 
City of the Automatons

Part 1

by Francesco Bertolino

Copyright 2012 Francesco Bertolino

Smashwords Edition

francesco.bertolino@gmail.com

http://www.libri-fantasy.com

 http://www.facebook.com/pages/La-Compagnia-del-Viandante/245140115583272

https://plus.google.com/113639020903806625721/posts

English text revision by Juliet Attwater

http://www.orbitalingua.com

Cover illustration by Maurício Paiva

http://mauriciopaiva.carbonmade.com/

Smashwords Edition, Licence Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue

I - A Sorrowful Ritual

II - The Eyes of a Friend

III - Clouds on the Horizon

IV - Separation

V - Sea Stories

VI - The Present and the Past

VII - Unexpected News

VIII - The Snakes Trainer

IX - Zontar the Sage

X - On the Streets of Dekka

XI - Leon

XII - The Guardian

XIII - Tiny Experiments

And now for some chit chat...

To Felicita

and Celene:

what would I do

without your strength

and your love?

Prologue

The stunned man raised his eyelids: reality swam before him as a gray unfathomable canvas.

Pain and confusion gripped his temples tightly...

He swallowed, his mouth full of a bitter taste. A sudden wave of nausea bent him in two; he tried to move, only to find that his hands and feet were bound. A lashing wind blew over his naked body making him shiver.

In vain he tried to mend the torn shreds of his memory.

"Where am I? What happened to me?"

He still knew who he was, but all the rest...

"Don't try too hard" said a voice, harsh as metal scraping against metal.

"That would be a pointless waste of energy" declared a second voice, muffled and distant.

"You are our guest now" added a languid, feminine voice.

"Forever..." said a fourth voice, low and sullen as the sky on a stormy night.

Those voices...

That sour smell...

Memories rushed through his mind like an avalanche, pushing him to the edge of the abyss.

"I failed!" he screamed inside his head "Everything is lost!"

The thought was too terrible to bear. Better give up once and for all.

But something, even in his worst hour, kept him from sinking into despair: images of men and women dressed in white, friendly faces, hands stretched towards him, hopeful voices...

"We are with you!" those voices said, like a beam of bright light cutting through the darkness.

A half smile flickered across the man's face as he understood that for them he would face the future with his head held high, no matter how hard it would be.

The wind grew in strength, whipping him mercilessly.

"Forever..." the fourth voice repeated.

I - A Sorrowful Ritual

From the top of the ramparts the men stared with terrified eyes as the Demons piled up outside the walls: the dreadful creatures snarled, howled, and scraped the naked stone with their claws, maddened by their lust to gain entry.

It was just a matter of time before they succeeded. Then the carnage would begin.

Men and women huddled together, trembling before the ungodly garments death had worn to meet them. The light of their torches flickered under the wind's assault, an anticipation of the darkness that would surely swallow them all.

Then a war cry tore through the canvas of the night sky and everybody turned their eyes to the East. A ray of moonlight pierced the cloak of clouds across the firmament and struck the top of the hill where the cry had come from. The beam of silvery light illuminated the earth revealing what no one had dared to hope for: an army, a whole army of men running down the slope, a whirlwind of white-cloaked warriors wrapped in bright steel!

They fell upon the rearguard of the enemy horde like a spear guided by the hand of a warrior God, and they swept it away.

To the eyes of the besieged, that army seemed to come from another world.

None of them had ever set gaze upon such a skilled and ruthless group of warriors: the creatures tried to defend themselves with all the absurd weapons they were endowed with, fangs, claws, tentacles and hooks; but their opponents' supremacy was clear.

The warriors shifted between positions smoothly, without ever losing their calm, immune to the horrors surrounding them. Every creature was encircled and punished with a sudden death, by sword, axe, or spear. The air was ridden with the sounds of battle, and blood flowed until the earth was soaked in it.

In the end, the only ones still standing were the warriors who had materialized from the darkness. The Demon horde had been annihilated, their corpses covered the ground.

Joyful cries rose from the ramparts, but the warriors neither rejoiced, nor withdrew their weapons. Following their commander, they stepped back, spreading in fan formation. They halted not far from the walls, waiting.

A blood curling wail, at first almost inaudible, but then growing louder and louder, rose from the heap of lifeless bodies stacked outside the fortress. A woman pointed her finger, cried out, and fainted. One by one, the monstrous beings came back to life, new sap flowing through their veins. They got to their feet, ignoring the pain: their devastated bodies held together by an evil force. They turned their backs to the fortress and dragged themselves towards the warriors.

They limped and fell, stood up and fell, and rose again. They were dead, but they craved revenge.

None of the warriors showed surprise. None fell back; none looked for a way out. They planted their boots firmly in the wet earth, raising their shields before them. Behind each helmet, a pair of eyes fearlessly watched the creatures' advance. Lips parted, teeth clenched in smiles that defied death.

The night was still young...

\------

"We shall all leave this world, some day. And I with them..."

The warrior's tone was somber, he was addressing himself more than his own comrades. They sat in a circle, shoulder to shoulder, around the torn banner of the Wayfarer's Company. The flaming brightness of sunrise projected long shadows onto the battlefield. A surreal silence muffled everything; it was broken only by the croak of a raven.

"If I had the power to control my fate" the warrior continued "I would never ever choose to die at dawn. A new day would begin, but not for me... That's what scares me most about death..."

He stopped, rubbing his rough beard with the back of his hand, and bowed his head.

"...or, maybe, it just fills me with sadness."

Some of his comrades continued to stare at him in silence. Others gazed into the shadows, lost in their thoughts. The battle had come to an end, carrying away the fury and the excitement and leaving a void in each man's soul. Their faces, chiseled by weariness, tracked by toil and marked by metal, were reminiscent of those of ghosts gathered for a sorrowful ritual.

A man, taller than most, stood up inside the circle and made a few steps towards the center: under his white cloak a mail shirt rattled against his bracers and huge shoulder plates. His ash-blond mane reflected the glare of the dawn like a thousand gold scales.

He turned his gaze towards the base of the hill, lingering on what was left after the massacre.

"Each of us can understand your feelings, Raduan" he said, choosing his words "How many times have we already lived this nightmare?"

He raised his aquiline profile to the sky.

"This war is already part of us, want it or not. Let us hope there is real meaning in it."

The man called Raduan did not reply. He shook his head twice, whipping the air with his tail of black hair, and gave the other warrior an uncertain smile.

"Yours are strange words, Dorian" he said "I did not know I could affect even you with my lack of spirit. But it comforts me to know I am not alone. I can sense these hateful feelings crawling inside my bones!"

The commander approached, putting a gloved hand on his shoulder.

"My friend" he said "look around you."

And he pointed at the rest of the Company, haggard men and women, exhausted in body and soul.

"You are not the only one in pain, as you can see. Be strong: this battle hasn't been worse than the others. It is us. We are changing, I fear." He paused, thoughtful. "It seems we may be losing our strength..."

"Or our faith, maybe" intervened a woman's voice, coming from the shadows outside the circle of men.

A lean figure made her entrance into the group, revealing a striking woman with tanned skin. A thin scar marked her face all the way down from her left eyebrow to the chin, crossing the orbit of a lifeless eye. She walked with a firm stride, smoothing her brown mane with one hand. In the other she held a sack of raw cloth. Without so much as a glance at anybody, she sat on a log and threw the sack at her feet. The metallic thud provoked murmurs of indignation.

The girl glanced at Raduan, who stared at her with open contempt, then smiled impudently at the commander, who was still standing at the banner's side.

"Father" she greeted, with a slight bow of her head.

"Kyra. How fared your hunt today?" answered Dorian, as if addressing her was a tiresome exercise.

"Not too bad."

She seemed to be playing a strange kind of game, one which nobody around her cared for. She opened the sack, rummaged inside it, and took out a pouch. She dangled it between her fingers with a rattle of coins.

"These people were doing well for themselves – but just look at them now – poor things."

"Shut up!" burst Raduan "Is there no trace of compassion in your heart?"

"Compassion?" replied Kyra, frowning "We have come to collect a debt of death, remember? It's what we always do."

The warriors' looks grew sullen around her, but nobody replied to her words. Dorian, his shoulders bent by an invisible weight, sat down again.

"You have always been good at blaming others" he whispered to his daughter.

She wrinkled her nose, without reply.

Silence fell upon the hill. The warriors closed in on themselves, waiting. Nobody looked down to the battlefield. That victory was no cause for celebration. When the orb of the sun had risen completely over the horizon line, the commander broke the silence:

"The time has come: let us bring an end to our mission!"

It sounded more solemn than he had wished for. But he owed that to the fallen, as a sign of respect.

He stood up and walked towards the Company's battle banner. Worn and bloodstained, it perfectly mirrored the mood of the men it represented. The golden trims were ragged in many a place, and the emblem sewn in the middle of the cloth, embroidered in the shape of a gnarled wayfarer's staff, was almost unrecognizable. The ebony black pole was marked by deep cuts.

Without any hesitation, Dorian tore the banner from the ground and held it before him with both hands.

A faint whisper filled the air, and the atmosphere was charged with electricity. Far away, bluish lightning plowed across the sky. The warriors watched in silence, closing the circle around their commander.

Dorian closed his eyes and focused. The wind, still until then, grew in intensity. He could feel its crescendo in his ears. Black clouds gathered over his head. Despite not seeing them, he sensed their overwhelming weight, but he was not intimidated.

He outstretched his arms, raised the banner to the sky and threw his cloak behind him: his majestic figure, wrapped in steel, was fully revealed, catalyzing the light of the rising star.

"Abel kvar!" he thundered, turning his gaze to the corpses piled high around the foothills. "Kalarti ka zvendàri! Be gone from this land!"

The ancient words spoken, he hit the ground with the banner pole, and the earth trembled in response. Deep vibrations spread in a wave from the hill to the plain below, shaking the earth and drawing in it a net of fissures. Already knowing what was going to happen, the Company tightened their eyelids.

"Give me strength, once more!" Dorian begged.

Then, in response to the ancestral evocation, ghosts of every shape and size rose from the corpses scattered like marionettes on the battlefield, live essences ripped from the flesh of the dead. In a cacophony of moans, the translucent entities hovered over the ground, floating in midair like a layer of evil fog. Fast and vicious, they hurled themselves towards the man who had summoned them, breaking their sweet bond with death: they tried to wrap round him, they screamed and threatened, they hissed curses of damnation, but they could not harm him, held off by an invisible barrier.

The banner, clutched in Dorian's hand, shone with the intensity of a small star.

Enraged, the specters started circling over the soldiers' heads, in a mad crescendo of speed, until the entire hill was enveloped in a swirl of energy. The light and din assailed the warriors' senses like a storm, until the deafening roar ceased with a final, high-pitched note.

The ghosts halted in midair.

Those with the courage to watch saw their angry human-like faces melt into the deepest sadness. In absolute silence, they gathered. Then they hurtled upwards into the sky in a single swirling column, vanishing into the firmament as if they had never existed.

After what seemed like an eternity, the men and women glanced around, shaken. Thunder still rumbled in the distance, but the clouds were already dissolving as quickly as they had formed.

Dorian stood motionless in the middle of the circle, his arms raised and his eyes clenched in a grimace of pain. Then, he slowly lowered his arms and reopened his eyes.

In his right hand, he still clasped the symbol of his battalion; the banner was no longer torn and bloodstained, but bright and blazing in the light of the pact that tied the Wayfarer's Company to its mission.

"Thus it has always been, and thus it shall always be..."

\------

The ritual had come to an end.

Dorian left the banner. He looked around in confusion, as if only then recognizing his surroundings. The hill rose from the middle of vast wheat fields, dotted with the multitude of lifeless bodies. To the West, the outbuildings of Bezer fortress were only just visible in the dawn haze: hoisted on a high pennon the scarlet flag of Feledan's Princedom fluttered unperturbed. Close to the walls was a cluster of brightly colored tents and wagons, the ambulant village of a wanderers' community - but the vivacity of the colors was stifled by an unnatural silence.

"Let's move out" said Dorian, as he started walking along the path that led to the fortress.

The others, no more than fifty of them - men and women -, followed him in silence. The column of white-dressed warriors, armor and mail shirts shining in the glare of the sunrise, twisted wearily down the slopes of the hill. Once they reached the plain below, they then picked their way around the corpses.

As he walked through the blood-soaked wheat, Raduan tried to hide his anxiety. He wasn't sure how it happened, but he underwent a total metamorphosis in the midst of every fight. He could still see himself, just a few hours earlier, rejoicing in the act of mowing down, trampling and crushing bodies without the slightest hesitation.

But he felt empty now, as he did at the end of every battle. At each step, he was shaken by tremors of pity and revulsion for what he saw. What was left of the defeated enemy shed a disturbing light on the nature of the fight: not an honorable clash of man against man, but the slaughter of brutish creatures, senseless mutations of human beings.

Demons, they called them, but they were not.

The wanderers' camp was now closer, a grouping of colorful tents and wagons of inlaid wood. Not a living soul among the tents. All the inhabitants, one after another, had ceased to exist because of the mutation.

And at the hand of the Wayfarer's Company.

They passed near a deformity which had once been a child.

"Mighty Abidan, let his eyes be closed!" Raduan prayed.

They were not.

He saw, in spite of himself, and his eyes filled with tears. He bowed his head and carried on quickly, hoping nobody would notice his weakness.

None of the party seemed at ease. They walked in silence, keeping formation. Only Kyra, purposely staying at the end of the column, often strayed from the path, attracted by something of interest - a ring, a necklace, a gold-handled comb. Her sack was visibly fattening.

Dorian watched her sideways and was not for the first time tempted to slap her. He eventually chose to let it go, as he always did. To confront his daughter was as productive as beating his head against a brick wall. But the situation was likely to get much worse: the flashes of anger in his soldiers' eyes were not to be underestimated. He would have to resolve the situation peacefully, before their swords began to speak.

He sighed. One thing at a time.

When the Company reached the stretch of bare land in front of Bezer fortress, a twenty horsemen contingent was waiting for them. It was led by a small man, short even in the saddle of his huge steed.

"Commander Dorian" the knight said, with a tinge of annoyance "Well done! I am glad to see you alive. You must be tired and hungry. With your permission, we shall escort you inside the walls. Food and drink won't lack for anyone."

"Captain Seras" replied Dorian quietly "I know you are not really pleased to see us back. However, we gratefully accept your offer."

Seras moved uncomfortably on his saddle, and opened his mouth to deny it. Then, thinking better, he turned his mount and proceeded towards the drawbridge without another word. The Company's warriors, tired but fierce in their bearing and led by their commander, followed him at a short distance. The garrison knights took position at their flanks, escorting them inside. Dorian asked himself if they were guided by a genuine protective instinct, or if they just feared for their people.

Once more, despite their victory and their irreproachable behavior, the Wayfarer's Company was feeling the cold mark of superstition. And how could he not understand that behavior? Violence and death touched every man in these difficult times, but to have to stomach the apparition of monstrous creatures, ghosts and such, was an entirely different thing. It was impossible to avoid suspicion when elements of that nature presaged their arrival. Elements like the Demons, and the ritual they had just accomplished. Like anything that concerned the Company.

They entered the fortress, which was large enough to host hundreds of men. They did not find a happy crowd waiting for them inside: the people kept their distance and stared at them with unconcealed fear. Doors and windows were shut, a few eyes nervously peeking through the slits. They were escorted to a broad flat building behind the main tower, where they could wash themselves and rub off the death scent that soaked their bodies. They dressed in clean clothes, all strictly white, like the spent tunics they had worn over their armor.

Kyra was among the last to conclude that pleasant task. As she left refreshed, her long hair down, she did not miss the admiring glances of many of the soldiers. At best, all they got in return was a smirk of derision. She sat on a bench in the sunlight, enjoying its warmth.

She knew her potential all too well, and she was not keen to waste it. Since her first bloom of youth, she had become used to arousing the unwanted attention of men around her, and to having to reject it forcibly: there were many who still bore the indelible marks of her refusal on their bodies. She ran a finger along the scar that marked her face from the forehead down to the lips. Not even with that had the situation changed: rather, the scar had enriched her wild beauty, one that had seduced and wounded so many

It was Raduan's turn to leave the baths, breathing in deeply. He turned this way and the other, distracted. When his gaze met Kyra's, he stiffened instantly.

"Now this one is another kettle of fish..." she thought, breaking into one of her most malicious smiles.

She had known Raduan for years, and she had to admit that she had felt some kind of attraction towards him since their first encounter. Even more so now that he hated her. It was always amusing for her to tease Raduan the pure, the blameless, her cherished father's right hand man! Sooner or later, she was sure, he would fall to his knees and overcome his stupid righteousness.

"Is that what you really think?" an annoying voice whispered from within her.

She silenced it without taking her eyes from the warrior, until he turned around and went elsewhere, muttering. Kyra considered going after him and harassing him a little, but she decided to delay that game. She would have plenty of time before the next battle. Or maybe not, but who cared? She stayed right where she was, dangling her legs under the warm sunbeams.

A little later, Dorian, his face always severe, gathered the Company members and led them to the dining hall, where they ate under the watchful eye of the garrison soldiers. Captain Seras made just one brief appearance amid the tables, renewing his hospitality with hasty words, inviting them to rest as long as they needed to within the fortress walls. After that, he seemed glad to retire, citing a number of urgent matters to attend to. None of the guests tried to dissuade him.

Few words were exchanged during the meal, then the group returned to their quarters, where they each found a less than comfortable cot waiting for them. They lay down without complaints. Dorian chose the first free bed he saw, as did Raduan. Kyra preferred to isolate herself in a corner of the dormitory, away from everyone. The battle had been hard, and sleep descended like a blessing on every man and woman of the Company.

Everyone but Kyra.

She had many things to think about. Decisions to be taken, and quickly.

She stayed awake for a long time, staring into space.

II - The Eyes of a Friend

They awoke at sunset after an undisturbed half-day rest. The turmoil of the recent battle was already beginning to fade in their memories, one more dark and hazy recollection amidst the many that formed the history of the Wayfarer's Company.

They gathered in the same room as they had done for the morning meal. Sitting around a large table, they were served with courtesy, but little warmth. Seras did not appear. The conversation was more animated than it had been that morning, touching on various topics, from concerns over the impending war between the Princedoms, to the battle of the night before.

"They were so many" said one of the warriors, a large man with cropped gray hair "So many women and children, far more than the other times." He didn't look up from his bowl as he spoke.

"Yes" another agreed "It wasn't easy. The situation is getting worse and worse, I fear. Are we really changing things? I am no longer sure..."

"Well, I am!" said a woman, looking askance at him "Why did we come here otherwise? I am surprised to hear such things!"

"Sure, sure" the other replied, putting his hands forward "But allow me my doubts..."

"I agree" said the gray-haired man "It pains me to admit it, but I feel it too: we are doing nothing more than delaying the worst. Maybe he had something else in mind, but at this point I doubt we will ever find out."

"Not to mention that with the war and everything, things will only get worse! I wonder if we can remain neutral... Otherwise, our mission is as good as over."

The woman shook her head in disbelief at the pessimism of her companions. But there was no use in insisting. With a grimace, she turned her attention to the insipid soup in her bowl.

Dorian, sitting at the head of the table between Raduan and Kyra, took no part in any conversation, and just listened to snippets from nearby tables. He wasn't surprised to hear the lack of optimism in their tone, and nor that the morale of his men seemed at rock bottom.

Raduan, who had so far been more intent on feeding himself than on exchanging words with his neighbors, noticed his anxiety.

"It is not your fault, Dorian" he said, with a half-smile.

Dorian looked at him. How was he always able to guess the course of his thoughts?

"If the fault is not mine, whose is it then?"

"You cannot take responsibility for everything!" said Raduan "We each came here of our own free will, or have you forgotten?"

Dorian snorted. The subject had been discussed many a time, without ever having reached a conclusion.

"This is the way things are, whether you like it or not" continued Raduan. "You are our commander on the battlefield, but other than that you have no obligation towards us."

"Do you really think so?" Dorian sighed "And yet, I feel I must do more. Especially now."

"Now that he has forsaken us?" Kyra interrupted, with her usual irritating sense of timing. She had kept her silence until then, fiddling with the cutlery, perhaps waiting for the right moment to provoke them. She had succeeded: the words died on Dorian's lips, and Raduan's eyebrows met in a frown.

"Some things should not be said aloud" said Dorian, in the kind of patient tone usually reserved for children.

"Yes, you should learn how to keep that big mouth of yours shut!" said Raduan, bluntly "He does not leave anyone. Ever. You know that."

Kyra twisted her lips.

"Oh, is that really so? Then why did he vanish into thin air? And what about that message he left us?" There was no more trace of amusement in her voice. "And in the meantime we continue to follow his orders like puppets. We put our lives at risk every single day, and we give him thanks for the wonderful mission he has left us! It is sheer madness!"

Raduan leant over the table to retort, but Dorian was first:

"My child" he said "I can understand your doubts, but you are not looking at things from the right perspective. He is no longer with us, true. It is also true this has never happened before. Yet nothing has changed."

He paused to make sure that Kyra was really listening.

"The mission entrusted to us is too important, don't you understand? We have to go on whatever the cost, even if we have only our own forces to rely on. And even if he never returns!"

He caught Raduan's disapproving look, but ignored it.

"It may be as you say" Kyra snapped, standing up "But I shall not be kept ignorant of the truth, nor be used as a living weapon against my will! I am not a warrior doll, and I won't be treated as such. Not anymore. Even if he himself ordered it!"

There was sadness in her eyes, and Dorian did not know what to say.

