.
“You’d rather keep cursed items with you?”
“No, of course not. But I can’t leave them here for someone completely innocent to stumble on and end up going through what I’ve been doing,” Aston said, his eyes pleading when he looked up from having crouched to collect the stones in question. With that in mind, the logic of taking the stones was sound, however…
“Do you need all the stones for the portal to work?”
“Well, yes.”
“Bring three,” Draessellor stated with a nod. “And by your height you’ll probably be most comfortable with that sword.” He pointed at the good quality blade that the winged thing had been wielding. “He likely stole it. Tell yourself you’re bringing it to return to the rightful owner, only using it from necessity while traveling, if that makes you feel better.”
Aston followed both suggestions, the torn back of his shirt exposing his scar as he bent to each task for collecting three stones and then taking the sword’s sheath off the winged thing’s belt. Ceil’s offspring would need proper clothing and armor for much of the trek to his home, but for now the drying leather would stitch into something that would protect his skin from sun and sand, and be warmer than nothing in the rain. They would have to buy him proper clothes and armor for crossing the mountains, though. Draessellor nodded, approving that the Human stole the winged thing’s knife as well, before starting up the hill. Aston caught up and then fell into step beside him after a few moments of hesitation.
“So… which way is my home?” Aston asked with a heavy sigh. He looked around hopefully at the crest of the trail as if he would see something familiar.
“That way for about three months, if the dragons agree to fly us over the mountains,” Draessellor pointed, continuing to walk in the opposite direction. “Closer to five months walking the whole way.”
“What? But then… wait, why are you going… what’s this way if you’re taking me home and home is that way?” he asked, catching up again.
“Our camp,” Draessellor answered as he trudged around the first winding in the trail. He tasted the air. “We’ll stay here for one week. You’re too tired and hungry to travel,” he added. Aston’s stomach growled loudly in reply. The Low Prince followed quietly, lost in whatever thoughts he was having. He looked so much like his mother had at that age.
“She… he…? I don’t even… it promised to give me a head start if I gave over the stones,” Aston shook his head as he spoke, as if trying to rattle all his thoughts into place. The severed arm was close enough that even if there was another serpent to worry about, it wouldn’t reach Aston before Draessellor could kill the threat, so Draessellor walked over and picked up the arm to smell it.
“Kanvar,” he confirmed to himself before dropping the limb.
“What?”
“His name is Kanvar. An old Warlock twisted up by his own magic ages ago. He likes to think of himself as accomplished. He’s too pompous to be any good at anything,” he explained. “You shouldn’t have dropped your knife,” he reprimanded, turning back to look at Aston. The young Human looked at the length of blade in Draessellor’s hand and laughed. The tone of the short burst bordered on hysterical.
“Are you going to kill me?” he asked again, timidly this time.
“No.”
“I… all right.”
Aston picked up his little flint knife and staggered to his feet to begin looking for the stones which created the portal. To Draessellor’s eyes, the appearance of Aston’s hand wavered more and more – as if surrounded by heated air – as he collected up each stone.
“Are you certain that’s wise?” he asked, eyeing the hand suspiciously.
“How else am I going to get home?” the young Human snapped, not turning to look back. His clothes were torn and a long scar marked him from shoulder to hip across his back. It was only recently healed, but hadn’t healed well and a few dark stains of embedded dirt and small gravel showed clearly under the fresh skin.
“Walk.”
“From here?” Aston spun around. “I don’t even know where here is!”
“So you choose instead to trust a cursed tool?”
That question shocked Aston into silence. He opened his fist and looked down at the collection of polished pebbles, as if only realizing for the first time that the mode he’d been using to transport himself might not actually be helping him.
“No,” he shook his head to the negative, discounting the accusation of the stones being cursed, and closed his fist tightly again. “There’s no way these are cursed because they were made specifically for my father and our High Mages would never harm my father; especially with him being sick and with Drevin gone to the war. There just isn’t any possible…”
His voice trailed off as Draessellor straightened from opening his kit and held out the contract with the mage stamp in the sealing wax. Aston’s steps to approach were tentative and his hand was shaking when he dropped the pebbles to reach for the parchment. He traced a thumb over the stamp, stating the mage’s name who had signed the contract before he unrolled it and read from start to finish.