"I almost hope he never comes back..." she whispered. Then she stood up and walked away.

"Silly girl!" said Raduan, shaking his head.

"But I cannot blame her" said Dorian, still distressed by his daughter's words "He was important to us all. Why did he leave? Who are we without him?"

Him, always him...

Abel, the White Wayfarer.

Abel had fallen into his life like a bolt from the blue many years ago, and since then everything had changed. Dorian thought of the days before their meeting, and saw himself as he had been: a man without a future, a miserable wretch with his back pinned against the wall.

Then Abel had come, to him first. He had given him comfort and hope, he had granted him a new life and a mission to accomplish.

From Raduan's melancholy smile, he realized that his friend was reliving similar experiences within himself, probing his memories to find something true, something that could revive even the smallest fragment of the wisdom and strength their savior had given them.

He had been with them for many years, he had guided them with a sure hand, and he had protected them as a father would do with his own children. His power was special, hitting straight to the heart, and opening minds. In his presence their will could not falter.

He had chosen the men and women who now formed the Company one by one. The world had never before seen a group of fighters more diverse or united. None of them followed the Wayfarer for money, glory, or lust for battle. They followed him because he had saved them from lives of misery. They followed him because he had made them part of something great.

They followed him because he had joined them all as one family.

"Follow me!" he had said to everyone, welcoming them under his wing "Be my arm and my strength. Together we will dispel the darkness from this world!"

"Our sense of purpose was so strong..." thought Dorian "The importance of our fight so clear!"

Today, months after Abel's disappearance, nothing seemed as obvious anymore.

All that was left of him had been a confused farewell letter, scrawled in a hurry. Dorian had read and reread it hundreds of times in the vain hope of finding a hidden message between the lines or at least a clue that would allow him to find the Wayfarer's trail. But so far the answer had eluded him.

He could easily recite the message from memory:

Friends, brothers,

I must leave you.

I cannot tell you where I am going, or why, but I do it for your sake only.

Carry on our mission in my absence, I beg you! It is of the utmost importance...

I have faith in you and in your hearts.

Do not try to follow me: you will not be able to go where my path leads.

Please do not hate me. I will explain everything to you one day.

From the gray morning they had found the message in Abel's tent, things had gone from bad to worse. The men were losing their conviction in the cause, and Dorian himself was feeling lost, although he was now their reference point.

He watched Kyra leaning against a wall: she was drinking beer from a mug, laughing at something with a man she had just met, engaged in one of her usual seduction games. As if the previous discussion had had no effect on her. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Raduan was staring at her too, frowning. He wondered what was going on in his head. The gap between those two was deep, yet it had not always been so.

Kyra had changed, for the worse. For months she had suffered from Abel's absence. She reflected her discomfort in whoever approached her, and she tried to keep her distance from her old friends as much as possible, creating around herself a bubble of indifference, if not outright hostility. Dorian remembered with nostalgia the days when he and his daughter were still close. Before the accident that had cost her an eye and much of her faith. That day, something had snapped inside her, giving birth to an ever-growing emptiness. Abel's departure had made things worse.

He knew there was little he could do to make things between them the same as they had been before. Maybe, if she would only just lower her guard for a moment... Yet he could not imagine that happening, not in the immediate future. He rubbed his eyes. It was useless to mull the same thoughts over a thousand times. Better to take a breath of fresh air.

He got up and went towards the exit. He was one step away from the doorway when the door flew open and a man rushed inside, collapsing into his arms like a dead weight.

He was filthy, covered in bruises, and so emaciated that he looked like a scarecrow. His clothes hung off him in shreds, and his body gave off an acrid stench. Stammering something unintelligible, the man rolled his eyes from side to side, his head lolling back like a weight too great to bear.

The men of the Company ran to their leader, arranging themselves in a circle around him. Dorian, paralyzed by surprise, studied the dirty, bearded face of the dying man, whose two misty eyes rolled in the constant search for a fixed point. Finally, they settled on the commander.

"Dorian..." he hissed, his voice as faint as a whisper "It is you, Dorian, is it not?"

Dorian looked at him, stunned: who was this man? How did he know his name?

The man, shaken by strong convulsions, moved a trembling hand towards his face. Dorian drew back, distraught, and tried to calm him:

"Do not fret, you need rest!"

The man ignored him:

"Dorian! It is you, I feel it! I have found you at last!"

Something in his voice, perhaps a detail of his appearance, ignited a spark of recognition in Raduan:

"Iarmin!" he exclaimed, grabbing his shoulder.

Then Dorian saw it too, and let out an exclamation of surprise: this man in such a miserable state in his arms was none other than Iarmin, one of their own, a Company warrior! How could he have not recognized him? Iarmin had left them shortly after Abel's parting without any warning... How much time had passed since then?

A thick beard and a clump of matted hair hid his face, but it was in the rest of his body that the warrior had undergone the most radical transformation. Nothing remained in his appearance of the indomitable force that all had known so well.

"What happened to you?" asked Dorian, astonished.

Iarmin seemed to smile for a moment before sagging in Dorian's arms, his eyes half closed, his breath heavy. He snatched at the hem of the commander's jacket and turned his head far enough to stare into his face.

"Find him!" he said in a gasp "The Valley of the Moon!"

Dorian shook his head, discomforted. Raduan, at his side, clenched his fists. He was bothered by what those words may entail.

"Find him! He needs you!" said Iarmin, his swollen face just a span from Dorian's. He coughed, and a trickle of blood ran from his lips. He slumped in the commander's arms, as inert as a puppet. Dorian shook him, fearing the worst, but there was no response. He laid the body on the ground and put an ear to his chest. An expression of relief crossed his face.

"He's unconscious" he declared "A healer, quickly!"

They carefully placed Iarmin's unconscious body on a woolen mantle. Dorian knelt beside him and shook his head in disbelief.

"What does it mean?" he wondered.

"There is no way of knowing" said Raduan.

"He was delirious" someone said with a shrug.

Dorian was not convinced. He could still feel the pleading eyes of his friend on him; still sense the force of his despair. It didn't seem possible that his words had been dictated by frenzy. He could not find an answer to his sense of doubt, but the important thing was that Iarmin was still alive. Maybe, thanks to the healers' skill, the worst could be avoided.

Lying on the ground, Iarmin was still unconscious. A healer cautiously felt his battered body, looking for possible fractures or other internal wounds. He pulled back the flaps of his jacket: a large stain of blood soaked the shirt over the warrior's chest.

"Great Abidan, let us pray it is not too late" said Raduan, bringing his hands together in prayer.

Kyra's head popped above the cordon of men.

"How could he have ended up this way?" she asked in surprise.

"It looks as if he has faced a horde of Demons alone!" said another.

"Perhaps you are not far from the truth..." said Raduan.

Dorian looked at him inquiringly.

Raduan went on, stroking his shaggy black beard.

"We all remember how Iarmin was bound to Abel, and how he changed after his parting. I believe that both his sudden departure and his return under these conditions have something to do with the Wayfarer."

He raised a hand to his mouth, thinking.

"Find him, he said. I have a feeling he was speaking of Abel. I think there is something of importance behind this. Do not ask me why, but I have a bad premonition."

Dorian heard him with a frown. His reply was convinced:

"I share your thoughts. Iarmin has something important to say, and I hope he will be able to do so without delay."

An exclamation of surprise broke off the conversation. The healer jumped to his feet, staring in disbelief at his hands, smeared with fresh blood.

"Impossible..." he murmured "But I have checked several times!"

He turned his eyes to Dorian, with a pale face.

"Commander, Iarmin bears no wounds!"

He looked back at his hands.

"This blood does not belong to him!"

Raduan and Dorian exchanged tense looks.

"Something is very wrong..." their eyes said.

It happened all at once.

With a sudden burst, Iarmin sat bolt upright – like a marionette tugged by invisible strings. His face, deformed by an implacable hatred, was Iarmin's no more. His eyes, bloodshot, were those of a Demon.

Before anyone could move, his shirt was torn from the inside by two foul tentacles. One wrapped round the healer's legs, snapping them, while the other whipped the air in search of prey.

"Demon!" shouted Raduan, the first to recover from the shock.

He sprang forward, his face contracted into a mask of rage, as he raised the hunter's knife he carried at his belt. A tentacle shot towards him: Raduan sheared it clean off with a flick of his wrist, jumping forward for the final blow. But something held him back, maybe the sight of his old friend's face, tragically mutated and yet still familiar...

That moment of hesitation would have proven fatal to him, had it not been for the intervention of Kyra: quick as a cat, clutching a curved dagger in each hand, she reached Raduan in a few strides and stood between him and the monster. Before it could fight back, she dug her blades into the second tentacle, over and over again, so fast it was almost impossible to make out her movements.

The Demon screamed in pain. It tried to get up from the floor, furiously flailing its mutilated stumps. It moved jerkily, crawling and throwing its weight against the legs of the men around it. Its head lolled to one side, indifferent to the movements of the body, tongue dangling and eyes lit by a faint reddish glow. The warriors retreated by a step, while Kyra and Raduan covered them with their blades drawn. They all faced the horrible sight, unable to respond, numbed by horror.

Then the commander emerged from the group and stood in front of them all. The Demon stopped twitching. Perhaps it realised the fate that awaited it. Dorian looked at it with eyes full of sadness, ready to perform the duty that part of him loathed so much.

He took a step forward, and stretched his white gloved right hand before the face of the Demon that was once called Iarmin. The monster was paralyzed; a low growl came from its deformed mouth. Dorian put his hand on the Demon's forehead, and pressed his palm between those eyes full of hatred. On contact, the glove released a halo of warm, glowing light.

The creature moaned piteously on its knees, arms hanging at its sides. Dorian hesitated when his eyes met those of Iarmin

(Demon! It is only a Demon!)

but his heart did not yield.

"Kalarti ka zvendàri!" he uttered in a quick breath.

The sentence hung in the air for a moment. Then, a blinding flash of light enveloped Dorian's body, springing from his chest and moving along his arm, to emerge from the palm of his hand onto the deformed face of the creature.

There was a prolonged scream, followed by the thud of the body collapsing to the floor. A translucent specter rose from the lifeless limbs and floated in midair. The warriors widened their circle. The ghost looked at them without seeing them, with eyes of pure light, projected at the afterlife. Then he shot upwards toward the ceiling, and disappeared.

When the light from the glove faded, everyone saw Iarmin's broken lifeless body lying on the ground, staring at the ceiling with faded eyes.

"Human eyes" thought Dorian "The eyes of a friend..."

III - Clouds on the Horizon

The sun was already high when Dorian walked up to the ramparts with Captain Seras. Two nights before, the people of Bezer had admired the courage of the Wayfarer's Company from there.

The two men trod wordlessly over the walkway that ran along the top of the walls between a double row of battlements. In the surrounding countryside, scattered groups of men piled the Demons' remains onto wagons. Further away, high flames danced on the burning pyre that received the corpses. The smoke, thick and acrid, hovered over the fields like a disease.

It was a depressing sight. The wanderers' community that had camped outside the walls had been wiped out, first by the mutation, then by Dorian's warriors. Deformed bodies were still scattered everywhere, and there were no relatives or friends to claim them.

A row of mourning women emerged in procession from the fortress gates, following a coffin carried by four people: one of Bezer's men, a victim of the Demons' assault, was traveling his last mile, headed to his tomb. Similar scenes had been played out again and again since the previous morning. It was only the Company's swift intervention that had stopped the tragedy from turning into a complete catastrophe.

Dorian observed it all without saying a word; the images of Iarmin's death were still fresh in his memory.

It was Seras who broke the silence, clearing his throat.

"In a couple of days there will be no trace of the battle, and we will be able to return to our lives. The fields need to be harvested, and the people need to forget these horrors."

Dorian avoided commenting on the likelihood of things going back to as they had been before. As far as he was aware, at least one household in five had lost men during the assault, and that kind of injury needed time to heal. The people's morale, already sorely tested by the rumors of impending war, was now at its lowest ebb.

"And yet those wanderers were so peaceful" Seras shook his head "Eccentric, but harmless. They had been living outside our walls for over a week without causing any trouble. Then, all of a sudden, they got sick."

Dorian nodded. It was always the same, when the Demons showed up. He already knew how the tale would go on.

"We tried to help" continued the captain "But within a few hours they had turned into rabid dogs. And then, into something much worse. Never before had I seen the like. We ran inside the fortress and shut the gates. Not everyone had time to run in, unfortunately. The rest, you already know. We are more than grateful to you for coming to our rescue. Had it not been for you, I do not know how long we would have been able to hold them off."

"No need to thank us, Captain. It is our duty" said Dorian, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't used to receiving thanks, especially not from another soldier.

The Company was not associated with any of the regular regiments in the Princedom. However, by royal decree they were free to act throughout the Kingdom's lands. That alone was cause for suspicion, if not outright hostility, from other soldiers; not to mention the Demons, the Ritual, and all the rest. The reputation of the Company was poised on a knife's edge.

Dorian knew that only the reputation of Abel, the supreme healer known to all as the White Wayfarer, had made it possible for the Company to obtain all the privileges and the fearful respect that followed them everywhere in such a short time. Now, after Abel's mysterious disappearance, he was committed to ensuring that the news did not leak out. More than once during recent months had he been forced to lie: suddenly, it was no longer the Wayfarer who was leading the Company, but his largely unknown right-hand man, a fact that could arouse much distrust.

Not in Bezer, though. Things had happened too quickly there. A horseback messenger from the fort had caught up with them two days earlier. Desperate, the man had told them in an avalanche of words that something horrible had happened to the wanderers camped outside the walls, something that had turned them into bloodthirsty beasts. Luckily for them, the Company had been nearby, and the request for help had arrived just in time. They had moved swiftly, riding non-stop for a whole day before reaching the fortress kept under siege by the creatures. The rest was history: during one bloody night, with the benefit of surprise, the Demons' horde had been destroyed.

"About yesterday's accident..." said Seras, cutting through his thoughts.

"Now we're getting to the point" thought Dorian, who had from the start suspected an ulterior motive to the captain's invitation to walk together.

"I still fail to understand how that man managed to penetrate the fortress" Seras went on "He left the bodies of two guards behind him, near the gates: he must have struck them from behind... but how? Was he invisible? No one saw nor heard him until he reached you!"

Dorian could not make out if Seras was trying to justify his shortcomings as head of security, or if he was just looking for a rational explanation.

"You saw it with your own eyes Captain: he was no longer an ordinary human being. The mutation had given him inhuman abilities. He could have caused much worse trouble, believe me."

"But fortunately for us, he seemed more interested in reaching you and your Company" Seras said pointedly.

Dorian did not take up the challenge.

"It is true, he was looking for us. But fortune had nothing to do with it. The consciousness that was inside him, that of the man called Iarmin, fought hard against the mutation. We would not have defeated the Demon so fast if he had not helped us from within." He shook his head. "I wonder where he found the strength to resist. And how many trials he had to face in order to make it back to us..."

Seras gave him a quizzical look.

"It may seem strange to you, but I think we have to thank Iarmin for what he has done in standing against the evil. We cannot blame the death of anyone on him, on the contrary, we owe him the lives of many others: the Demon would have slaughtered all in its way if Iarmin's will had not kept it at bay."

Seras gave a shrug.

"Commander" he said "I am a simple man-at-arms; your words have little meaning for me. Demons, mutations, and those ghosts rising from the battlefield... Those things were not part of my world before..."

"Before your path crossed mine?" asked Dorian, resigned. "Do not deny these are your thoughts, Captain. I do not blame you though: in the eyes of the sick, a treatment is often confused with the disease itself."

Seras showed no enthusiasm for the explanation, but neither did he prevent Dorian from continuing.

"As you have surely heard, our Company came about at the hands of the White Wayfarer, when the mutation first appeared - the same mutation you have witnessed in recent days."

"Mutation, that word again..."

"Yes, mutation. Entire communities affected without warning by a dark evil, the origins of which we are still ignorant, and which causes a monstrous metamorphosis. One day they are men like you and me, the next they are what we now call Demons."

"But why here, at Bezer?"

"We do not know. The cases are increasing; this is a fact. It used to happen only in the wilderness, or nearly always so, but now the evil has shifted toward the center of the Kingdom. A great change is taking place Captain, and I fear that soon we may not be able to face it alone anymore. Not without an army to cover our backs."

Seras frowned at the idea.

"Do not fear" Dorian continued "I am not saying that you will have to line up at the front with your soldiers. With all due respect, you couldn't do it. Every single member of our Company has undergone extreme training before being allowed to face the Demons head on. They are chosen warriors in the truest sense of the word. And I will tell you more: power and strategy are not enough against this kind of enemy." He looked away. "There can be no victory, without the Ritual."

"Yesterday morning, at dawn" inquired Seras, the light of curiosity in his eyes, "Is that what I think I saw Commander?"

"Yes, and you should feel privileged. You are among the few who have witnessed the Ritual of Liberation. I cannot pretend to be able to explain its essence to you: only the Wayfarer himself fully understands it in truth. But I will try anyway, in my own words. One question though for starters. Do you believe that men possess an immortal soul Captain?"

"So I was taught. It is the breath of the Gods within us."

"And do you believe there is a link between the soul and the body that hosts it?"

"I suppose so, but I am not a cleric so I do not know for sure..."

"But you believe it, and so do I. The Wayfarer shares this same certainty. Just as he believes that the mutation of a man into a Demon corrupts his soul and makes it a prisoner of the flesh, a slave to the worst demonic instincts..."

"That is inconceivable!"

"That is why we carry out the sacred Ritual taught us by the Wayfarer. It is the only way to break the chains that imprison these souls. If the soul trapped in a Demon's body is not released through the Ritual, it faces a horrible fate: eternal captivity inside a shell that does not belong to it anymore."

Seras shuddered.

"The Ritual allows us to spare them that fate. Alas, at the cost of their lives..."

He paused, but Seras showed no inclination to interrupt him.

"Demons are implacable enemies. We can mow them down with our swords, we can fell them and chop their bodies apart, but if the souls trapped inside them are not released through the Ritual, a new beginning occurs at nightfall. Those damned things draw strength from the darkness. They can rise again and continue fighting indefinitely, if necessary. Two nights ago I saw amputated limbs still struggling, detached from their bodies. A most grotesque sight, I can assure you."

"And not one to be forgotten quickly" asserted a pale Seras.

"Most certainly so, Captain. The opponents we face shield themselves with human bodies – and the physical death of their hosts does not affect their own life force."

He stressed the last words, hoping they had the desired effect.

Seras could not conceal his fear:

"Of what use is the steel of our swords then? Your company is less than a hundred, but you know how to extirpate this evil at its roots through your witchcraft! If what you say is true, what could the three Princedoms' armies do, even united, against such an opponent? We would be practically unarmed!"

Dorian tried to reassure him:

"There is no need to panic: my men know their enemy well, and know how to deal with it. We have had no problems so far, and I do not see why we should begin to."

He uttered the last sentence with false conviction: he was not sure at all. How could he banish the image of Iarmin's tragic death from his mind, a brave man overwhelmed by evil and killed by his own comrades in arms?

"Are we really in control?" he asked himself.

He couldn't shake off the feeling that a change of some kind was required now that Abel was gone. That there was another path to follow. But which one?

At the foot of the walls, the bodies were still being piled up on the wagons. Dorian couldn't begin to estimate how many Demons they had killed in the clash; demons almost helpless against the Company's overwhelming force. It did not really matter. Anxious to distract his mind from the bloody episodes of the battle, he decided to move the subject to politics. The Kingdom was facing a period of great instability, and it was wise to keep abreast of the facts in order to avoid unpleasant surprises.

"Captain, our duty has kept us away from the cities lately. I am curious to hear the news."

"Do you refer to the war? Bah! We are cut off from the freshest news too, Commander, but I have received disturbing dispatches from the capital. Prince Hiram is obviously tempted by our lands: his troops are amassed along our borders, and they are not even trying to make it look like a drill!"

"Bad news indeed..."

"Hiram knows how fragile of character his brother is - our Prince. That is why he is putting him under such pressure. I am afraid it is working: Feledan has already admitted his fear before the Council, and there is even a risk that he will surrender without a proper fight." He spat on the ground in disgust. "Weakling! He is not fit to rule! He may be an esteemed poet, but it is not his petty verses that will save our lands from invasion. We should take up arms now, before it is too late, and run to strengthen the borders!"

He clenched his fists in frustration.

"But without a direct order from His Lordship our hands are tied, dammit! We have to stay here and wait for those filthy men of Hiram to come and take our homes and women!"

"There is a rumor that Hiram offered good terms of surrender..." said Dorian "Didn't he state that he desires no suffering for the people? That he just wants to get back the lands that belong to him by right of inheritance?"

"Lies! No one has ever wasted a good word on that cruel imitation of a prince! He is crazy, ambitious and bloodthirsty. He thinks of only one thing: absolute rule over the Kingdom, united under his heel as it was under his late father's. Ah, our beloved King Feldnost, may the Gods have greeted him with full honors!" he sighed nostalgically. "Things were going the right way in those days. It is beyond me how such an admirable king could give birth to those three: a tyrant, a spineless artist, and that nefarious Prince Gomer! If his ambition was equal to his passion for food and children he would be ruling all the lands from here to the ocean!"

Dorian had to agree with Seras' merciless analysis:

"I share your concerns, Captain. Difficult times are coming."

The lack of a stable and steady leadership, the kind that the late King Feldnost had provided, was deeply felt in all three of the Princedoms that had been born of the Kingdom's dismemberment. Moreover, Feldnost had been the strongest voice in support of Abel, when the Wayfarer's Company was still new and taking its first steps. Without the unconditional support of the king, the Company would never have received the power it still enjoyed.

But with Hiram in command...

The name alone made his blood boil. He had a score to settle with Hiram. A debt of blood still waiting to be paid off. But he was just one of the many in line wanting to kill the Prince. Of Feldnost's three successors, it was the eldest son who had turned out to be the worst character: driven by his obsession to surpass his father in greatness, he had immediately rejected the idea of sharing the Kingdom with his two brothers. But the King's will had been plain, and he now had only one way left to achieve his ambitions: war.

In the face of his inept brothers' opposition, it could be a very short-lived war. The thought of Hiram being the undisputed ruler of the Kingdom made him shiver: hard times were coming for everyone. The Wayfarer's Company itself would have to struggle to maintain its autonomy. It was no secret that Hiram feared and hated them, unlike his late father. But it would be a huge mistake on his part to dissolve the Company, thus leaving the people at the mercy of the Demons.

Yet again, Dorian regretted Abel's absence.

The Wayfarer always knew how to act in these situations, to the point that even the most powerful figures were impelled to listen to his words. What could he do in Abel's place? The battlefield - his daily bread – was one thing, but he felt like a fish out of water in the halls of diplomacy.

He tried his best to appear confident:

"Do not put the cart before the horse, Captain. Perhaps Feledan's counselors will manage to instill a little common sense in his mind and encourage him to defend his lands."

Seras shook his head glumly.

"I doubt that will happen, Commander. We must expect a war. Hard times indeed... as if the battle of two nights ago wasn't enough to start with."

"True" admitted Dorian.

He was short of arguments to lift the captain's morale, or even his own. He kept walking at a slow pace, his mind full of questions about the turbulent future waiting on the horizon.

"Forgive my curiosity" asked Seras, looking away; "The White Wayfarer... Abel, as you call him... Is he not here with you? I much wanted to meet him in person."

"He is still on the road, but we will reunite soon" said Dorian, hoping the Captain would not try to dig deeper.

"I understand" said Seras, his eyes still focused on the thankless task of the soldiers at the foot of the walls. After a while, he turned his attention back to Dorian and parted his lips in an uncertain smile.

"My question may seem foolish to you, but forgive me if I ask it all the same. Is it true what they say of the Wayfarer? Is he really immortal?"

"I know no more than you Captain. He has a youthful appearance, no doubt, but to say that he does not age..."

In reality, though he did not want to show it, Dorian had also begun to believe in those rumors: he had known Abel for years, and his appearance had not changed the slightest in all that time. The same smooth white skin, the same curly hair and golden beard, the same piercing blue eyes. According to Dorian's calculations, based on the stories that had given life to the legend of the White Wayfarer, Abel must be at least a hundred years old. He was a living enigma, and during all those years of friendship and co-existence Dorian had never been able to elicit a single confidence about his past.

"And is he indeed a great healer?" Seras continued, without masking his skepticism.

"This I can confirm without a shadow of doubt" said Dorian, more at ease with the topic "With my own eyes I have seen him perform miracles of healing. Sometimes merely his touch is enough to alleviate the pain of the injured, or to revive a dying man."

"Sorcery..." whispered Seras, his eyes wide with suspicion.

"Please avoid that term in my presence" replied Dorian grimly, "It casts a bad light on me and my men."

"Pardon me, I did not mean to offend" said Seras. There wasn't the least sign of regret in his look though.

Dorian decided it was time to return to his men. He took leave of the Captain with a quick handshake, and walked away. From the corner of his eye, he saw Seras standing still where he had left him, his brow furrowed. He did not seem heartened by their long conversation.

"If I myself am not sure if we are on the right path" Dorian thought "How shall I convince others?"

He began descending the stairs within the walls, grateful to no longer have to see the sad sight of the dead.

He had been in no hurry, but a sudden commotion brought him round.

Shouts and curses.

And they were coming from where he had left his men.

IV - Separation

Dorian raced down the stairs two steps at a time, then ran until he found himself in the midst of the confusion.

A large group of Company warriors was crowded in front of the sleeping quarters. He could hear the curses of a furious argument beyond the human wall. He immediately recognized the voices and a cold shiver ran down his spine. He pushed his way through, but halted just beyond the last row of people, looking at a scene he would never have wanted to witness: two men were holding Raduan – who was armed, enraged and shouting – back by force, and were preventing him from throwing himself at Kyra, who in turn was brandishing a long knife, and hissing like a wild cat.

"Damn!" Raduan yelled "What did you think you were doing? Let me free, I want to teach her a lesson! Let me free, I said!"

"Yes, let him!" she replied, no less angry "Let me deal with him!"

Without wasting a second, Dorian swept behind her. He clasped her in a powerful grip and knocked the knife out of her hand. Kyra kicked and punched, but Dorian didn't let go. Raduan trembled with rage before them.

"Someone explain to me what is going on!" thundered the exasperated Dorian.

Raduan stepped forward, his finger pointed at Kyra:

"Commander, this cursed thief was trying to slip away under our nose!"

"Watch your mouth, you idiot!" she snapped "It's a lie!"

"Of course!" he said "Is this why you were fleeing in secret? And I bet that fell in your bag by mistake!"

Dorian followed Raduan's gesture with his eyes, and gasped in surprise: from the inside of the bag, leaning against a door jamb, could be seen the unmistakable silhouette of the Wayfarer's Banner: it had been ripped from its pole and rolled up like a common piece of cloth.

He pushed Kyra aside, and retrieved the precious artifact. He unrolled it and shook it, making sure of its state. He heaved a sigh of relief: it was still in perfect condition! The image of the traveling staff, embroidered with golden and silver threads, gleamed against the white background of the fabric.

Dorian raised the banner in front of him, and gave Kyra a look as heavy as a boulder. The men around moved away, sensing an oncoming storm.

"You of course have a good explanation for all this..." he hissed, holding back his anger "I really hope you do..."

Kyra looked away, without replying. She moved a lock of brown hair from her forehead with a hand. Dorian grabbed her by the arm with enough energy to crush a stone. "Answer me, dammit! Did you really think you could steal it? And then what? What about the Ritual? It would have been the end!"

She looked at her feet, silent.

"Say something, damn you, defend yourself, tell me I am wrong!" insisted Dorian, full of anger.

Kyra bit her lip, and fixed her good eye on his. Then she spat out the words with anger:

"There is no misunderstanding! I am tired of you, of them, of the Company, the way you carry out your mission and never stop to think! You are blind, and you don't even realize it. This is not the life I want for myself!"

Dorian opened his mouth, but before he could speak she continued her stream of vitriol:

"I wanted to go, yes, and I planned to take with me the only thing worth a few coins, considering how miserable we..."

She could not finish the sentence, because Raduan was suddenly in front of her, no longer restrained, and slapped her hard in the face, hurling her to the ground.

She was back on her feet in an instant, mad with rage.

"What do you think you are doing, you idiot? You will die for this!"

But before she could react, another hand hit her on the lip, knocking her to the ground again. She lifted herself with difficulty, full of anger and frustration.

"Who was that?" she shouted, "Who dared..."

She met the stern eyes of Dorian, his hand still raised above her.

She remained motionless for a while, staring into the emptiness. Silence fell all around her. Then she got up slowly, shaking the dust from her body. When she raised her head, her usual supercilious smile had resurfaced.

"That's it, then" she said.

She looked at her comrades in arms, one by one, finally focusing on Dorian. Her voice, like her look, was cold, devoid of emotion.

"There is nothing more to say between us. There is nothing left." She turned her back on him. "I am leaving, and nobody can prevent me."

Dorian, caught off guard, tried to block her:

"Wait, daughter!" he said, grabbing her elbow.

Kyra shook his hand off.

"You are not my father" she said "You never were."

She forced a path between the soldiers, and walked away. No one tried to stop her. She disappeared behind the tower, never looking back.

\------

Later that same day, Dorian was practicing his swordsmanship.

He had been unable to swallow even a morsel at lunch, and now he was trying to release the tension with a good bout of exercise. He assaulted imaginary enemies with his blade, now striking, now parrying, now unleashing deadly blows. The movements flowed naturally through his body, expressing a concentration of strength and agility, the result of years of constant struggle.

The sun of early spring, moving beyond its zenith, burned pale in the sky, but could not warm the earth with its rays. Ignoring his fatigue, Dorian continued training. Though the sweat was running down him in rivulets, and he was starting to feel the pain, he knew he did not want to stop. The strenuous exercise was a blessed escape from his present worries.

And to drive away the painful image of Kyra leaving...

Even while concentrating on his fencing, he could not help but think of her and her haughty smile. Only now that he feared he had lost her, did he fully understand the affection he felt for her. It was as if part of him had vanished, leaving him crippled. Despite all the quarrels and misunderstandings, he had never stopped loving her, as a father loves his daughter.

"Yet she is not my daughter" he thought "Not in the true sense of the word. But I did my best..."

How long had they known each other?

For years.

Ever since that day...

\------

"We have walked far enough" said Abel.

Dorian looked around. It was a pitiful village. Only a few filthy-looking dwellings. He read the same question in the eyes of his companions: "What are we doing here?" He wiped the sweat from his forehead using the already drenched sleeve of his shirt. The summer was coming to an end, on the calendar at least, but Edessa, the Goddess of Nature, did not seem to have realised.

"Let's find a place to rest" said Abel.

The heat was oppressive. And the hospitality was not what they had come to expect. They were confronted by the harsh expressions of farmers used to fighting hardship, used to deprivation and a life that took from them more than it gave. From door to door they went, asking for fresh water and a shady place in which to rest, but they were met only with hostile stares, and insults and threats. Dorian was taken aback. It was the first time the White Wayfarer had not been accepted or respected by the common people.

After several unsuccessful attempts, finally even Abel was convinced that it was a wasted effort, and he led them beyond the village. They came to a rough stone bridge over a stream. The memory of what they saw on that bridge would always bring a smile to Dorian's face.

Two children, dirty and poorly dressed, were circling a girl much younger than themselves, and only half their size. The two kicked and shouted, trying to scare her, but she stood impassively in the middle of the bridge staring ahead with a resolve that seemed out of place in one so small.

"Daughter of no one!" jeered one of the bullies, opening his mouth in a toothless smile "Run away to your mother, run!"

"She can't!" retorted the other, with false compassion "Her mother is buried in the ground, just like the rest of her family!"

With a crow of delight, the bully stood in front of the girl. He looked her up and down, waiting for a reaction. She looked at him calmly and pretended to sniff the air, then declared in a voice serious beyond her years:

"What a stench! You should take a bath."

After a moment of stunned amazement, the boy rushed at her. He was certain to overpower her with his weight in his desire to avenge the insult. With astonishing agility, the girl moved aside and tripped him over. The bully was propelled forwards and fell yelling into the muddy waters of the river where he landed headfirst with his legs up in the air. The other bully, his face livid, tried to punch the girl, but she easily avoided it and slipped behind him with a single fluid motion. Before he could turn around, she hit him at the base of his neck with a hand cut, ripping a cry of pain from him, and with a kick to his rear she sent him into the water along with his companion.

The two were soon back on their feet, up to their knees in the muddy river-bed, their mouths overflowing with insults. But as soon as she took a step towards them, they paled. They ran to the other side of the river, casting terrified glances over their shoulders, as if they had a monster on their heels. The girl stood looking at them motionless, her lips stretched in a grin of satisfaction. While he found it a little disturbing, Dorian was also quite impressed.

At this point – he remembered it as if it had been yesterday, Abel had pointed at her with a radiant smile:

"She is one of us."

They realized that from then on the curious little girl was to become part of the Company, as unlikely as it may have seemed. But it was always Abel's call, and he had not shown any hesitation whatsoever.

Dorian, inexplicably drawn to the small figure watching them from the bridge, came forward. The little girl stared at him with interest, without showing the concern he had expected. With the tip of a finger, she touched the scabbard of the sword he wore hanging at his side. Dorian immediately sensed a subtle link between them. He asked her name.

"Kyra" she said, her voice firm.

What happened next was blurred in his memory. He still remembered, however, the small Kyra, ragged and unkempt, guiding them back to the village, not at all uncomfortable in the midst of that bizarre group of armed men dressed in white, all unknown to her.

They discovered that her parents had passed away a few months earlier, victims of a disease. That made her an orphan, but the coldness with which she faced up to the situation made it clear that her relationship with her parents had never been strong. It was a sad reality in the underdeveloped regions of the Kingdom that female children were often deemed as servants, and spent their early years hard at work, without ever receiving a single loving word or caress. Kyra explained to them almost mechanically that after her parents' death she had been entrusted to a distant relative.

They were soon to meet this person. She was looking out the front door of her house like a bulldog: a severe, imposing woman, who already had four children of her own to feed. When Abel asked permission to take the girl away with him, offering a just compensation, her piggy eyes were unable to conceal her interest. Then Abel put the same question to Kyra. She looked at him with eyes full of wonder. Many times in the future she would laughingly recall that episode with Dorian. It was the first time she had seen a man so... bright! Like the angels from myths...

And it was the first time anyone had asked her opinion on anything.

She agreed without hesitation.

Only after she crossed the threshold of her poor house for the last time, did she stop, uncertain. Dorian approached her, took her hand, and smiled warmly. She stared at him with big sad eyes, then smiled in return, comforted, and squeezed his hand.

Then they had walked together behind the White Wayfarer towards the future.

\------

Since that day, Kyra had always been by their side, through thick and thin, growing up to become a strong, beautiful woman. They had trained and protected her to the best of their ability, and she had soon become more skilled than most of them. Dorian had been closer to her than anyone else, assuming the role of a father. In all his best memories of recent years, Kyra was always beside him, smiling and confident in the future, in love with her cause, as was he, as were all of them...

Then, her accident. After that, Abel's disappearance.

And now, the break-up.

Dorian realized he had stopped practising, overwhelmed by memories. His sword hung at his side, inert. His chest rose and fell rhythmically in its search for oxygen. He heard footsteps, and saw that Raduan was approaching sheepishly. When he realized he had been seen, his friend gave him a nod, and his lips parted in an uncertain smile.

"Don't work out too hard, Commander" he jested "I wouldn't like to have to carry you back to our quarters!"

Dorian smiled back.

"There is no danger to me. You, on the contrary, could do with a work out. You look out of shape."

Raduan laughed, but Dorian sensed his discomfort in the way he avoided looking in his eyes.

"Dorian" he said, after a moment's hesitation "I came to apologize for this morning. I know what you are suffering, and that it is because of me." He scratched his head, looking at his toes. "I am sincerely sorry. Perhaps if I had been less impulsive, none of this would have happened. I acted like a fool, and I ended up causing a mess!"

"Don't talk like that" said Dorian "For me, you did nothing wrong. It was clear to us all. It was on the cards that eventually Kyra would come up with something stupid like that." He shook his head. "She has always been stubborn, but today she crossed the line. Your anger was more than justified, as was mine."

He watched the sun's reflection on the blade of his sword for a while, before going on in an unsteady voice:

"Anyway, I think that we will see her again sooner than you think. We are the only family she has. When she cools off, she will return, and we will be ready to take her back, without unnecessary rancor."

He was not at all convinced, but it was the kind of lie that made him feel better.

"I hope you are right. Yes, you must be" assented Raduan. His expression, however, showed little conviction. He waved a hand before his face, as if to chase away a fly. "What shall we do from today?" he asked. And then, with a sad smile: "I have the impression that we are no longer welcome here. The looks they give us on the street are not very reassuring. What kind of gratitude is that?"

"Some things will never change" said Dorian, shaking his head, "But this time they will have to be patient and grant us some more of their hospitality. Not everyone will remain here, though: you and I leave tomorrow morning."

Raduan raised an eyebrow.

"Why only us? And to where are we headed?"

"In search of answers, my friend. And this time I want to tap into the richest resource of the Kingdom."

"Hmm! Zontar, am I right?"

"You read my mind as always. Since Iarmin said those things last night, I have had much to think about." He wiped the sweat from his forehead. "You know as well as I do that those words could lead us to Abel. We need someone to help us interpret them."

Raduan agreed:

"Instinct tells me that you are right. And I have learned to trust my instinct blindly."  
"It is decided then" Dorian concluded; "Tomorrow we ride to the Gray Tower!"

"Zontar..." Raduan said the name with great respect "I never thought that one day I would make the acquaintance of the famous Sage! If he really knows something about Abel, or the Valley of the Moon, he will be willing to help us won't he?"

"Provided that we can get to him in time. I heard that he has been appointed First Adviser to prince Feledan. The prince needed someone to show him the right path."

"That is good news indeed. But I worry what awaits us on the road ahead. You saw what happened to Iarmin. We will have to watch our backs."

"Without doubt, Raduan. That's why I have chosen you as a traveling companion, and I already have a few other names in mind. I do not want to take any unnecessary risks, but we need to move quickly: the tower of Zontar is just two weeks from here for a small group on horseback. The rest of the Company will wait for us here at Bezer, in safety."

"Well thought out" said Raduan, animated by the prospect of continuing their journey "Let us hope this is the right choice. We cannot keep wasting our time on false leads."

"I am sure we are on to something this time. Good fortune must smile on us soon!"

He grabbed the hilt of his sword with both hands, and moved to a defensive stance, his eyes lit with determination.

"Now go, soldier! Do not distract me with your chatter, I am trying to train!"

"Yes, sir!" laughed Raduan, standing to attention "I will make myself busy assembling the equipment, sir!"

He turned on his heel and walked away with long strides.

Dorian, regaining his focus, tried to dispel the worries and doubts from his mind. He focused his attention on the tip of his sword. With a war-cry, he attacked. Perhaps the time was coming. Perhaps he would finally find answers to the questions that had been gnawing at his mind.

"Your sacrifice was not in vain" he thought, the image of Iarmin burning in his mind "We will find Abel, I swear, and we will bring him home with us!"

V - Sea Stories

Kyra walked swiftly through the fields, and then along the dusty road of reddish earth. She met few travelers along the way, small groups of merchants mostly, their loaded wagons lumbering like turtles along the track.

Two days had passed since she had left the Wayfarer's Company, two precious days of freedom! Though she had no clear ideas about her future, she felt that her decision had been the right one. For weeks she had thought about escaping, without ever taking the final step. But Iarmin's death had been the last straw, a glimpse of a future she could not tolerate.

She quickened her pace, as if moving faster would help her to hold her bad memories at bay.

She had long since lost faith in the Company's cause, even before the disappearance of Abel. She could not understand their motives anymore, much less share them. And what about Dorian? When she thought of him, she saw a void. He had slapped her in front of everybody, dammit! Maybe she had deserved it, but... No, she would have never expected that from him. From Raduan perhaps, but not from him.

And why was it she was still mulling over the squalid episode? One day she would deal with both of them. For now, it was water under the bridge. A new path was opening before her, a journey that would take her away from the Company and its misfortunes.

She hoped she had successfully masked the reason for her desertion. The farce about the banner had gone well \- except for that humiliating finale. If she had really wanted to steal it, they would have never realized it, that much was certain. Her goal had been different. She needed a good excuse to leave, so she had made one up. At least nobody would suspect the real reason, one that could be described with a single word, a word that burned inside her like a firebrand. She had hated that word since childhood, since her parents had died, and she had sworn that she would never, ever allow it to win her over. But just closing her eyes, still now as then, she could not make it vanish.

Fear. Pure and simple fear.

"There" she thought.

Fear of being swallowed up by death, fear of seeing the people she loved suffer in the name of a false and useless mission.

Where was Abel?

He had seduced her and everyone else with his sanctimonious stories about world salvation, he had thrown them to the lions for years, with the vague promise of a better future... and then he had fled into the night like a thief! What was the point? Why had she had to lose an eye - and many others their lives - serving his purpose like loyal dogs?

She swore aloud.

She felt suddenly sad, and stupid. It had been a silly, silly idea, that of the banner! Why hadn't she looked for another, less drastic way out? She had dug a gulf between herself and her former comrades. Dorian, Raduan... Everyone hated her now! That was not what she had planned. She had just wanted to leave, to follow her own path. If only she could change the past...

"Bah, just let it go!" she told herself "You have to think about the present, and the future!"

Indeed, it was no joke. She had to get through it all by herself from now on.

She filled her lungs with fresh air, and felt a stream of positive energy run through her body. She had confidence in her own skills; she could take care of herself with no trouble. A new life awaited her, away from all responsibilities and from that damned fear! She thought of Dekka, the largest port city across the Kingdom on the southern coast of the Inland Sea. More than once she had heard about it during the Company's wanderings, and it had always been described to her as an intriguing place, chaotic and colorful beyond measure, just the kind of place where she could cut her ties with the past.

Dekka! The sea!

Prompted by these thoughts, she quickened her pace again, whistling a happy tune.

As evening came she arrived at a fork. The main road continued westward, disappearing behind a hill. Another road, narrower and potted with holes, sloped downhill northwards. Kyra followed it with her eyes, and what she saw made her heart swell with joy: the vast blue surface of the Inland Sea, rippled by the wind and shining under the rays of the late afternoon sun, lay at the foot of the hill, where a small fishermen's village met the water.

She rejoiced within, realizing that she had walked far and fast: she had not expected to reach the coast before the next afternoon, and yet there it was at her feet, inviting and full of promise! She was anxious to continue her journey, and to reach Dekka as soon as possible, but there was still some way to go. Better to wait until the next morning, to travel rested and in broad daylight. She also realized that she was hungry: she hadn't had a decent meal for days, and she felt exhausted.

She looked down the slope to the village: a wisp of smoke rose from the chimney of a building that seemed to be a tavern - or even better, perhaps an inn. She had only a few coins left in her pockets, but it would be enough to pay for some food and a jug of limpaq, maybe even a hot bath and a bed.