“Oh,” he said, looking at the toes of his boots after handing back the contract. “So why are you helping me?” he asked, not releasing the parchment after Draessellor’s hand already gripped it.
“Your mother asked me to protect you and guide you home should our paths cross,” Draessellor stated. The admission startled the young Human into releasing the contract as if it had burned his hand.
“You know my mother?” Aston asked, even his smell shifting to astounded shock.
“She is my friend.”
“I…” Aston simply stopped talking and covered his eyes with one hand, his thumb and fingers rubbing both his temples at once.
Aston’s mutterings were filled with half-finished words and sentences, nothing intended as a statement or question requiring a reply, so Draessellor doused his fire with sand and collected his kit together. The young Human looked underfed and smelled of exhaustion, filth, and old blood – and the serpents’ hides were still drying – so it was best to leave this camp and move onto the hill. They could hunt any scavengers that came here to feast on the bodies so that they’d have meat to dry and pack when they ran out of serpent. From experience, Draessellor knew he didn’t like the taste of Elf. The thought of eating something with such a distasteful personality as the winged thing was far beyond unappealing.
“We should go before scavengers smell the bodies,” Draessellor interrupted the ongoing flow of half-made statements that Aston was still thinking (although he’d stopped muttering). “Pick weapons to bring,” he added, nodding to the bodies.
“You want me to steal?” Aston blurted, actually offended. Draessellor swivelled his eyes to look at each body and then blinked before looking back at the Low Prince.
“They’re dead.”
“But they’ll have families, or people they care about who –”
“Will be coming to try and kill you once they learn of the deaths,” Draessellor interrupted to finish the sentence correctly. “So you should be armed better than that,” he concluded, flicking a claw toward the stone-bladed knife.
“I shouldn’t just leave cursed items lying around, either.” Aston frowned at himself for having dropped the stones.
“You’d rather keep cursed items with you?”
“No, of course not. But I can’t leave them here for someone completely innocent to stumble on and end up going through what I’ve been doing,” Aston said, his eyes pleading when he looked up from having crouched to collect the stones in question. With that in mind, the logic of taking the stones was sound, however…
“Do you need all the stones for the portal to work?”
“Well, yes.”
“Bring three,” Draessellor stated with a nod. “And by your height you’ll probably be most comfortable with that sword.” He pointed at the good quality blade that the winged thing had been wielding. “He likely stole it. Tell yourself you’re bringing it to return to the rightful owner, only using it from necessity while traveling, if that makes you feel better.”
Aston followed both suggestions, the torn back of his shirt exposing his scar as he bent to each task for collecting three stones and then taking the sword’s sheath off the winged thing’s belt. Ceil’s offspring would need proper clothing and armor for much of the trek to his home, but for now the drying leather would stitch into something that would protect his skin from sun and sand, and be warmer than nothing in the rain. They would have to buy him proper clothes and armor for crossing the mountains, though. Draessellor nodded, approving that the Human stole the winged thing’s knife as well, before starting up the hill. Aston caught up and then fell into step beside him after a few moments of hesitation.
“So… which way is my home?” Aston asked with a heavy sigh. He looked around hopefully at the crest of the trail as if he would see something familiar.
“That way for about three months, if the dragons agree to fly us over the mountains,” Draessellor pointed, continuing to walk in the opposite direction. “Closer to five months walking the whole way.”
“What? But then… wait, why are you going… what’s this way if you’re taking me home and home is that way?” he asked, catching up again.
“Our camp,” Draessellor answered as he trudged around the first winding in the trail. He tasted the air. “We’ll stay here for one week. You’re too tired and hungry to travel,” he added. Aston’s stomach growled loudly in reply. The Low Prince followed quietly, lost in whatever thoughts he was having. He looked so much like his mother had at that age.