It took less than half an hour to reach the foot of the hill. She entered the village by the main street, which was paved with slick, irregular stones. The town stretched down to the sea forming a wide bay which was flanked by cliffs. At first the salty air and the strong smell of fish tempted her to hold her nose with her fingers, but she did not want to attract the attention of passers-by. It was an unnecessary precaution though as she didn't meet a soul along the way apart from a couple of sleepy cats.

She carried on, almost blinded by the sunset's splendor, until the road opened up on a small marina. Low waves lapped rhythmically against the docks and the moored boats, producing a slight roll of the hulls. She noticed how each craft, from the smallest rowing boat to those with mast and sail, was charged with nets, harpoons and other fishing equipment unfamiliar to her. Some fishermen were returning to shore, heaving on their oars. Others, along the quay, were already cleaning up and adjusting their equipment for the following day.

Kyra stood motionless, observing the tranquil landscape, allowing a sense of calm to seep inside her. For the first time she was aware of the fatigue that weighed on her. It was time to find accommodation. She scanned the little square, behind which were houses gathered tightly together. Further back, the village was dominated by high cliffs, dotted with gulls' nests. The birds flew back and forth between their shelters and a pile of leftover fish, stacked on purpose by the fishermen so that the birds could contribute to the cleaning of the village.

Disgusted by the stench, Kyra looked away from the seagulls. She left the docks, preceded by her shadow, looking for the inn she had seen from the top of the hill nestled between the houses with their peeling walls. It wasn't hard to find, and from the lit windows came loud chatter.

Before she entered, she glanced curiously at the sign hanging above the door: the picture showed a lion, standing on its hind legs in a grotesque pose. The words just below the image read: 'The Dancing Lion.' Kyra, who had already encountered one such beast, failed to imagine it ever engaging in such a playful activity. She opened the door with a wry grin and went inside.

"I could have bet on it..." she thought, as the chatter died suddenly, and dozens of bearded faces turned to watch her. She tried to ignore the men, who had stopped drinking to look at her in awe as she walked toward the bar and laid a coin on it.

"Limpaq" she ordered.

The innkeeper, a stout, sweaty man, bleary-eyed and bewhiskered, blinked a few times, then stretched his lips wide into a cheerful smile and pocketed the money.

"Sure, girl, right away!"

The unnatural silence persisted in the room. Without speaking to anyone in particular, the innkeeper yelled:

"Well, what's the problem? Have you never seen a woman before? Go back to your mugs, you louts, or I'll be kicking your sorry asses out of here!"

His jibe was greeted by boos and laughter. Kyra, irritated by the unwanted attention, smiled in embarrassment and swallowed a mouthful of the dark liquid from her jug. While the other patrons' interest did not fade, she kept her gaze fixed on the stained surface of the bar, sipping the strong drink of fermented roots.

"Round here", the innkeeper began, pointing to her jug "we enrich our limpaq with the extract of green algae. It gives it an extra edge, don't you think?"

"So it seems", she answered, even though she didn't really enjoy that kind of drink very much; she favored the delicate wines of Ritanat, or the intoxicating Rose Nectar produced in the province of Miridia, in the South. She spoke her thoughts aloud. The innkeeper, laughing, said that her tastes were those of a refined connoisseur, very different to those of the primitive villagers, for whom the notion of good drink relied much more on quantity than quality!

"What brings a girl such as you here to Mirna?" he asked "You don't look like a sailor to me!"

He studied the scar on her face from the corner of his eye.

Kyra, hesitant, said she was traveling to Dekka. Then, under the onslaught of the man's increasingly importunate questions, she gave him to understand she was a mercenary in search of her fortune. She made a point, with a slight smile, of showing her keenness to resume her violent activities.

The innkeeper caught on to her meaning, and began to regard her with greater respect, and even a tinge of fear.

"Not the kind of woman you were expecting..." she thought, thinking of the fishermen's obedient wives, locked in their houses, waiting for their husbands to return from their evening's drinking.

"Why does this tavern have such a strange name?" she asked, to shift the conversation away from herself.

"Strange?" snorted the innkeeper, with annoyance "Are you saying that the idea of a dancing lion is absurd?"

"Well..."

"I knew it!" he interrupted, waving a jug in the air "You reason just like these nitwit fishermen! If you haven't seen it, you don't believe it!"

"No offence meant, innkeeper. It was rather fanciful of you to choose a name like that, but..."

"Fanciful, you say? Yet I was there when it happened! At the time I was working as a cabin boy on the Jin Riew, the largest merchant ship that ever sailed the Great Ocean!"

"Well, that's interesting..."

"You can say that again! We sailed for months along unexplored coast line, and I cannot begin to describe the number of fabulous bays we encountered, even more beautiful than those in the old sailors' stories, I can assure you! Endless beaches of fine white sand, palm trees laden with fruit, and water so blue that it seemed to be painted!"

He opened his eyes wide and leaned closer to her:

"One day, from the deck of the ship, we heard terrible roars: then a line of terrifying beasts emerged from the forest, all shiny claws and fire-red manes! Lions, like the one drawn there! They stood on the beach, just staring, as if to challenge us to go ashore. And then...after a while..."

He paused, taking breath. Then he finished, raising his arms to the sky:

"They began to dance! I swear on my poor mother's soul! All those ugly creatures balancing on their hind legs, hopping around like ballerinas! An incredible sight; one of the most unlikely shows I have ever seen!"

"And you were sober, of course?!" laughed a young man sitting at the counter.

"Damn you!" said the innkeeper, giving him a cuff on the ear "Always the same story! Do not listen to him, girl! These good-for-nothings are always quick to criticize, but they have no idea what they're talking about!" He shot an angry look at the youngster, adding loudly for the benefit of Kyra and all present "And for your information, you insolent boy, I was entirely sober that day!" This provoked more laughter and ridicule.

"All right, I believe you!" said Kyra, with diplomacy. She herself would have become the laughing stock of the entire inn if she had started to tell them even a small part of her adventures with the Wayfarer's Company.

Like the time when Raduan had unwittingly disturbed the sleep of an entire colony of vampire monkeys from the Green Mantle... Such a run they had, with armor and everything! Once they were safe, Dorian had had to calm his group to save Raduan from being lynched. But in the end they had made peace as always, with a collective hangover! Even Abel had dropped a little of his composure dancing to the seductive melodies of the flutes, around the campfire...

"Enough!" she thought. She had left just two days before, and the nostalgia was already surfacing! A bad start...

To relax a little and to calm the rumblings of her stomach, she ordered a slice of grilled fish with a very inviting aroma. She ate with gusto, no longer worrying about the incessant chatter that the innkeeper continued to pour on her.

She had consumed only half the meal when a loud crash made her start. She raised her head, and following the alarmed eyes of the innkeeper, she watched the arrival of two beefy, half-drunk louts. They stood in front of a corner table, where a grim-looking old man was sitting. One of them brandished a wooden stool, with which he had already smashed the table and shattered several jars.

"Not again!" growled the innkeeper, red-faced.

The patrons created a vacuum around the old man. He in turn, stayed where he was, quietly observing the two thugs facing him aggressively.

"Cursed old man!" roared one of the attackers, banging his fists on the table "We are all hungry because of you!"

"Rubbish..." replied the old man, holding their loathing looks.

"Rubbish, you say? You have provoked the wrath of the Keepers, and that is a trifle to you?"

The old man stretched his mouth into a wry smile.

"Bastard!" yelled the second man "You won't be so full of yourself after I split your head in two!"

The old man spat on the ground defiantly.

The thug holding the stool lost his temper: he lifted the improvised weapon to smash it over the old man's skull. But at the last moment he found himself holding nothing but air between his fingers. He turned to see what had happened, and suddenly the same stool that had eluded his grasp crashed onto his nose knocking him to the ground. He cursed and tried to get up, his face covered in blood.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you!" Kyra hissed, dropping the stool she had used to hit him.

She moved lightning fast, and placed the tip of her knife on his throat. The big man, on his knees, froze. His shocked companion soon found himself in the same situation, with a knife blade resting against his neck.

"Be still now, and nobody will get hurt" said Kyra, in control now.

The man on his knees growled and tried to get up, but a slight pressure of the knife-point on his neck was enough to make him think again. The old man cursed in amazement:

"Damn! I wouldn't have believed it if I had not seen it with my own eyes: two stupid giants knocked out by a girl!"

"What did you say?" exploded one of the thugs, despite the pressure of the blade. Kyra was almost shoved aside, but a well-aimed kick settled the situation.

"I thought I had been clear!" she repeated, grinding her teeth "Nobody lifts a finger unless I say so. As for you, old man, you are not helping much! Shut that big mouth of yours, or I swear I will leave you on your own!"

"Yes of course girl!" the old man hastened, showing a toothless smile "Carry on as if I were not here, I won't give you any trouble!"

The innkeeper, concerned about the ugly turn that events were taking, stepped forward.

"What's going on? Curse you all, can't you go and fight somewhere else? You just had to come here!"

"Tell these two: it is their fault" Kyra said, scornfully.

"And why did you have to meddle with them? Couldn't you have let things be resolved by themselves? "

"What are you talking about? Would you have let them have their way with an old man?"

"Bah, I can take care of myself!" the old man said.

"Come on, then, you miserable wretch!" said one of the big men, still under Kyra's strict control.

"Ah, not in here!" yelled the innkeeper "No one beats up anyone inside my inn, understood?"

And they all began cursing and pushing, creating such confusion that Kyra felt as if she was trapped inside a madhouse.

"That's enough!" she roared, reaching the limit of her patience "Silence!"

"Why would I ever..."

"I said silence!" she shouted at the top of her lungs.

All fell silent, watching her, including the other patrons, who had formed a circle around them to better enjoy the scene. Once she had restored calm, Kyra began to give instructions, and the harshness of her tone brooked no reply:

"You two, get up and be gone. And do it fast, before I change my mind. If I ever see your faces again, I swear I will beat you so hard that your wives won't recognize you anymore! You, innkeeper, go back behind that counter, do your job, and stop talking nonsense. As for you, old man, sit quiet, and thank the Gods you got away with it so easily!"

Reluctantly, the attackers headed for the exit, frowning.

"This is not the end of it, old man! You will pay, sooner or later!" said one of the two, a step away from the doorway. But he left swiftly when Kyra glared at him with a look as sharp as the blades of her daggers. The innkeeper, grumbling to himself, returned to his post. The others did the same, and the crowd of onlookers broke up as quickly as it had been formed.

Kyra stayed on the defensive for a while before sheathing her weapons. Then she turned to the old man, who was studying her with curiosity.

"Tell me their reason for attacking you." After taking the risk, she at least wanted to know why.

"Sit at my table" said the old man, smiling "Drink with me. My treat, it's the least I can do to repay you."

"I have lost my appetite, anyway" thought Kyra. She left her unfinished meal where it was, and sat at the table in front of the man. She crossed her legs, and rested her chin on her interlocked fingers.

"I am all ears" she said.

"Well" replied the old man, not avoiding her direct gaze "To begin with, thank you for coming to my aid. I still believe that I could have managed it by myself, but I am happy that a beautiful girl like you helped me out."

He winked, received a warning growl, and decided to leave gallantry aside.

"My name is Ezer, and I am a fisherman, like everyone else here. You handle weapons quite well, for a woman. What's your name?"

"My name is Kyra, and I hate braggarts. Especially male braggarts" she said, staring into his eyes.

"I get the message" Ezer said "If you don't want to talk, I will do so." He cleared his throat. "It is not the first time they've picked on me, those two, or others like them. I haven't been very popular in recent times."

"What mess did you get yourself into, to make them like you so little?"

"Nothing. I merely tried my best not to starve to death."

"What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. I chose to break some old taboos, rather than striving to survive on an empty stomach."

"Get to the point!" Kyra urged him, irritated by his circumlocution.

Ezer bent his bearded, wrinkled face towards hers.

"It is a rather silly story in my opinion. But, since you are curious... We lack nearly everything here at Mirna, but we will never run out of legends and superstitions. One of these has to do with the Bay Keepers..."

Kyra let him speak.

"It is said that long ago \- and I speak of hundreds of years ago - our ancestors came to the Inland Sea from the east. They found it inhabited by a race of strange beings, half man and half fish, who lived in caves along the coast."

She raised an eyebrow skeptically.

"I know, I know!" Ezer hastened to reply "It sounds like a children's story, and it probably is. However, none of my ancestors had ever seen the sea before: they were dazzled by such a huge expanse of water, and by the beauty of its inhabitants. It was the fish-men, according to tradition, who taught them how to build boats, to sail, and to fish. For a long time the two races got along quite well: there was enough room for everyone."

He paused, and unceremoniously spat on the ground as he continued:

"But one day, for some reason lost to memory, the peace was broken, and there was much bloodshed between the two races. Men had fewer means and skills, though they were greater in number. It seemed that their end was near."

"But you are all still here, so something must have happened."

"Indeed it did girl. Salvation came from the sea's depths, the one place the men had never expected help from. Huge shoals of golden fish appeared from the blue: their touch was deadly for the inhabitants of the sea caves. As the fish passed, they fell back in terror, and swarmed into the abyss one after another. Once they had sent our enemies swimming away for their lives, almost all of the fish vanished. Only a few dozen have inhabited the bay since then, as if they still intend to protect us."

Ezer moistened his throat with a sip of limpaq before continuing with his story. His voice became playfully pompous:

"So even today, on that stretch of sea known as the Waters of Salvation, lives a shoal of noble golden fish called the Bay Keepers in memory of the ancient legend. They symbolize the goodwill of the Gods, and remind mankind of their old struggles and hard-won peace!" He laughed. "So would proclaim our beloved mayor, at least..."

Kyra stared at Ezer in silence for a few moments, waiting. Then, seeing that the man showed no signs of proceeding, she asked him:

"Is that all?"

"Yes, more or less."

"More or less? And what does this absurd story have to do with the fact that someone wants you dead?"

"The point is, as I said before, that here in Mirna legends are more valued than common sense."

"I still don't understand!"

"Patience, girl, patience. You young people never have the time or the will to listen to what you are told!" As he said this, a shadow passed fleetingly across his face. "Now, if you give me a little more time, I will tell you why they hate me so much. One more thing though before that. Have you ever heard of the city of Dekka?"

"Of course. It is where I am headed" she answered, wondering what he was going to say.

"Bah! Bad place to go. If I were you, I would think again" protested Ezer, shaking his head. He received a shrug in response.

"It is all because of that immense sewer that the life in the bay is endangered. And those things... Automatons, they call them... Those heaps of junk!"

Kyra had heard of these self-propelled mechanisms the year before, from a garrulous merchant. No one had believed him at that time. According to his account, there were legions of these artificial beings working in secret under the orders of Dekka's governor while the City Watch covered it up at any cost, legal or not.

"You have no idea of the damage they can cause" Ezer went on "It is probably true that they work harder than any human being, and never complain. But they need to drink gallons and gallons of black oil: they swallow it and then regurgitate it into the sea, infecting the water, killing fish and birds, suffocating all life!"

"You seem well-informed on this matter" said Kyra.

The old man slammed his fist on the table, making her jump.

"You do not have to believe me, and you would not be the first to call me a liar! But with my own eyes I have seen the black halo spreading over our waters, like a circle of shadow... Those Dekka fools! They do not realize the damage they are causing! The currents spread the pollution throughout the sea, as far as here and beyond. Last year the fish were almost wiped out, and many of us were left with nothing to put on our plates! I only just made it, but at a high price..."

Kyra kept looking at him, absorbed.

"It happened several months ago: I had been casting my net for days without success. Nothing! Not even a shrimp! That dreadful black oil was making all the sea creatures disappear. Even the seaweed was rotting, and the few surviving fish were caught by other men, stronger than me. If only I hadn't been alone, dammit!"

He clenched his fists, a look of regret on his face.

"But I was alone, and hunger made me commit one of the worst crimes imaginable for a Mirna villager: I caught one of the bay's golden fish - the only species immune to the plague - and I ate it."

He tapped his forehead.

"Fool! Dazed as I was by hunger, I did not even realize what I was doing. I do not regret eating it - wasn't it just a damn fish? - But I regret I did not cover-up my actions properly! I was immediately discovered, and I almost got myself lynched. Luckily for me, not everyone in the village is that ignorant. The former mayor and some friends who know me better than others were able to calm people down. They explained that my gesture was caused by desperation, and not by the desire to commit a sacrilege. With their support my life was spared, though I was not able to leave my cabin for a while. When the putrid tide left the bay, things returned almost to normal, and I was able to resume my life as before. Although with almost no friends, and no respect at all, of course."

He sighed, fiddling with the jug in his hands.

"I was left at peace for a while, but now that things are difficult again for everyone, they have begun to hate me anew." He smiled bitterly: "It is much easier to pick on an old fisherman than on a big city ruled by ruthless men, isn't it?"

Kyra nodded with a half smile, well used to the hypocritical prejudice caused by fear and superstition. She had often experienced it herself when she was a member of the Wayfarer's Company. Or even earlier, when she was a friendless orphan.

"How do you keep going, old man?" she asked "Fate brought me here today to save your skin, but you can't always count on luck."

Ezer gave a shrug, as if it did not worry him.

"I already have a foot in the grave... What could they do to me that age has not already done? I do not care much, girl, believe me. It may even be better this way, a quick strike over the head and so long, rather than dragging myself on and on like this for years, like a lonely dog..."

"This is not the first time you have complained of loneliness. Have you lost someone dear to you?"

"That is none of your business" he replied, acidly. He soon apologized: "Try to understand, girl, there are things even I don't like to talk about. Instead, why don't you tell me what has driven you here to the coast?"

Despite the fact she was beginning to like him, Kyra decided not to expose herself too much.

"I ran away from my family, so to speak. But I have long learned to take care of myself. To be honest, I do not have a precise destination, but I want to stop for a while in Dekka, and make a living."

"Bah!" snapped Ezer "Haven't you heard a single word of what I just said? That city is a monster, girl, and it will swallow you in one gulp! I can tell a good person when I meet one, and you are good without a doubt. If you go there, you will change, and not for the better."

"Nonsense!" Kyra grinned "And you want me to believe you are the only sane person left in this village of superstitious fanatics! Thanks for that 'good person', anyway. I think you are wrong, but it's nice to be complimented every now and then."

"I am not wrong about these things" he said curtly. "But tell me, what will you do once in Dekka? If I didn't think you deserved better, I would recommend you seek a job as bodyguard to some rich man, given your ability to handle those" he said, pointing to the daggers sheathed at her belt.

Kyra stroked the hilt of one of the twin blades, thinking.

"That is an idea..., but I think I have had my fill of fighting, at least for a while. I would rather go to sea on a ship... Can you imagine it? Freedom, adventure!"

"Uhmpf! Some great adventurer! I bet you don't even know how to manage a rowing boat, right?"

"So what?" said Kyra, stung "It can't be that difficult!"

"Of course not! Talk is cheap, girl, but when you find yourself in the midst of a storm, with water falling on you from all sides, and the captain barking orders that you barely understand, then you will wonder: what the hell am I doing here?"

There was some truth in his words, Kyra had to admit.

"What do you suggest then? I don't want to wait around with my arms folded when I get to town."

"I bet you are a smart girl, albeit a bit too fiery" he continued, mollified "If you won't change your mind about Dekka, let me at least return the favor that you have done me. Stay with me a few days, only for long enough to show you a seaman's tricks, and then make up your mind. I may be old and senile, but at my age these waters hold very few secrets! I will teach you what I know, and you will give me a hand with the fishing. What do you say?"

Kyra was dumbfounded: she had hoped to be in Dekka by the next afternoon, to begin her new life. But she realized that she was moving too blindly, that her eagerness to arrive was childish. Perhaps it would be best to approach it more calmly.

But was this strange old man to be trusted? She looked at him in a very direct way, raising an eyebrow.

Ezer, who hadn't expected that particular kind of worry from her, burst out laughing:

"Your concerns flatter me, girl, but I very much doubt I would be able to harm a young lady as fierce as you. Meet me early in the morning at my cabin if you like, it's the last one behind the docks. Otherwise, thanks again, take care, and try to stay away from trouble. Whatever your decision, I salute you and I will now go to bed, my old bones are killing me..."

He started to rise. Kyra studied him for a few moments, doubtful, while he tried to get up from the rickety stool.

She finally made up her mind.

"Okay, you old fool, I shall accept your offer, and I hope it is worth it!"

She stretched out her hand.

"Just call me Ezer" he said, shaking it with a smile "I don't like the sound of old fool!"

VI - The Present and the Past

"You old fool!" yelled Kyra, clutching the rope so hard that her knuckles whitened.

She was standing ankle-deep in water, watching Ezer singing loudly in the bow, oblivious to the chaos around him. The boat rolled horribly at the mercy of the storm and a seemingly endless series of waves swept across the deck, raging down on them.

Few times before in her life had she felt so helpless: she could barely stand upright, her throat and lungs aching from swallowing saltwater. Ezer's recklessness made her furious, especially since the old man enjoyed making fun of her, while flaunting a total disregard for danger. She felt stupid for having so badly underestimated the risks of a sailor's life. Maybe it would be better to give up on the illusion of a new life at sea, and be more down to earth, in every sense.

Only a couple of weeks had passed since she had joined Ezer in his trips out to sea, but the list of things she hated was already a long one: her hands flayed by ropes and nets, the sunburn, the windburn, the sickening roll of the boat, the omnipresent stench of fish... All these and more had almost convinced her to go back on her decision. She had been forcing herself to endure it through sheer pride.

Now it seemed like a very bad resolution.

"What's going on girl, have you lost your tongue?" Ezer scoffed, standing open-legged in front of her. He was soaked from head to toe, his clothes and hair were plastered to his skin. "Just look at you! And all because of a little storm!"

Kyra gritted her teeth, but didn't have time to retort as a wave slapped her in the face, and saltwater filled her mouth again. Ezer helped her cough with a few pats on her back, while holding on to a rope to balance himself in the unstable swell.

"Come on, come on girl, spit it out! I was just joking. You're doing well for your first storm! I've seen many a big strong man whimper like a child in your place!"

He almost slipped and grabbed her with both hands, cursing. He went on screaming into the gale:

"I remember the day I was ferrying a merchant across the bay, when a storm like this fell upon us. The man promised me half his fortune, if I managed to bring him to shore safe and sound! Luckily for him, I'm not a greedy man! I didn't claim a single coin more than we had agreed..." He raised his eyes to the sky. "What a fool I was! I could have been sailing in gold now rather than in saltwater!"

"Why waste your time on nonsense, old man?" hissed Kyra, her face tense with fear "I'll make you a promise too: you save me from this hell, and maybe I won't pull your eyes out of their sockets!"

"Ahahah, I see you haven't lost your sick sense of humor, girl!" Ezer laughed. He looked up to the leaden sky, scanning the horizon, and suddenly became serious: "Well then, let's get out of here! But I need your help. Come on, put that rope down and help me out! What are you afraid of? Can't you see that even an old man like me can stand on his own two feet?"

His laugh was lost in the wind's howl, together with all the curses that Kyra shouted after him.

\------

A few hours later, as the sun's orb was sinking lazily below the flat expanse of the sea, Kyra was lying exhausted on the deck of the boat. She could still hear the rumble of thunder in the distance, behind them.

It was hard to admit, but she felt wonderful.

She kept going over the frantic struggle against the elements: hearing again the deafening roar of the sea, seeing the fierce lightning and the white foam of raging waves in her mind's eye... For what had seemed like endless hours, she had walked precariously from one end of the boat to the other, spurred on by the old man, trying to put into practice the skills she had learned over the previous days.

And she had brilliantly succeeded.

Now, her muscles aching and her head spinning like a whirlpool, she felt happier than ever before.

She heard a soft laugh: she turned to watch Ezer sitting in the bow, staring at her with a smile.

"Great feeling isn't it?" the fisherman said, shouting the words loudly "We should have more of this in our lives."

He said nothing more, but Kyra thought she understood. The breath of the breeze on her skin, the creaking of the wooden planks under her back, the rhythmic lapping of the waves: all those sensations came to her as if amplified. She felt cradled. She felt at peace, fulfilled. She thought - not without regret - that those were the same feelings that used to rise in her soul after a hard fight alongside her comrades in arms, in the long gone days when there was no room for doubts or second thoughts, when only the present counted...

Ezer was still looking at her with amusement, as if able to read her mind. He started to ask her something, but then decided against it and fell silent.

Time passed, marked by the sound of their breathing, until night fell. One by one, the stars took their places in the vast, dark sky.

"You did well today" the old fisherman said, breaking the silence "And you saw the hidden face of the sea. It can be generous with men, but it can also turn into our worst enemy. When that happens, just one mistake, just one small imprudence, can cost you your life."

She nodded, understanding that Ezer's words were intended to teach her a healthy respect for the sea. And he was right. The memory of this day would serve here in good stead in the future.

"You are an excellent teacher" she thought, but she didn't say it aloud.

"Do you often get lost like today and have to spend the night at sea?" she asked instead, in a mocking tone.

"Only when I have to take care of a dead weight like you, girl!" he replied, pretending to be insulted.

They stared at each other for a few moments, and then burst into heart filling laughter. With no desire to interrupt the moment, Ezer sat down amid the nets. Kyra, her legs crossed and her hands folded behind her neck, stayed lying on the deck, to better admire the sight of the rising stars.

"Wonderful..." she whispered.

And at that precise moment, when the pain from the past, the fullness of the present and her hope for the future merged inside her, tears began to flow down her cheeks, and she couldn't stop them.

Ezer looked up to the sky, and said nothing.

\---\---

They didn't go out to sea the next day.

Gone was the euphoria of having faced her first storm, and now Kyra was so exhausted she felt she could have slept for an entire week. Ezer made her open her eyes by repeatedly slamming his fists on the door, cursing with such vehemence as to draw the attention of half the village.

"That's enough old man! You've won! Just give me a minute..."

She closed her eyes again, but couldn't fall back to sleep. She finally sat up on the bed and rubbed her temples, but the room kept turning around her. She had to fight all her instincts in order to set a foot on the ground, then the other, and to finally get up.

"It's worse than a hangover!" she thought, as she limped around in search of her clothing.

While putting on her pants and shirt, she noticed the collection of bluish bruises on her arms and legs. She smiled: they were like medals, won at great cost! After desultorily dressing and combing her hair, she pushed the shed door and went out into the open air. She walked over to the well, filled a bucket with fresh water and plunged her face into it until the last annoying traces of sleep slipped away.

Then she looked up at Ezer's cabin. He wasn't around.

A few days before, the fisherman had offered her his hospitality and an uncomfortable cot in the tool shed, both of which she had accepted with enthusiasm. It was certainly not cozy, nor particularly fragrant, but Kyra still favored it over her previous room at the Dancing Lion, where the prying eyes of the innkeeper were always on her: he had not let her be since that infamous night of the brawl. Ezer, for his part, was happy to be her host, although he always tried to show otherwise in public - just to discourage the rising rumors about the odd couple.

Water dripping from her face, Kyra rose on tiptoe and stretched her slender body towards the sky. She turned around and looked for Ezer, spying him on the pier, busy collecting the nets. The boat, small and with a single short mast, had been named 'Anna' in memory of the fisherman's wife. She had died many years earlier, he had told Kyra, the victim of an incurable fever.

Kyra smiled at the sight of the old man. She didn't know how it had happened, but in just over two weeks a special bond had formed between them, something that went beyond a simple teacher-pupil relationship. It was as if each of them had filled a gap in the other's soul, casting away the previous sense of loneliness. And perhaps that was the reason why Kyra's original desire to set out to Dekka had weakened so much. The simple life in Mirna with its slow pace marked by the fishing activities was doing her good. The Wayfarer's Company already seemed a distant memory, and even the thought of her separation from Dorian no longer hurt so much anymore. Wasn't it just what she had wanted from the start?

"What are you doing just standing there? Has the saltwater rusted your brains?" Ezer shouted from the dock, waving a fist in the air "Come on girl, for heaven's sake, I need help!"

"I'm coming, damn you! Give me time to catch my breath!" Kyra snorted, and ran to him.

Together they lifted the nets and laid them on the ground: they were pretty battered after the previous day's adventures. They worked on their knees, side by side, Ezer teaching her how to mend the rips and Kyra doing her best to help him in the tedious task.

By the time they had finished, the sun was high in the sky. They took a rest, sitting on the pier, feet dangling in the brackish water of the marina. There was almost no movement along the quay: most of the other fishermen were out at sea. The expanse of blue off the coast was dotted with colorful sails, but many fewer than in the past, Ezer said. Many fishermen had left the bay to seek their fortune elsewhere. Year on year the fishing was becoming more difficult, as the black spots of oil spread on the water. Kyra had seen one in person, several days before, and it had left an impression on her.

The sea creatures, as if foreseeing the mortal danger posed by the stains, were melting away and causing the fishing nets to remain woefully empty. Yet the men still insisted on going to sea with each dawn, if only to avoid the suffering eyes of their wives and children at home.

Kyra did her best to help the old man with the fishing, but despite the efforts of both, things were not going well. She feared that they would soon feel the pangs of hunger, and she could not imagine how Ezer would get by alone, after the day she went back on the road.

"Old man, can I ask you a question?" she asked, without much preamble.

"Go ahead, girl. I'm all ears."

"I know that you have kept few friends here in Mirna, and why. I also know you've been a widower for years. But don't you have any other relatives in this village or another one? Someone who could give you a hand in difficult times?"

Ezer opened his mouth with air of annoyance, as if to ask her not to meddle in his private affairs, but then stopped. He shook his head a few times, sighed, and then fixed his tired eyes on hers.

"I don't speak lightly of these things. They bring up old pains. Still, I feel I can talk to you..."

Kyra gave him an uncertain smile, and waited.

"The thing is" he began "until a year ago I didn't have to live or fish alone. Ethan, my son, was with me."

He cleared his throat.

"We never got along too well, but we always respected each other. I am a practical kind of man, as I'm sure you've noticed. Ethan is quite different from me: a dreamer, like his mother. I lost count of the times I scolded him for his lack of attention at work! Always with his head in the clouds, that boy! And this can cause serious problems when you are at sea."

He smiled, recalling the past.

"I remember the day Ethan noticed a small dolphin trapped with the other fish. The fool cut the net to give it its freedom: the dolphin fled, and so did the rest of the fish. You can picture my reaction: as well as losing our catch, he had also managed to destroy our only fishing tool! I beat him for it, and didn't speak to him for a week!"

He kicked the water with his feet, lost in his thoughts.

"It's just the way Ethan is: he has always loved the sea and its creatures more than himself. I often saw him out of the corner of my eye, after a day's work: rather than being satisfied with the good fishing, he seemed repentant, saddened. A fisherman who feels pity for his fish... Bah! He was more suited to a temple of Edessa!"

"This son of yours, where is he now?" Kyra asked "Why isn't he here with you?"

"I was getting there, don't be impatient! Like I said, these are not good memories. A year ago, our life took a turn for the worse, because of the cursed black oil: the currents dragged in so much filth that it blackened all the waters of the bay. It all happened in a matter of days, and the fish began to die in the hundreds, in the thousands!"

The unpleasant memory made him press his lips together.

"The bay was unrecognizable, covered with dead fish and birds, and the stench was unbearable. No fisherman could work, we could do nothing but wait for the currents to pull the dirt away from our waters."

"That's awful..." Kyra murmured, trying to envision the beautiful bay in such a miserable state.

"You have no idea" said Ezer "My son felt angrier than ever before. I had never seen him in such a mood: he seemed to suffer more than the sea itself. He spent whole days walking back and forth along the wharf, filled with rage, or he took a boat and tried to drive out the filth himself with his oars!

I could sympathize with his state of mind, but he was leaving himself open to the ridicule of the entire village! One day I confronted him, tried to tell him he wasn't accomplishing anything with his bizarre behavior. The black surge had come unexpectedly, without any apparent reason, and in the same way it would go away. We just had to wait, I said."

"Wasn't the city of Dekka the real cause behind it all, as you told me?"

"We didn't know any of this at the time. It was Ethan himself who found out. Mirna was on its knees: for almost a month we couldn't work. It was the same with other villages along the coast. We had no means of survival, so we began to borrow from inland farmers and merchants."

"Let me guess: Ethan didn't sit around twiddling his thumbs..."

"You're right. I didn't ask myself too many questions: I just kept waiting for things to follow their course. I wasn't interested in finding a scapegoat. Everyday my fellow villagers brought some new absurd explanation for their misfortunes, either because they had unwittingly insulted the gods, or because the mythical fish-men were finally wreaking their revenge. Superstitious fools! Always quick to use their imagination, when they have to explain things they do not understand!"

He shook his head in annoyance.

"Ethan did not believe these lies: he studied the winds and currents, questioned passing merchants, went looking for answers in the surrounding villages... I let him go, as work was already scarce, and more so, I feared that he would go crazy if he just stayed here like a caged tiger."

"A worthy task. It seems that your son was the only one making an effort to use his brains" Kyra said.

"Bah! After a while, Ethan came up with a theory. Judging from the evidence he had collected, and the testimonies of travelers, none other than the city of Dekka was responsible for our troubles. Unfortunately for him, all the villagers were sceptical from the start. When had anyone heard such a thing? Why would a city like Dekka, which lived on the prosperity of the sea, cause a disaster like that on purpose? And when Ethan quoted tales he had heard about the Factory and the oil-drinking Automatons, everybody was convinced that he had lost sight of all reason."

"That's not hard to imagine. Mirna doesn't seem very open to new ideas!"

"I can't blame them. I myself found it hard to believe, and did so only after much insistence, and after he had explained to me all the details of his theory. I asked him why then no one in Dekka was trying to find a solution to the situation. He told me that some other villages had sent emissaries to the city with that same question, but to no avail. The City Watch had turned everyone back . It was very suspicious."

He sighed.

"But I wasn't ready for Ethan's decision..."

"What decision?"

"I should have seen it coming. Since no one was willing to back him up, he decided to move on his own. Without any prior discussion, he came to me with a bag over his shoulder and told me he was leaving for Dekka. He wanted to see things with his own eyes, and try to find a solution.

It was a shock to me: the idea of my son wandering alone in that huge city seemed unthinkable. And that wasn't all. I just wasn't able to see how he could abandon me like that. I tried to change his mind, first with kind words, and then with bad ones. We quarreled furiously, but I couldn't budge him."

He paused, his face red.

"I eventually locked him in the tool shed, convinced that a short period of incarceration would help him clear his mind. I went to the 'Dancing Lion' to drown my rancor in a mug. When I got home, the cabin door was off its hinges, and there was no trace of Ethan. I hurled a thousand curses at the sky, but there was nothing I could do: my son was already far away."

He lowered his eyes and his voice dropped to a whisper.

"I haven't heard from him since... Can you now understand why I am alone? And why I had to do that stupid thing with the golden fish? I was desperate, and there was no one around to help me! No one!"

Ezer closed in on himself, and fell silent. Kyra felt guilty for having forced him to dig up such sad memories.

"Life can be hard, girl. We all make wrong choices, and we can't turn back time."

"I am sorry, Ezer. But I can understand your son's decision. I almost agree with him, in a sense."

"What do you mean?" snapped Ezer.

"It reminds me of my own story. It's not easy for me to talk about it, but I feel I owe it you. So, if you are willing to listen..."

"Please go ahead."

Kyra dipped her hands into the water and splashed her face. She spoke for nearly an hour, summarizing the most important events of her past: her sad childhood as an orphan, the long years spent with the Wayfarer's Company, and finally her abrupt separation from fellow fighters. She deliberately omitted many details, not because she didn't trust Ezer, but because she preferred not to dwell too much on matters that could fill a book and that she knew in some cases didn't exactly cast her in the best light.

"Impressive" said Ezer, when she was done. The annoyance had vanished from his face. "Now I know what you meant when you said you understood Ethan's choice."

He smiled, but a sad expression lingered in his eyes.

"It seems that this commander Dorian and I still have to learn a few things about our children..."

"I have to agree" she said, forcing a smile.

"But I suspect you haven't told me everything" said Ezer, who still seemed in the mood to talk. The sun's rays highlighted tiny creases in his wrinkled face, as he spoke. "What about that, for instance?" he asked, pointing to the scar on her cheek.

Kyra's face darkened, and she said nothing. She tilted her head to one side, hiding the old wound behind a curtain of brown hair.

"I understand. It doesn't matter" replied Ezer "You have the right to keep certain things to yourself."

Then, without warning, he plunged into the sea clothes and all, splashing Kyra from head to toe. He re-emerged a moment later, spitting water, and flashed a dazzling grin:

"Come on, girl! Nothing better than a nice cool bath to lighten one's soul!"

Kyra stared at him in surprise for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Get out of my way, then, or I won't go easy on you!"

She got up and took a running jump into the water with a great splash.

VII - Unexpected News

Another week passed, and Kyra's sailor skills increased apace: among other things, she could now move nimbly in the confined spaces of the boat, even in heavy seas, and she could climb the mast to loosen and tie the sails. She was becoming an excellent swimmer, and never missed an opportunity to jump into the sea just for the pleasure of splashing in the cool water. She left the boat behind her with a few vigorous strokes, regardless of Ezer's curses, and kept going until her lungs burned with the effort. Then she turned over on her back, splaying her arms and legs, and lay motionless on the water, lulled by the waves.

The sea had an incredible therapeutic effect on her, driving from her mind all the shadows and doubts that had tormented her in the past. And as this new sense of peace took root inside her, her relationship with Ezer strengthened day after day. More than once, from the corner of her eye, she had caught the gruff fisherman observing her with beaming eyes, full of pride for her progress. It seemed impossible to them that they had known each other for only three weeks, and that each day spent together made them both happier than they dared to admit. The fishing was ungrateful, the fatigue great, but life was worth living.

One rainy night, at the "Dancing Lion", while they were enjoying a well earned rest in front of two mugs of limpaq, the door suddenly opened, and a small fat man came stumbling in. He was drenched from the tip of his plumed hat to the toes of his cloth slippers, and wore a hangdog expression.

"Dear me!" he complained "Terrible weather for traveling! I should have listened to my wife and stayed peacefully at home..."

Several heads turned in his direction, but the interest lasted only a few moments. The strange cut of his clothes, his plumpness and his strong accent left no doubt as to his identity: a merchant from Dekka on a business trip, for sure. It was not uncommon for them to stop in Mirna, especially on a gloomy evening like that. The stranger walked to the counter, dripping water as he went. The innkeeper followed him with a greasy look: it was time for him to increase the evening's meager profits.

"What can I serve you, sir?" he asked with a smirk.

"Anything, as long as it warms my stomach" said the merchant, waving ringed fingers under his nose.

"Right away, sir! I happen to have in stock some excellent Sendir liqueur, the ideal beverage for such an evening!"

"I hope so, innkeeper. And while you are at it, provide something for my servants too. But don't overdo it! I don't want those wretches to get drunk, or they will turn into creatures more stupid than my donkeys."

He spoke loudly, happy to flaunt his importance in front of the humble fishermen. Kyra and Ezer heard him from their table, and exchanged an amused smile. The merchant spent the next half hour complaining noisily about the weather and business, and there was no subject on which the innkeeper didn't agree with him, while filling his glass.

"Damn Factory!" the merchant suddenly exclaimed, slamming his fist on the counter "As if the threat of a war wasn't enough to dampen our trade!"

"Factory?" said the innkeeper, pouring another drink "I think I have heard about it..."

"I would be surprised if you had not! Doesn't everybody know yet?"

"Well, to tell you the truth..."

"It is the most colossal building in the entire Kingdom, believe me innkeeper! Its chimneys are as tall as towers, its walls as thick as a fortress', and they say a raging fire is never extinguished in its furnace!"

"Are you serious?" said the innkeeper. Without taking his eyes off the merchant's face, he put aside the empty bottle, and opened another.

"Do you take me for a liar, innkeeper? I haven't told you the best part yet..."

"And what would that be?"

"The Automatons, by gad!"

"Automatons?"

"Monsters with mechanical hearts! One of them crossed my path once, and I almost fainted! Luckily, we don't see many of them around ... They keep them locked inside the Factory, and each of them does the work of twenty men!"

"You are kidding me" said the innkeeper, with a chuckle.

"Not at all!" the merchant contradicted, gesturing widely "It's just as I'm telling you! It's a disgrace for all craftsmen in Dekka! The ruthless competition of the Factory is reducing them to poverty, and as a result we merchants are almost out of suppliers! Only a few of them are still managing to resist, and they sell their wares for astronomical prices!"

"I don't understand" replied the innkeeper, who never withheld his opinion when the subject was money "Why not buy your supplies directly from the Factory? Wouldn't it be cheaper?"

"Of course it would! But here's the catch... Guess who is the sole owner of the Factory, who has full rights to sell all of its products, and has thus obtained a monopoly on the market?"

"I don't have a clue."

"Dinor, damn him! Dekka's governor, strangely enough! This way, in addition to pulling the strings of the City Watch, he also maintains control over the trade! No one has ever seen so much power in the hands of a single man, not in my city! If that good for nothing was at least able to hold off those gangs..."

The innkeeper shook his head, sympathizing with his rich customer, and poured him more expensive liqueur. The evening's profits were leaping upward at each exchange of words.

"It is just like that, innkeeper!" the merchant went on "Dekka is becoming a dangerous place to live in, a nest of cutthroats and outlaws. An honest citizen like me has to constantly watch his back! It is not nearly as quiet as your Mirna, no way! Not that I would come to live here: I have a sensitive nose, you know. I do not know how you fishermen manage to..."

He fell silent at once, and slapped his forehead.

"Damn me, I almost forgot!"

He leaned over the counter and grabbed the innkeeper by the collar.

"I need information, innkeeper!"

"O-of course, sir! I am at your disposal!"

"I am looking for a fisherman, an old man named Ezer..."

The innkeeper raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"You know him?" the merchant insisted.

"Yes, I know him" said the innkeeper "He is the man sitting in that corner, with the girl."

"Right! I had better get this over with before I forget why I came to this flea-ridden village!"

He got off his stool with some difficulty. The innkeeper offered to help him, but he refused, and walked unsteadily towards Kyra and Ezer's table. The two could sense the smell of liquor before they saw him coming.

"Are you Ezer, the fisherman?"

"In person" said the old man, giving him a quizzical look.

"Excellent!" said the other.

He reached into his fine silk jacket, rummaging in one pocket and then another until he found what he sought: an envelope with crumpled edges. He straightened it without much delicacy, and threw it on the table, almost hitting a mug.

Ezer opened his mouth, but the merchant was faster:

"Don't ask me what it is, because I know nothing. I owed a debt to a friend, a merchant in Dekka called Leon, and now we are even. He knew I was going to travel to this area, so he asked me to find a fisherman named Ezer and give him this letter. And so I have done." He stared at the old man. "Leon seemed quite worried, to tell you the truth. I do not know what strange business you two have in common, but something must be amiss."

"But... I don't know anybody in Dekka! Much less this merchant Leon!" protested Ezer, confused.

"That is not my concern! Read the letter, I am sure you will find all the answers to your questions in there. As for me, I have done my part. Now, if you will pardon me..."

He made a crude bow, inspired by alcohol rather than by courtesy, then turned and walked back to the counter, knocking chairs and tables in his path.

Ezer tried to follow, but Kyra dissuaded him:

"You heard that, old man. He doesn't know more than you or I." She pointed a finger at the crumpled envelope among the mugs. "You'd better read it, as he said."

"Easy for you to say" Ezer mumbled "I have never learnt to read, if you really want to know. When I was young I had more important things to do than hunch over books!"

"All right, I will do it" she sighed, grateful for the long afternoons spent studying under Dorian's stern gaze "Can I open it?"

"Be my guest. But I have a bad feeling, to be honest. I lied when I said I didn't know anybody in Dekka, and you know it."

He wrung his hands, trying to stay calm, while Kyra took the envelope and opened it. She pulled out a couple of rough paper sheets, written in pale ink. From the many stains and uneven handwriting, she guessed that the letter must have been written in some haste.

She began to read:

Dear Sir,

I go by the name of Leon, cloth merchant.

I entrust my fears to this letter in the hope that you may be able to aid me in a matter that concerns us both.

I will be brief, as time is not on our side. Several months ago, a young man named Ethan came to my store.

Kyra stopped reading, but Ezer gestured for her to continue, his face pale.

He was looking for work. I don't know why, but I felt compelled to give him an opportunity. It was a good decision: the boy was obedient and willing. He soon became a valuable assistant and a true friend.

But I became aware of his interest in issues that should not be discussed in public. I often had cause to caution him, but he seemed not to take my advice to heart.

One evening, two weeks ago, he came stumbling into my house, rambling about a shocking discovery he had made.

I told him I did not want to get involved because sticking one's nose into certain matters can be very dangerous. He insisted though, saying that I had to see it with my own eyes.

Alas, I lost my temper and pushed him away, refusing to listen...

I haven't heard from him since, and I fear something terrible has happened. But I cannot find out alone as I know I am being watched!

I am sending this letter to you Ezer, in the hope that it is not too late, and that you will help me to save your son's life. How, I do not know... But please make haste!

I will wait for you here in Dekka. You won't have trouble finding my store, it is located near the port, and quite well known.

Come quickly I beg you, and keep hope alive!

In faith,

Leon

When Kyra finished reading, Ezer looked at her in bewilderment. He fixed his anxious gaze on hers, his face marked by an expression of deep anguish.

"No..." he murmured "How could such a thing happen? Stubborn, stubborn child!" He put his head in his hands, distraught. "I knew it would end like this! And now what? What can I do? What?"

He stood up on trembling legs.

"I must prepare, I must leave as soon as possible!"

"Calm yourself!" said Kyra, forcing him to sit down again. She shot a warning look towards the fishermen sitting at nearby tables, who were paying far too much attention for her liking.

"Calm myself?" Ezer sobbed "How can you ask me to calm down in a situation like this? My son is in grave danger, and I don't even know why! What would my dear Anna say? I cannot lose him too, I simply cannot!"

"We will find a solution, I promise! But we need to think. Or would you rather run blindly into danger? What good would it do your son?"

Kyra felt a stab of pain faced with the old fisherman's suffering. Her words sounded wise, but if she were in his shoes, she would already be out of control.

Ezer fidgeted in his chair, restless. He let out a deep sigh, trying to regain his composure.

"You are right girl. Haste is never a good counselor. But I cannot sit here with my hands folded, can I? Every minute lost could be fatal!"

"I know. We must act quickly, but we cannot be reckless. Especially when the life of someone dear depends on it. That is one of the most important lessons I learnt on the battlefield, I can assure you."

She looked around to make sure that nobody else in the tavern had heard the disturbing news. Then she stood up and invited Ezer to do the same:

"Come on, let us go home. We will decide our next move there."

They walked toward the exit. Ezer tried to appear relaxed, but he looked terrible. As they went past the counter they gave a quick nod to the innkeeper and to the merchant, who was already on the path to a heavy hangover. The cool night breeze caressed their faces as they crossed the threshold of the "Dancing Lion", but neither of them was comforted. They walked briskly up to Ezer's cabin without exchanging a word.

Kyra knew it would be a long night of discussion and plan-making . But in her heart, irrespective of any other recommendations, she had already made up her mind. The important thing was to ensure that Ezer approved of her decision, and that was not going to be an easy task at all.

\---\---

The next morning, Kyra woke up before dawn.

She got out of bed in a rush, even though there was no likelihood of her falling asleep again. Not that day. She put on her traveling clothes and soft leather boots, and then left the hut. The sun was rising over the horizon, its rays eclipsing the last of the stars' faint glimmer. Like every other morning since she had arrived, Kyra walked to the well and rinsed her face. Shortly after, with a bag hanging from her shoulder and her trusty daggers buckled on her belt, she was ready to travel to Dekka.

She cast her gaze over the tranquil bay and the docks, where already some fishermen were preparing their boats. Ezer came out of his cabin just then, and looked at her from the threshold. He shook his head sadly, before giving her a forced smile. Kyra smiled back. She would do her best to bring the boy home. For the sake of the old man, and to get back to him and to Mirna as soon as possible, as her heart commanded.

As expected, she had struggled to persuade Ezer that this was the best solution for all concerned. She stood a better chance of success if traveling alone, quickly, and without having to worry about the old man's safety. Even though Ezer had protested and tried to put his foot down, he had eventually been obliged to surrender to the logical evidence. Kyra was a strong and cunning warrior, and she was much more likely to succeed where he would have little chance.

Only after long hours of discussion, and with a good deal of persuasion, had the old man come to terms with the idea. But he still felt like a coward for sending the girl into danger in his place – and for reasons that shouldn't have even concerned her.

Therefore, when Kyra turned her back to him in the light of dawn, he felt a stab of pain.

As if now he were losing a beloved daughter, as well as his son.

VIII - The Snakes Trainer

A couple of hours before dawn, wrapped in thick fog, five hooded horsemen galloped out of the fortress gates. A lone farmer, striding towards the fields with his tools on his shoulder, shivered as they passed, mistaking them for ghosts.

Dorian savored the cold of early morning as a promise of things to come. He had not been able to sleep during the short night, so great had been his anxiety. Here they were, finally on their way to the Gray Tower of Zontar! Two weeks on horseback, if everything went smoothly. The rest of the Company would have to wait in Bezer, though Seras could hardly have been less enthusiastic about the idea. He had hoped to get rid of his unwelcome guests as soon as possible, but instead they were to remain. Dorian had been very persuasive: if Seras was truly grateful to the Company, this was his opportunity to prove it. The Captain, who considered himself a man of honor, had found himself with a dilemma: to accept Dorian's conditions, or to lose face. He had chosen the first path, however unpleasant it seemed to him.

Dorian turned on his saddle, curious to see if his four companions shared his enthusiasm. Of Raduan, he had no doubt: they were twins in spirit. As for the other three, he had hand-picked each of them. Khorl, the colossus from the North, was sitting upright, unaffected by the wind: he had learned to ignore its cold grip since his youth, spent among the peaks of the Chain of Hamlet. Sybil, the young healer who rode beside him on her bay mare, looked almost like a child. But woe to any who treated her as such, as they would find themselves confounded by her keen intelligence. And Dorcas? His timeless eyes had seen every corner of the world, and his bow was famous among the Kingdom's hunters. If he was old, he did not show it. Dorian, for his part, would trust his guidance with no hesitation at all.

They rode at full speed for ten days, always keen to cover as much ground as possible before sunset. They went through villages and isolated farms; they crossed fields, forded rivers, and tried to maintain a constant, steady speed. Few were the times they stopped, and then only to eat and sleep. They did not waste time in conversation during the day, but merely advanced in a straight line - whenever possible - to the Gray Tower.

On the tenth day, at sunset, the landscape began to change, with fewer outcrops of oak and chestnut trees to interrupt the flat expanse of the fields. In the growing darkness, guided by the rising moon and the light of the first stars, they happened upon the houses of a small village, where the muffled sounds of voices and laughter came to them. Through half-open window shutters on either side of the road, they glimpsed fireplaces and tables laid with frugality.

Dorian found himself envying the simple but satisfying life of the commoners. Not for the first time, he wished he was not a rootless man, a traveler spending his entire life on the road, always marching on toward an elusive goal. There had been a time when he too had had a family and a place he called home, blessed by the heat of a fire and the warmth of love... But that time was dead and gone. Now the Company was his only family, and the open sky his only roof.

They traversed the village in silence, not wishing to attract the attention of its inhabitants. They trotted in the faint starlight, entering one of the woods that dotted the region. Dorcas led the group without hesitation, relying on decades of experience as a hunter. They drew up their horses late into the night in a tiny clearing where they could hear the sound of running water. Tired by the long ride, they lit a fire, and after a modest meal of bread, cheese and nuts, they laid down under heavy blankets.

Raduan offered to do the first watch. He sat on a boulder at the edge of the clearing, as he filled the carved wooden pipe from which he was inseparable. He spent a couple of hours smoking silently under the starry sky, trying to identify the sounds of the night and to give forms and names to the soft moonlight shadows. He was happy with his way of life. The mission he shared with the other members of the Company, rather than being a weight, filled him with pride, and with the certainty that what he did for Abel, he also did for himself. His comrades in arms were like brothers and sisters to him, and he would follow them anywhere, even into the flames of hell.

But when the beautiful face of Kyra flashed before the eyes of his imagination, he flinched with pain. He remembered their last fight, and blushed with shame. Why on earth had it ended that way? Despite the difficulties of recent months, he had never ceased to consider her as an important part of his life. As, at the very least, a friend.

"And maybe something more..."

He blew out a puff of gray smoke.

He tried to think of anything else. Impossible. Her face kept coming back, a mirage among the night shadows. He endured it for as long as he could, then he woke Dorcas to take over his post. As he wrapped himself in a blanket, he thought he heard a hissing sound coming from the darkness among the trees, but his foggy mind took no notice. He dozed off.

It was dawn already when he awoke. The world was wrapped in a shroud of fog so thick as to hide the sun. It was difficult to distinguish anything through the milky air, even at only a few steps' distance. His companions were already up: he could hear their voices, the crackle of a fire, and the sound of cups. Numb from the bitter cold, he wrapped the blanket over his shoulders and went to sit by the fire. Dorian gave him a warm tisane, which he sipped gratefully.

"We are more than halfway" said the commander "We should arrive at the Tower within a week. With a little luck, we will meet Zontar on the same day."

Raduan nodded with a smile. He had heard several stories about the Sage, and if even only half of them were true, he must be an extraordinary man. Nobody else could give them the information they so desperately needed. And if the Valley of the Moon did indeed exist, he would know how to get there.

After breakfast, Raduan prepared to continue the journey. From the smiling faces around him, he realized that their awakening had been as good as his. He sensed a change, the advent of a new course in proceedings. When they resumed their march, he felt refreshed in body and soul.

"A sign that we will have a good day" he thought - forgetting that even the best of omens may prove false.

They moved slowly through the trees, along a path opened by loggers, stuck in a fog so dense and persistent that it seemed spawned by magic. Restricting the limits of their vision, the mist covered everything in a veil of dreamlike unreality, as if all sorts of fantastical creatures were dancing just beyond sight, only to fade away when they approached.

Raduan shivered, but not from the cold. It was becoming unnerving to tread that path. Khorl's eyes, as he walked at his side, darted from side to side constantly. And to think the giant knew not a little about fog!

While crossing a clearing, a curtain of silence descended abruptly over them. It seemed as if the surrounding trees were holding their breath. Their restlessness turned into outright fear, and they reached for their weapons. Dorian ordered a halt and began to listen.

A long time passed until a sound penetrated the muffled barrier, but when it finally came, it was blood-curdling: the cry of a child, a shrill scream at first, then a quiet, despairing sobbing.

After moments of uncertainty, Dorian resolved to find out its cause. It took him just a glance to communicate his decision to the others. Sybil and Dorcas were to act as rear guard, and stay with the horses. Raduan and Khorl would follow him, so they dismounted and proceeded on foot. It was hard to walk through the mist, guided only by those wails. It stirred ugly images in their minds. They advanced cautiously over the wet grass for several long minutes, until they came across a dirt road. The cries seemed to come from nearby. They carried on, treading cautiously, keeping to the edge of the road.

Raduan ran into a scarecrow that burst out of the fog with its gnarled arms outstretched and a devilish grin carved into its pumpkin head. The warrior almost screamed, his nerves frayed. All his previous serenity had left him.

When the sloping roof of a barn emerged from the fog before them, they realized the road was leading to a farm. The air was filled with the bellows of cows and the clucking of chickens. The child's sobs were now joined by the moans of a woman. Increasingly tense, the three men approached the house. The door was open.

Dorian ventured to call:

"Anybody here?"

There was no response, but the sobs ceased suddenly.

The three looked at each other, unsure what to do. When the commander motioned to move forward, Khorl entered the dark hallway. The other two followed him in silence, their weapons drawn. The worn wooden floor creaked under their weight as the dense fog flew down the hallway through the open door, twisting around their ankles like tentacles. Shortly, the corridor opened into a large room with walls of reddish wood.

A young woman lay curled in a corner, behind an overturned table. She was cradling a small child with a terrified look. When the three men peered into the room, the woman raised her head and stared at them with pleading eyes, full of horror. She moved her lips, but no sound came out. Trembling violently, she pointed to the other end of the room.

The warriors turned their gazes to where the fog opened like a curtain, revealing little by little a hellish scene. A man's upper body was lying on the ground, his arms opened in a cross. His eyes were empty of expression. A trickle of blood dripped from his purple lips over a face as white as marble.

Then, like the corolla of an unlikely dark flower, a giant reptile's head materialized around the man's shape, as black as pitch and crossed by blood-red streaks. It held the half eaten corpse between the jaws, swallowing it slowly. The rest of its scaly body lay in black and crimson coils limply on the floor.

Dorian was horrified by the cruelty emanating from those slit eyes.

"It cannot be!" he cried, retreating into a defensive position.

The snake's head shot up like a spring, throwing aside its human meal. Its coils twisted with lightning speed, and a tail as thick as a tree trunk lashed against Dorian's legs, throwing him against a shelf. The warrior raised himself on one elbow, stunned, frantically searching for the sword that had slipped from his hand.

At the same time, Khorl and Raduan jumped forward and sank their blades into the oblong head of the snake. Axe and sword scraped harmlessly over the scale-covered surface, and then slid towards the ground. The two warriors stumbled, unbalanced. A violent tail whip threw Raduan to the ground, emptying his lungs. The creature rose and then fell again, inflicting a terrible razor wound in Khorl's chest with its fangs. The man collapsed with a crash, his mail-shirt smeared with blood.

Brought around by the woman's screams, Dorian recovered in time to realise the threat to his companions. He hurled anything that came to hand against the snake to get its attention. The creature's jaws, hit by the rain of objects, opened in something close to a mocking smile. Dorian was stunned. Was that vile creature making fun of him?

But when an oil lamp crashed near it, and the flames flashed to lick the dark bulk of its coils, the snake drew back with a hiss. Raduan took the opportunity to roll over. He picked up the leg from a broken chair and lit its end from the nearest flame. In imitation, Dorian made up rudimentary torch for himself and walked towards the snake. From the corner of his eye, he noted that Khorl, still lying on the ground, showed no signs of life.

As they converged one step at a time, Dorian and Raduan pushed the monstrous creature into a corner. It was terrified by the flames, and it channeled its anger against them into quick dashes, in a vain attempt to intimidate them with its size. When there was no room for retreat, Raduan pressed its flesh with the firebrand. There was a sizzling sound. The monster hissed like a giant bellows, and rose upwards until it hit the ceiling.

When it opened its mouth, the two fangs retracted, leaving in their place two dark holes.

"To the ground!" cried Dorian, pushing Raduan aside.

A gush of yellowish liquid spurted from the creature's mouth, hitting the ground where the two men had been standing. The area soaked by the liquid began to corrode and steam. Raduan saw that a squirt of the foul substance had caused a blaze when it hit the fire. In less than a second, he turned to the serpent - which was ready to attack with a new surge of acid - and threw the torch into its wide open jaws.

As soon as the fire came into contact with the liquid, there was a scorching flash, and a wall of flames enveloped the creature's body. In spasms of pain, the reptile folded on itself, twisting and whipping blindly with its tail. The two men retreated, dragging the senseless body of Khorl with them. On the other side of the room, the woman and the child screamed in panic. The nightmare lasted for a few long minutes: the snake was consumed before their eyes in a macabre dance, like a papier-mâché dragon at the festivals of solstice. Then, with a final hiss, it fell to the ground, its coils all but destroyed by the flames.

Raduan and Dorian approached the beast, watching it with revulsion. When he saw that the life hadn't yet left the heaving reptile's body, Dorian recovered his sword. He stuck it in its skull, and put an end once and for all to its miserable existence.

Only then he turned a forced smile to Raduan.

"Are you still in one piece?"

"I think so..." said Raduan, with a blank look "I have never seen such a thing in my life... It shouldn't even exist..."

"I agree" Dorian shuddered. "And those eyes! I may be wrong, but I saw malice in there: true malice, not just the fury of an ordinary beast!"

A groan came from behind the overturned table.

"Khorl!" cried Dorian, back to the present.

They reached their companion lying on the ground, and they knelt at his side. His mail-shirt caught their eyes: it was torn and bloodstained.

"Luckily, it protected the vital organs" said Raduan, gently feeling the warrior's wounded body "He has broken ribs, though. He will probably lose consciousness again, but he can make it if we act quickly! Where the hell are Sybil and Dorcas?"

"Run to them" said Dorian "There is no time to lose!"

Raduan ran towards the door, but stopped at the sight of the woman crouched in the corner with her child, both in tears, both too scared to breathe.

"I will take it from here" said Dorian.

He settled the wounded Khorl, who had passed out again, and covered him with his cloak. Then he approached the woman: she had a beautiful face, dark and strong, but overwhelmed by terror. He crouched beside her and put his hand on the child's head: the little boy was still crying in his mother's stiff embrace. He stroked his shaggy hair for a few moments, without saying anything. The woman's gaze, fixed and lifeless like that of a statue, came to life little by little. She shook herself, relaxed her grip on her son, then hid her tear-streaked face in her hands.

"It is over" Dorian whispered, holding her gently.

She sobbed, accompanied by the child's weeping.

"You have been very brave" continued the warrior "You saved your son's life."

"No" she murmured, in shock "No!"

"Be quiet, try not to think about it" said Dorian "You must regain your composure."

He took her by the hand, compelling her to rise slowly, with the baby in her arms. While he supported her, he made sure that she didn't look behind her as there lay the corpse of the disfigured man who had once been her husband. He pushed the girl down the hall and led her into another room. He made her lie on a bed with her child, speaking words of comfort. The girl continued weeping and calling her husband's name.

As gently as possible, Dorian tried to find out what had really happened. He discovered from the girl's confused and disconnected words that her husband had left at dawn, as usual, to take care of the animals. He had come back within moments, running, screaming and stumbling, chased by the creature. The serpent, wearing the mist like a cruel wedding train, had pulled him down from behind. She had been leant against a wall with her baby, too shocked to react. The snake had not even glanced at her. It had stayed in its corner, slowly devouring the poor man.

It felt wrong to force her to recall those terrible memories: Dorian lit a candle beside the bed and persuaded her to rest a little, if he stood guard. He promised he would not go far, then he went out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

He needed to think about what had happened, to find a rational explanation to what seemed inconceivable to him. Although he was relatively used to the disturbing elements of the supernatural world, he had just faced something of which he had no experience. What was that reptile? A freak of nature of extraordinary size? Or just a common snake, grown out of proportion? Yet this to him seemed unlikely and did not justify in any way the feelings he had felt during the clash. It had been a duel to the death, against an intelligent enemy, ruthless and willing to do anything to achieve victory.

And no snake, as far as he knew, had such eyes, bright and glowing like embers.

"Such useless thoughts, Commander. You are a man of action, shhh, not a thinker. Leave these reflections to others, smarter than you!"

The voice, hissing and full of sarcasm, had come without warning. Dorian raised his head swiftly: there was someone at the window, looking into the corridor from outside the house, a disturbing looking man. A thin creature, with long, jointed limbs like those of an insect, and in spite of the fact that he was leaning forward he was still over seven feet tall. He wore flashy green clothes, frayed at the edges, and a curious multi-pointed hat, like that of a court jester.

"Hideous!" Dorian thought, staring at that oval face, at the greenish scaly skin. The two eyes were like cracks, too far apart from each other. The nose was small, almost imperceptible, and a wide mouth, with thin purple lips, showed toothless gums and a flickering forked tongue.

Shocked by his appearance, Dorian couldn't take in every detail, but the overall vision unsettled him greatly. He stepped back and squeezed the hilt of his sword.

"Be quiet, shhh!" hissed the strange being "We are not going to hurt you. Not today, at least" he added, narrowing his reptilian eyes.

"Who the hell are you?" snapped the astonished warrior.

The other replied with a wheezing laugh, while staring hypnotically into his eyes.

"Bravo, Commander, you killed one of our snakelets! Well, shhh, we didn't expect anything less from you!"

"I asked you who you are!" yelled Dorian.

He felt a deep unease growing inside: was this creature responsible for the earlier struggle? Was in fact the innocent family not the real target, but he himself, Dorian of the Wayfarer's Company?

"Indeed" said the creature, as if answering to a question spoken aloud "We think you are quite interesting, Commander." He pronounced the last word with sarcastic emphasis. "We have been watching you for a while, shhh! We must decide what to do with you."

"...what to do with me?"

Dorian decided that he had heard enough.

He pulled the blade from its sheath and stepped forward. He would compel the creature to explain everything, with the use of force if necessary.

But between his fingers, instead of the solid hilt of his sword, he found himself grasping the smooth tail of a snake. He threw it away with a gasp of repulsion, feeling over his body in fear of other serpents.

"Shhh!" came to his ears the derisive whistling of the creature, amusedly watching him through the window, his body hunched forward to better enjoy the scene. "The little man wanted to threaten us, didn't he? But there are still many things he has to learn, if he thinks he can touch us..."

He left the sentence hanging. Dorian, like a rodent paralyzed in front of a cobra, could not move a finger. The creature pursed his lips, revealing a double row of disgusting toothless gums, which ran from one side to the other of his flat, featureless face. His forked tongue darted, licking the air.

Then the grotesque caricature of a man drew back from the window, straightening his jointed body: upright, he was no less than nine feet tall. With an air of scorn, almost skipping, he backed away from the house. He didn't make the slightest noise, though the ground was covered with leaves and twigs.

"If you really want to know" he said "they call us the Snakes Trainer. Our paths will cross again, shhh, I can feel it. Pray it does not happen too soon!"

Having uttered these words, he disappeared among the trees.

His yellowish eyes reappeared one last time in mid-air, briefly staring at him before dissolving in the mist.

IX - Zontar the Sage

Dorian leaned motionless against a wall, trying to absorb the impact of the unexpected apparition. He put his head in his hands, and rubbed his temples.

Where had that grotesque being come from? And why all the threats? Had the fight with the serpent been merely a trap, to test him? And how could he explain the transformation of his sword into a wriggling snake?

The Snakes Trainer...

He shuddered at the thought of those yellow eyes probing him, reading his thoughts. He refused to consider what that forked tongue had seemed to be suggesting, but...

He winced when Raduan suddenly appeared, followed by Sybil and Dorcas.

"There, quickly!" he said.

Sybil took the remedy bag off her shoulder and dashed into the other room, escorted by Dorcas.

Raduan turned his full attention to Dorian: he realized at a glance that something had happened.

"What's going on?" he asked, shaking his shoulder "You don't look well!"

He looked around and noticed the sword on the ground, a few feet away.

"What's it doing there?" he asked, going to pick it up.

"Stop!" Dorian yelled, and barred his way.

"What's wrong with you?"

Dorian studied the sword from a distance, as if it were an alien, dangerous object. Then, with extreme caution, he approached it and tentatively touched it, feeling it with his fingertips, from the blade-tip down to the hilt; then he clasped it and lifted it in disbelief.

"What the hell..." said Raduan, uncomprehending.

"Patience. I will explain everything later." Dorian silenced him with a wave of the hand, without taking his eyes off the blade. "Now we must help the girl and her child. Is there a village nearby?"

"Yes" said Raduan, with a shrug "Dorcas believes there is a community of woodcutters not far from here. Do you think it's better to take them there?"

"It is for the best. I hope we will find someone who can help them. We cannot do much more." He paused thoughtfully. "We'd better hurry. The journey is still long and I want answers, now more than ever." He sheathed his sword, and shook Raduan's arm. "Come, let us go."

They went back to the scene of the fight. Dorcas was kneeling beside his wounded comrade, wiping blood from his chest with a cloth, while Sybil mixed herbs in a jar. As soon as she saw them enter, the healer gave them a confident smile.

"He is out of danger, Commander. The cut is shallow, and there are no signs of poisoning. Khorl is hard as a rock, he'll be up again within a few days."

Dorian nodded, satisfied: "Good work." He then turned to the hunter: "Dorcas, as soon as he has been given the first treatment, I want you to lead us to the woodcutters' village. We will leave him there, until his condition improves. Sybil" he added, turning to the healer "you must stay with him. I want no surprises. And I also have another request for you..."

He turned his gaze to the mutilated farmer's corpse.

"This man has ceased to suffer, and I am sure they will give him a proper burial. It is his wife who bothers me: Sybil, do your best to help her forget."

"Yes, sir."

But he couldn't tear his eyes from the ravaged body. He felt anger and grief growing inside him, at the thought that that man had been the innocent victim of some foul game; a minor player on the stage that the Snakes Trainer had set for him. The first piece of a new puzzle, as if he didn't have enough to solve already. New questions without answers. With each passing day, things were becoming more complicated.

"Zontar" he thought, clinging to the name like a talisman.

He could only hope that the Sage had answers...

Later, in the village, Raduan finally managed to talk with Dorian and sate his curiosity. The Commander told him in detail of his meeting with the Snakes Trainer, trying to recall every single word and gesture. As much as he wished to however, Raduan was not able to shed any light on the matter. Neither was he able to give a plausible explanation for the appearance of the murderous snake.

"We must ask Zontar" was all he could say.

Dorian rolled his eyes. He had hoped that his friend would have more ideas than he, but he was wrong. The best thing to do, as he had imagined, was to proceed to the Gray Tower with as much haste as possible.

He stood up. Two woodcutters glanced at him nervously and stood back as if he was contagious. "I can take it" he thought. He had feared that the farmer's death, in those suspicious circumstances, may have generated a dangerous tension between them and the villagers. Luckily, however, this had not been the case. The villagers had reacted with understandable distress, but no one had dared to question the role played by Dorian and his companions, despite the widow's confused testimony.

Too many stories had been told of the Wayfarer's Company and of the frightening events of which it was part, and too great was the fear inspired by the steel of their swords for anyone to be brave enough to question their word. With regret, Dorian had to admit that a bad reputation, even if unjustified, could be of enormous help in getting out of difficult situations. Understanding this, neither he nor Raduan had made any effort to make themselves less intimidating in the eyes of the villagers.

Once convinced that no one would cause problems for Khorl and Sybil, they decided to get back on the road. They could only hope that the Snakes Trainer - whatever his motive had been - would not come back to torment the village. They had no certainty, but reasonable hope was better than nothing. Dorcas saddled the horses, and they mounted without further delay.

Passing between the modest homes, Dorian read mute accusation on the people's faces, as if the guilt of what had happened was to be laid on him. He thought with a pang of sorrow that they were probably on the side of reason for once: an evil shadow seemed to follow him wherever he went, leaving a trail of innocent blood behind.

They rode tirelessly and without incident throughout the rest of the following week. Dorcas always managed to get around the few obstacles in their path, thus avoiding costly detours. As they proceeded eastwards, the fertile fields gave way to woods and uncultivated plains. The air was fresh and clear, and a light breeze began to blow through the branches. A couple of times, a curious fox or reckless squirrel crossed the riders' path, then darted away terrified by the hollow sound of the horses' hooves.

On the seventh day, before sunset dyed the treetops orange, they reached their destination.

It was the first time Raduan had set foot there. Dorian had already visited, but only in passing. It was therefore a pleasant feeling for both to stand at the foot of the famous Gray Tower. It appeared before them without notice, alone in the middle of a shady glade skirted by pine trees. It was a lower and less imposing structure than they had imagined. It was more like an ancient pillar forgotten by time than a military fortress. Although it had been built hundreds of years before, by unknown hands, and for a purpose long forgotten, it gave the impression of having been there for no more than a few years. There was not a scratch on the smooth surface of the gray stone blocks, which had been cut with rare skill. Overall, the tower gave off a palpable sense of security and solidity, and a mysterious beauty.

It was not by chance that it had been chosen as the residence of a man of such reputation as Zontar. Within the borders of the Kingdom, legends were already rife of how the powerful Sage had been able to evade the magic defences and deadly traps of the Gray Tower, thus earning the right to live within its walls.

Although located beyond the trade routes, the tower was often visited by traveling scholars, court dignitaries in search of advice, or simply by the curious. The latter usually failed to get beyond the Tower gates: a small but well-trained troop of guards had the task of keeping away unwelcome visitors, as the Sage did not tolerate time-wasting.

When Dorian and his companions approached the gates on horseback, two men came to meet them, halberds pointed towards them. No visitor was welcome at that hour, especially those with such a suspicious appearance as the three approaching in the twilight.

"Who are you? What brings you to the Gray Tower?" asked one of the guards as he ordered them to halt. He had a round face and plump hands, and wore a gray uniform with the symbol of Zontar, a tower flanked by two green trees.

"I am Dorian, commander of the Wayfarer's Company. These are my brothers in arms."

The guard seemed alarmed:

"No one warned me of your arrival. What brings you here?"

"We request an audience with Zontar the Sage, may his wisdom illuminate our path" said Dorian. A little deference could often open more doors than any magic.

"Uhmpf!" grunted the man, without lowering his guard "Don't you think it is too late to disturb the Sage with your petitions? Come back tomorrow, and perhaps Zontar will receive you then!"

Raduan did not care for the arrogant tone:

"Who are you to decide in your master's place? We have no time to lose, so step aside and let us pass!"

The guard gasped at such an affront. Before he could respond, Dorian tried the card of diplomacy again:

"Please excuse my companion's rash words. The tiring journey must have clouded his mind..." While saying this, he turned to glare at Raduan. Then he went on, in a humble tone: "But if you would do us the kindness of asking Zontar, we would be most grateful. The circumstances that have led us to him are extremely grave."

The man gave it a thought, mollified by Dorian's politeness. He finally acquiesced and sent someone to clarify the issue directly with the Sage. They did not have to wait long for an answer: a man came out of the tower, tall and lean, and walked towards them with an almost prissy air of calm. He wore an elegant gray robe and shiny shoes. He introduced himself with great self-importance as Zontar's head servant. He showed no particular interest in the identity of the unexpected guests.

"Master Zontar wants to be sure that you are received in a proper manner" he said "He will grant you audience once you have recovered from the fatigue of your journey."

He motioned them to follow, leading them to the stables leaning against the tower walls, where they left their horses. When they crossed the massive portal at the entrance to the tower, they were immediately struck by the atmosphere of silence and order that reigned.

"We are not used to accommodating many people. Our master likes his solitude. But he has decided to make an exception in your case."

Dorian and Raduan exchanged relieved looks: finally some fortune, after so many misadventures.

The man led them down a narrow corridor that ran inside the walls. He assigned them a room with three beds.

"There are bathrooms down the hall" he informed them "Feel free to use them."

And as he watched them with barely concealed contempt, they realized it was a clear invitation for them to take better care of their hygiene.

"I would like to see him after two weeks on horseback!" Dorcas whispered, and the other two had to stifle their laughs.

"Dinner will be served in an hour. Take the stairs down the corridor to reach the dining hall: I am sure it will not be hard to find. And now, with your permission, I must return to my duties..."

That said, and without waiting for any such permission, he turned away and walked down the hall.

"I sincerely hope Zontar is a more humble man" said Raduan.

"Indeed" Dorian assured him with a half smile. "Well then, let's get cleaned up, we cannot appear before the Sage in this state!"

Within an hour, freshly washed and dressed, they reached the dining hall. With a low barrel-vault ceiling, it was decked with wooden tables and decorated chairs. Flames danced brightly in the fireplace, lighting up the environment. Another group of people were also enjoying Zontar's hospitality: from their hunched way of sitting, and the fact that they seemed to prefer their tomes to a healthy conversation, they couldn't be anything but scholars. The Tower received many of these during the year, all of them eager to compare their knowledge with that of their host. Few of them received the desired attention, but despite this, the rich hospitality was worth the trip.

The three warriors felt better as soon as they sat at the table: the food and drink was much more generous than they had expected, and left them ecstatic. Raduan in particular showed such enthusiasm for the roast boar in a sauce of wild herbs, and for the robust red wine that came with it, that Dorian was forced to remind him of his calling. He, however, also had to admit to being revived by the rich meal and by the warmth of the hall.

When he was satisfied, Dorcas took leave from his companions, seizing the moment to leave the scene. He had fulfilled his role in the journey, leading Dorian and Raduan to their destination in the shortest possible time. What happened next would not concern him, these were the affairs of the Commander and his right-hand man. The two friends bade him good night and left the table to sit on a bench near the fireplace. They lit their pipes and smoked quietly for a long time, exchanging no more than a few words.

Late in the evening, their host appeared.

He was a tall man, his complexion dark in contrast with the silvery threads of his beard and hair, which was tied in a ponytail that reached almost to his waist. The skin of his face and hands was wrinkled like that of an old man, but his hard gray eyes shone with a lively intelligence. A simple robe, as gray as the Tower, covered him to his feet.

He walked straight towards them, without a glance at the other guests. When he reached them, they made a slight bow.

"The Wayfarer's Company warriors, I presume" said the Sage, in a gentle voice.

"It is a privilege to be granted an audience with you, wise Zontar" said Dorian, with humility.

"The honor is mine, Commander Dorian."

Dorian raised an eyebrow in surprise. He did not remember having told his name to anyone other than the stolid guard at the gate.

"Why do I read surprise on your face?" Zontar continued, with a smile "Did you truly believe that the Wayfarer had never mentioned your name? A modest man you are."

"I am nothing but a simple soldier" said Dorian, trying not to blush like a young boy.

"Hmmm, I doubt that a lieutenant of the venerable Abel could be regarded as a simple soldier. But we are wasting time in pleasantries. Tell me, who is your friend?"

"Raduan, my right-hand man" Dorian introduced him. Raduan made another bow.

"Well met, master Raduan" nodded Zontar "Be welcome in my home. I hope that my hospitality has thus far been to your liking."

"In all honesty, sir" said Raduan "I had never imagined that such delicacies could spring from the kitchens of the Gray Tower..."

"Ahahah!" Zontar laughed aloud "Thank you so much! I thought I had enough problems with the scholars, but from now on I will also have to beware of the Kingdom's gluttons! That is just what I needed!"

The two laughed in return, but they soon fell into an embarrassed silence. Zontar spoke again:

"However, I suppose it was not the skill of my cooks that brought you this far." He looked at them with gravity. "Has something happened? And why has the White Wayfarer not come with you? He knows how much I value our conversations!"

Dorian tried to answer, not knowing where to start:

"A lot has happened in recent months, wise Zontar, and I regret that it is all bad news."

Zontar frowned but said nothing.

"The news that we carry is grave. We come to you for guidance."

"So... my suspicions are confirmed..." Zontar murmured, stroking his beard with one hand. The two stared at him in surprise.

"I think I have an idea of your troubles, unfortunately. But these are issues that must be treated with caution. Come, come into my office. There we will be able to safely discuss matters away from prying eyes and ears."

So saying, he invited them to follow him from the dining hall. As he passed between two of the rows of fawning scholars, once again he ignored their greasy bows. Dorian and Raduan followed close behind, catalyzing envious looks: it was rare for the landlord to welcome his guests in person.

They went up two flights of stairs and walked along a short corridor at the end of which the door of Zontar's study blocked their path: it was of solid wood reinforced with metal inlays, and was seemingly indestructible. The Sage drew a key from his robe and turned it several times in the keyhole before the door opened inwards. He entered first, and lit an oil lamp.

The light filled the small room, casting shadows over a desk covered in parchments and over the book-crammed shelves that lined the walls. Zontar bade them sit on two comfortable padded chairs, and he in turn sank into a high-backed armchair. Raduan and Dorian looked with awe at the enormous number of books and scrolls piled up inside the room, which was steeped in ancient wisdom from the floor to the ceiling. Hanging on the wall behind Zontar was a white banner with the image of a stylized sun and moon in a field of stars. Dorian recognized the symbol of the Brotherhood of the Enlightened, whose council was chaired by Zontar himself.

He racked his brains to recall what Abel had taught him about the Brotherhood. It was an alliance of scholars, established through the joint efforts of Zontar and a handful of other wise men. Composed of members scattered throughout the four corners of the Kingdom, its sole purpose was the conquest of knowledge. It was said that they were backed up by magic and arcane powers, and that with such they knew no obstacles. Abel had always insisted on this point: that by virtue of their knowledge and their formidable network of information, the Enlightened were a force to be reckoned with.

If truth be known, they were opposed to another, equally powerful, congregation of Sages known as the Children of the Night, whose stated purpose was to use their arcane knowledge to dominate the entire human race. Crawl, the chief shaman of the barbarian tribes of the North, was its undisputed leader, and seemed willing to do anything to achieve his goals.

It had not always been so. In calmer times, unity had prevailed amongst the scholars of all lands, and the discoveries that arose from their studies were a blessing for all humanity. But when King Feldnost died, leading to the division of the Kingdom into three parts, the alliance of the Sages was compromised, so far as to lead to the birth of two hostile factions.

This was more or less what Dorian remembered from Abel's lessons. He had never really given them due value, but he knew how important it was to keep himself informed of the political games taking place in the Kingdom, and of the forming and disbanding power groups on the scene. It was all useful information, especially now that he no longer had the Wayfarer to guide him. An example was his awareness of the influence that Zontar had over Feledan. According to rumor, the Sage was preparing the timid prince for the oncoming war against his elder brother.

"Well then" began Zontar, breaking his train of thought "How long gone is the Wayfarer?"

The two started.

"How... how do you know?" Dorian stammered.

"Please try to understand" said Zontar, with a slight trace of disdain in his voice "A man in my position must always be on a par with things."

"Spies?"

"I prefer to call them informants. They are my eyes and ears in the Kingdom, they help me to keep track of important events like this. Actually I wasn't sure of this, not until I saw the expressions on your faces." He smiled, and a network of wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes. "The Wanderer often acts in an unexpected way; this would not be the first time that he has surprised me. But your reaction makes me think I am right."

Dorian hesitated. If Zontar knew... How many others did? The Company had made several powerful enemies over the years. As soon as they found out that the Wayfarer was no longer with the Company they would fall upon them like wolves!

"Do not worry Commander. Your secret is safe with me. I know the trouble it would cause, if the news spread. Please believe me when I say that I have always considered the Wayfarer a friend and an ally. Though he has never revealed much about himself, he has always made it clear that we share the same values."

His deep gray eyes stared into Dorian's.

"And now, please explain what has happened."

"Where to start?" said the warrior, sighing.

Raduan gave him a nod of encouragement.

"Start at the beginning..."

The warrior tried not to miss anything important: Abel's mysterious farewell note; their futile attempts in pursuit; the Company's ongoing mission; Iarmin's return, his mutation and his last words; the encounter with the Snakes Trainer and his monstrous pet...

Zontar interrupted him several times, wanting to clarify some issues. When Dorian finally stopped talking, the Sage was silent for several minutes without looking up from the surface of his desk. He was so immersed in his thoughts that Raduan thought he could have been taken for a statue. He almost jumped with fright when Zontar roused himself and spoke.

"The news you bring is grave indeed. I will be honest with you: I fear for the fate of the White Wayfarer..."

"Tell us" said Dorian, impatiently "What did you make of my story? What do you think has happened to Abel? And how can we avoid the worst, or is it too late already?"

"These are many questions, Commander," said Zontar, crossing his fingers under his chin "I wish I could give you clear answers, but unfortunately I cannot. And the Snakes Trainer's presence troubles me. It is not the first time that his name has come to my attention."

"What do you mean?" inquired Dorian, gripping the arms of the chair.

"In recent years, my informants have reported his appearance in a wide range of places, and always with the same consequences of violence and death. I cannot tell the leitmotif of his actions, but without a doubt he is endowed with special powers. He does not like to tread into the light, and, to my knowledge, nobody who has met him has ever survived to tell the tale. It is odd that he has decided to come forward with you. I fear it has something to do with the Wayfarer's fate."

He paused again. The two stared at him in silence, waiting.

"If only I could read the meaning of your dying companion's words..." he continued "I have heard of the Valley of the Moon, that is for sure, but..."

"But?"

Raduan was finding it hard to control his impatience, why didn't the old man get on with it?

"It is nothing but a myth, a legend! It is said that centuries ago a group of explorers came upon a valley so lovely as to bring tears of happiness to their eyes. This was why they gave it such an evocative name. A temple of solid gold is said to have stood in the middle of the valley. They retraced their steps to gather other men, but as soon as they turned their backs on the valley, they could no longer find it. A spell, perhaps, or... who knows. Legends are full of anomalies, and the fact is that nobody ever set eyes on it again."

He gave a wry smile.

"Many others tried to find it after that first expedition and failed. Over time, the Valley of the Moon has become synonymous with illusion. Fabulous and bright, yes, but still an illusion. Like the moon reflected in the bottom of a well. I am surprised that you heard of it! Those ancient legends are losing their appeal..."

"Yet I am sure I heard that name coming out of Iarmin's mouth!" insisted Dorian.

"And I can confirm it" said Raduan.

"Maybe... We cannot eliminate the possibility that your friend was delirious, though. Wasn't he at death's door?"

Dorian clenched his teeth, in fear of seeing their only lead vanish.

"I am quite sure of the contrary! He was still alert!"

"Believe it if you choose" said Zontar, dispensing with the matter with a hand gesture "You may use my library to learn more about it, if you like: you will realize that it is a futile effort, a story without head or tail. A foolish chimera that won't put you on the Wayfarer's trail."

Dorian felt a stab of frustration, and the dark look that Raduan gave him reflected his own sense of powerlessness. They were back to their starting point, dashing all the hopes they had built up along the way.

"Do not despair" said Zontar, stifling a cough "I think I can help you anyway."

"How? Explain yourself!" snapped Raduan, leaning forward in his chair.

Zontar gave him a slight smile.

"Calm down, master Raduan. All in good time."

Raduan was running out of patience, but Dorian silenced him with a sharp movement of his hand.

"Forgive our impatience, wise Zontar, but... Put yourself in our shoes! We desperately need answers!"

Zontar made them uneasy with his gaze. He cleared his throat.

"Tell me, what do you know of the Arcane Arts?"

The question came so unexpectedly, that they found themselves without a sensible answer. Taken aback, they just sat in front of the elderly Sage.

"I can see that the Wayfarer hasn't shared his studies with you" he continued, smiling conspiratorially "But I believe that a spark of knowledge will be necessary, at this point. Otherwise, you will not possibly be able to understand my proposition."

"The Arcane Arts?" Dorian repeated, without concealing his dismay "Are you talking about... magic?"

"Yes, call it magic, if you want!" laughed Zontar "I see doubt in your eyes, Commander. Yet, how many supernatural events have you witnessed in your existence?"

"More than I care for. But..."

"I know you are not the kind of man who spends time questioning himself" Zontar said curtly "And I know that you have always done your job with honesty, without ever questioning the Wayfarer's word. But I think it is time for you to open your eyes. It is your best chance, believe me. You will understand, later."

Dorian and Raduan exchanged puzzled looks. They had never imagined that the discussion would take that turn, but it seemed clear to both that it was useless to argue with Zontar. Moreover, hadn't they come to the Gray Tower for just that reason, for the Sage to show them the way?

"We are in your hands, Zontar" said Dorian, opening his arms.

"We have no time to lose then!" said the Sage, rising with unconcealed enthusiasm "Come, follow me: let us cross the threshold of mystery together!"

X - On the Streets of Dekka

The road, a thin ribbon of reddish earth, wound for miles along the edge of the plateau at the top of the green hill that sloped down to the sea. At its base the waves rhythmically crashed against the rocks, churning the water white. The gulls' cries, carried by the wind, accompanied the sight of vessels in full sail on the sunny waters of the bay.

Kyra sighed, throwing a last look at Mirna's roofs, already far away, and hoping with all her heart to see them again as soon as possible. She smiled to herself, thinking about the strange turns of fate. A month earlier, on her way to Dekka, she had stopped at that same crossroads, and just one night spent at the village had seemed to her a waste of time. Now she felt the exact opposite.

She had no illusions about the outcome of her mission. To find Ethan so many days after his disappearance, and to bring him back home safe and sound would be a difficult, if not impossible task. The thought of returning empty-handed or worse still, with bad news for Ezer, troubled her, but it was a possibility she could not close her eyes to. Whatever the case though, she was determined to do everything within her power to save the young man.

In truth, she felt a debt to Ezer. The fisherman, without even realizing, had helped to restore the serenity and balance that she had so desperately needed after taking her leave from the Wayfarer's Company. With his dedication and his gruff friendship, he had worked a miracle in her life, a kind of rebirth.

She would repay him in the best way she could.

"We will meet again soon..." she whispered.

Then she turned her back to the village, and walked away.

It was a pleasant morning. The sea breeze caressed her skin, and the road in front of her stretched to the horizon, full of promise. She walked without a hitch for the whole day, crossing the flat green plateau at a good pace. To her right, the shimmer of the sea kept pace with her along the entire route. On her left, the plains stretched unchanged as far as the eye could see, an uninterrupted horizontal line.

She met few travelers along the way. The season was not favorable for trade, and would only be so in a few weeks. Countless merchant caravans would then leave Dekka heading towards the borders of the Princedom, their wagons laden with fabrics and articles of all sorts. From the east, in the opposite direction, the trappers would come to sell their wares in the big city. If she came across one of these along the way, on her return from Dekka, she would buy a nice bearskin for the old man. Winters in Mirna were reputed to be very hard.

She spent the first night in a small but comfortable inn halfway between Mirna and Dekka. She ordered a generous portion of grilled fish with vegetables, a regional specialty, accompanied by an overflowing mug of limpaq. After calming her hunger and thirst, she was overcome by a great weariness. She chose the best room at the inn, a rare luxury for her. She could not remember the last time she had enjoyed so much comfort: she took a hot bath by candlelight and brushed her straight brown hair with all the calm in the world, until the bed seduced her with the lure of its feather mattress. She slept a peaceful and dreamless sleep until dawn.

The second part of the trip was not so pleasant: it rained from early morning onwards, a fine, stinging drizzle which quickly turned into a downpour, soaking her from head to toe. The dirt road turned into a quagmire, forcing her to slow her pace. At one point she stopped to help a couple of merchants with their wagon that had been caught in the grip of the mud. She succeeded only with great effort, and with such curses as to shame the young merchant's wife. As a result, apart from the gratitude and appreciation of the two, she soiled herself with mud cap-a-pie.

As the day ran its course, she realized she would not be able to reach Dekka before sunset, and that there was no inn in sight along that stretch of road. She came across a barn and crept in, moving nimbly to avoid arousing the cattle; she lay down on a heap of straw and closed her eyes. This time, because of the stench, and her concerns as to what the future held, she did not fall asleep so easily.

A half-day's journey still to go, and she would be standing before the city gates, ready to begin her mission.

\------

When Dekka finally appeared before her, it was an amazing and disturbing view.

From the top of the hill, Kyra could take in the whole of the city; it reminded her of a huge insect with its gray legs stretched out into the sea. A dense expanse of buildings occupied the entire stretch of land in front of the bay - the largest of all the bays of the Inland Sea, according to Ezer - and inland the houses went as far as the hill slopes, clinging on to them and looking as if they could slide down at anytime.

Near the port, a huge construction stood apart from the mass, a giant monolith surmounted by tall chimneys that were churning out clouds of black smoke. Kyra shivered when she saw the building: the Factory, in all likelihood. It was ominous, even at that distance. An alien thing, foreign to everything she knew.

"Think positive" she said to herself. Nobody was going to force her to go near the Factory. Now that she had seen it, she was even more certain than before that she did not want anything to do with it.

She glanced towards the port, which was surrounded by frenetic activity. Never in her life had Kyra seen such a concentration of boats: ships, rafts, fishing boats, lean merchant vessels, and a host of rowing boats and wind-propelled catamarans. She was surprised that they were all able to move around without constantly colliding. The skippers must have known their trades well though, to be able to navigate within such chaos.

The docks were overcrowded: sailors, fishermen, porters, merchants, soldiers, and countless other characters moved like ants along the rickety wooden piers. Some carried pots filled with oil and wine, others dragged nets and rigging, while still others patrolled the docks. A few men and women were likely making a living by slipping their hands into others' pockets. She could even make out a couple of drunks hugging their bottles to them: If they were not careful, they would soon end up as food for the fish. She smiled. The life of Dekka's harbor was even more hectic than she had imagined, especially in comparison to the gentle pace of Mirna's wharf.

But despite her initial wonder, she did not gloss over the less attractive details: to begin with, the water looked dark and murky, the same color as the smoke that was pumping from the chimneys not far away. At times, the surface of the sea seemed oily. Even from that distance she could see the heaps of garbage, piled up like mountains at the back of the piers. She narrowed her eyes: what were those dots, huddled on the waste slopes, fighting over the meager remains? Were they men or dogs?

From there, in the bright afternoon light, Kyra's first impression of Dekka was of a city of many shadows and many secrets.

Before beginning her descent towards the gates, she looked at the colossal tower that stood at the center of the tangle of buildings. The Government Palace, no doubt about it. Was it her impression, or was the Palace hunched over Dekka like a vulture? She shook her head to dispel the image. She was becoming too affected by the stories she had heard. Perhaps the Governor was not as bad as he was painted.

And who could tell where Ethan was, lost in all that confusion? It would be like trying to find a snake's tooth in a wheat field. She had to make haste.

She strode down the hill impatiently, almost slipping on the treacherous mud that the earlier rain had left. She came across a wagon in difficulties on the steep slippery slope, but this time she decided to press on: she had already received her share of mud-caked hair. Enough even perhaps to ensure that the guards at the gates would throw her out like a tramp.

She swallowed tightly as she approached, and the gates of Dekka rose higher and higher in front of her. They were made from massive tree trunks lashed together with rope and armored with thick plates of burnished metal. They wouldn't hold back an invading army for long, but they certainly honored the authority of the City Watch.

As she approached, Kyra felt a twinge of apprehension. The guards were carefully checking everyone going in and out of the city. What if they did not let her in? Worse still: what if, once she entered, she was no longer able to leave? Big cities always gave her a sense of claustrophobia. She had spent too long outdoors with the Company to be able to get used to it.

As she passed under the wide arch of the gates, she held her breath. And just when she thought she had got through with no trouble...

"Hey, you! Stop!"

She suppressed the impulse to run, and stood where she was, turning to smile at the guard who had given the order.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

"Let me decide, woman!" said the guard, standing in front of her with one hand on the pommel of his sword. He stared at her grimly, and Kyra felt the tension in his body.

"Your face... I don't like it at all" continued the soldier, studying the scar running across her cheek "Who are you? What brings you to Dekka?"

A knot of curious passersby formed around the two, all eager for some action. Kyra ignored them and focused on her answer. Just as she had done a thousand times in the past, she again cursed the hateful scar that furrowed her face, drawing unwanted attention at every inopportune moment.

"I am looking for work" she explained, trying to look convincing "I come from Mirna, and things aren't going well there, not at all. I hope they have use for my skills here at the docks..."

The guard kept staring at her suspiciously, digesting her words while caressing the handle of his sword. Kyra hoped that her cloak properly concealed the presence of the twin daggers.

"It may not seem so, but I do well at sea" she improvised, with a forced smile "This scar was made by a terlick, if you really want to know. An awful beast that is!"

The terlick were among the most feared creatures of the sea: up to twenty feet long, they had a sharp horn with which they knew how to defend themselves all too well. Dozens of reckless fishermen over the years had been left crippled after an encounter with one of those huge fish, and anyone with an ounce of common sense knew to keep their distance from them.

By invoking the name of the terrible creature, Kyra got the effect she had hoped for: murmurs of surprise and admiration ran among the people crowded around her, and even the soldier was taken off-guard. Kyra saw a grudging respect emerge in his eyes, along with the menace. He continued to study her for a while, then stepped aside, opening the way. Her act had been a success.

"Now, be careful what you do. We don't like strangers coming here in search of trouble!"

"Yes sir" said Kyra.

She gave him a quick bow of gratitude, then walked away briskly, blending in with the crowd. She kept the fast pace up for a few hundred yards, turning first one way and then another, without paying attention to where she was going. Once sure she had made it, she stopped. She leaned her back against a wall, and breathed a sigh of relief.

However, before she had time to collect her thoughts, someone yanked on the leg of her pants. She looked down and saw a beggar trying to get her attention. The poor man, with both legs reduced to stumps, was lying on a rough wooden board with wheels. Part of his face was bandaged, and he breathed heavily through chapped lips. It was an unpleasant sight, so much so that Kyra moved away instinctively, kicking off the man's hand.

"Why?" he complained "Are you afraid I may attack you?"

"You scared me, damn you!" she responded, with a hint of remorse.

"I am sorry, it wasn't my intention" said the man, showing a shy smile "Unfortunately, I often go unnoticed, in my sad condition..."

"No, I owe you an apology" said Kyra, a little confused "I shouldn't have reacted that way. I was thinking of something else..."

"Mmm, I understand. Yet you don't seem one to be easily frightened."

"How could you possibly know? Anyway, what do you want?"

"Well, I've never seen you in these parts before, and I was wondering..."

"You were wondering if you could rip me off, right? I don't think so!"

"No, no, you misunderstand me! I would just like to make myself useful!"

Kyra looked at him with doubtful eyes. How could he be of help to anyone, in that condition? The man caught her look, and looked down like a beaten dog.

"Oh, yes, I forgot! Legless Otto cannot help anyone! Poor fellow, he cannot even move! Why would they call him Legless, otherwise?"

He spat on the ground with contempt, and used his hands to slowly turn his support around.

"Silly, useless Otto, always bothering people!" he said aloud, theatrically. Then his hands slipped on the pavement and he struck his forehead on the ground with a groan.

Kyra sighed, feeling a surge of compassion. She did not like the man at all - he made her shudder - but she couldn't judge someone only on their physical appearance. Didn't she hate it when someone judged her because of her scar?

"Wait" she said.

Otto stopped instantly, and turned his head towards her, watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"You do not have to pity me, woman. Just let me go, I won't bother you again..."

"No" she said "After all, I think you may be able to help me."

At these words, Otto raised his weight on his arms and swung the board back with a fluid movement, totally different from the clumsy efforts of a little earlier. He gave her a sleek smile, and Kyra instantly knew that she had been duped.

But she wasn't going to waste any more time playing games and so she got straight to the point:

"I suppose you know the city well..."

"As well as my own pockets, ma'am" he said groveling "I mean, if I had any real pockets, eheheh!" he added, shaking the edges of his ragged clothes.

Kyra fought a new wave of disgust, and continued:

"I need you to guide me to the docks. I am looking for the store of a cloth merchant named Leon. Do you know him?"

Otto's lips parted in a grotesque, toothless smile.

"Ahh, Leon! Yes, sure I know where to find him! But it's a long walk, to the other end of town..."

He winked at Kyra, letting her know that he would not help her through sheer altruism.

"Have no fear, I will be quite grateful to you."

"You are very kind, ma'am!" replied Otto, bending down to touch the ground "As I said, it is a long walk. Follow me!"

Having said that, he quickly started to slide down along the busy street that cut the city in two from North to South, slipping between the legs of passers-by and pushing them out of the way unceremoniously. A big woman with a basket of vegetables balanced on her head almost tripped over him, cursing. She tried to kick him, but Otto dodged the blow and hissed at her like an angry snake. Then he smiled at Kyra, and beckoned her to hurry.

"Come on, ma'am!"

She reluctantly followed the strange figure, hoping she wasn't making a mistake. But she wouldn't have known where to begin without him: Dekka was a maze of streets, large and small, twisted around themselves like an incompetent tailor's tangle of thread. Otto skidded in front of her on his four wheels with the energy of a lion, constantly turning back to make sure he had not left her behind.

In the effort of not losing sight of him, Kyra was not able to examine her surroundings calmly, but what she saw confirmed the impression she had had of the city from high above. Dekka was a busy place, and full of life, but not idyllic at all. For every store that overlooked the street, with a rich selection of products displayed on the counters - brightly embroidered fabrics here, or appetizing-looking food there - there was at least one blackened run-down hut, where children sat in the doorways with hungry eyes and empty stomachs. The street occasionally opened out into a magnificent tree-lined square, adorned with statues and fragrant flowers, but more often it was the stench of open sewers that attacked her nostrils. Filthy water ran in rivulets down the roadside, offering an unhealthy environment for children and stray dogs to play in. There was little she could do, but she felt ill at ease among such contrasts, more so as they did not seem to allay the indifference of those she met along the way. Everyone went on their way with their heads down, oblivious of what was happening around them. The rich on one side, the poor on the other. Two distinct worlds, not touching each other, but entwined in the meshes of the same city.

"This may be one of the Kingdom's largest centers" she thought to herself "but there are some serious issues with the distribution of wealth..."

Being used to the communal lifestyle of the Wayfarer's Company, she had difficulty understanding a society in which only a few thrived on the suffering of many. Not that she had any pangs of morality: she did not have the right to, she pondered, with a hint of regret - not after plundering the spoils of the fallen in battle. It was rather a matter of logic: flaunt your riches at every step, while half of the people are starving, and sooner or later those same people will turn against you and snatch it all away.

"It is part of human nature" she thought, as with a sideways glance she caught two emaciated little children in the act of wrestling over the purse of a richly dressed lady.

"If it is not too intrusive on my part, ma'am, what brings you to Leon's?" Otto asked, interrupting the course of her reflections.

"Simple business."

"Of course. You are not the first person who has come to haggle over Leon's cloths. His store may be small, but his products are of the best quality. You will be able to negotiate a good price, with my help!"

"I'll think about it. But for now, I just need you to guide me to him."

"Yes, ma'am, don't worry! We are close now."

They proceeded side by side in silence. The district they were crossing had a quieter appearance. The streets were narrow and silent, surrounded by gray-walled houses. The sounds and colors of trade faded in the distance, as they ventured into the maze of buildings. The road suddenly came to a crossroads. Otto sped up, casting nervous glances to his right.

"Faster, ma'am. It is not good to stay long in this place!"

Kyra did not understand the reason for such fear. Then, she realized: not far from them, beyond the stinking waters of a canal, a square-walled colossus loomed. A thick plume of smoke spread outwards from its chimney-stacks, which perched on its roof like a row of gargoyles. The Factory was the size of a small mountain, occupying an entire neighborhood. Not a soul was around. There was some movement only at the far end of the building: wagons went in and out in slow procession, empty in one direction and loaded in the other.

Kyra gasped at the ominous and surreal appearance of the complex. She looked at it from side to side, fascinated, trying to absorb as much as possible. Otto pulled at her hem.

"Come on, ma'am, please! There is no need to stop right here!"

She ignored him and continued to examine the monstrous building, until something caught her eye: a solitary figure was standing before the Factory walls, perfectly still. At first Kyra thought it was a guard in impressive looking battle armor. But, after a better look, she realized that there was something wrong: even at that distance, the figure seemed to be far taller than anyone she had ever met. And what kind of helmet was he wearing? It had a bizarre look, like it was too narrow and elongated to contain a man's head...

While she was considering these anomalies, something happened that made the hairs on her neck stand up: without warning, the two dark circles inside the soldier's helmet lit up like embers, and his head turned quickly in their direction with the cold hostility of a bird of prey.

Kyra jumped back, and almost ran over Otto.

"Accursed Automaton!" groaned the man, making a sign on his forehead to ward off its evil "Will you listen to me now? We'd better leave before that damn machine pays us a visit!"

This time Kyra listened to him: her fear was stronger than her curiosity. She looked back just once as they walked away: the Automaton was still staring at her from a distance with those infernal eyes, red like lava. She shuddered and hurried after Otto, who was already slipping down the road using the full strength of his arms.

As they continued, she couldn't stop thinking about that encounter. Not a close encounter, to be sure, but enough to make her feel the aura of fear and mystery that surrounded those creatures. She hoped she would not have to meet other Automatons during her stay in Dekka - not closer than that, at least.

But inside her heart, she feared the exact opposite.

\------

It was late afternoon by the time they neared their destination. Kyra could sense the docks in the brackish air, clogged with the stench of fish, wet rigging and rotten wood. The walk had been longer than she'd expected, even though Otto had warned her at the start it was not close. From the top of the hill, the distance from the gates to the docks had not seemed so great, but she had underestimated the deviousness of the path.

Otto pressed on swiftly, giving her a nod from time to time. He seemed to know by heart the path that led to Leon's store, and if his enthusiasm was anything to go by it did not seem to be far. Kyra followed him mechanically, her mind already projecting her forthcoming meeting with the cloth merchant: what kind of man was he? And – something that had crossed her mind more than once during the trip - was he really who he said he was? Or had the letter merely been bait to draw Ethan's father into a trap? Striking a dissident's family was common practice when politics were involved...

Lost in these thoughts, she didn't realize her danger until the last moment: a stone, thrown with force and precision, hit the pavement a few inches away from her feet. She instantly stopped, her fingers tightened around the hilts of her twin daggers under the cloak. She assessed the situation with a quick glance.

"Damn!" she said.

She was surrounded by a swarm of ugly thugs armed with slings, chains and sticks. Each wore a brightly colored handkerchief wrapped around his forehead, a symbol of belonging to what was in all likelihood a criminal gang from the Dekka slums. They had formed a circle around her, popping up from the dark corners of the street. They stood looking at her, grinning and taunting.

She scanned the circle for Otto, and her fears were founded when she saw him hiding within the circle behind the first row of men. His lips were curled into a mischievous grin.

"Curse you! I should have known better!" Kyra yelled, the veins on her neck bulging with anger.

"Sorry, ma'am" said Otto, mockingly "A poor man like me has to make a living..."

"You made a big mistake" she replied, in a tone that betrayed neither fear nor hesitation.

"Stop joking around, woman! Give us everything now, and I swear you'll walk away without a scratch! We won't hurt you, unless you force us to."

Kyra didn't believe him for an instant: the criminals had already exchanged unequivocal glances, grinning at the prospect of having some fun with her. She had to find an escape route, and quickly.

She tried the card of diplomacy first, although she knew she could not count on it.

"I have nothing with me except my bag. I will give it to you, if you let me through..."

Otto grimaced.

"Don't even think of it! Let us see under your cloak, instead! Do you think I haven't noticed how you clutched it all along the way?"

He undressed her with his eyes, blinded by greed, while several of his comrades advanced.

Kyra knew it was time to act.

"Do you really want to know what I hide, you wretch?" she challenged "Here you are!"

She got free of her cloak with a wave of her arm, flinging it against the closest two of her attackers. At the same time she threw herself to the ground and rolled forward, drawing her twin blades. After a full turn, she was between the two men tangled in the cloak, and she severed their knee tendons with a double stroke. They collapsed to the ground with howls of pain, while Kyra pirouetted away with a dancer's grace. Three other men crumpled to the ground clutching their chests, mowed down by the whirlwind of her moves.

The aggressors' circle was broken. Kyra dived into the gap, about to flee into the shadows before the effect of surprise wore off. But at the very last moment a chain coiled around her ankle, causing her to stumble. Whoever had thrown it was not about to let her escape: with a violent jerk he pulled her down to the ground, forcing her to loosen her grip on the daggers. Before she could recover them, Otto intercepted with his wheeled board, splashing mud in her eyes. Kyra cursed him as the chain dragged her back inside the circle of men.

She turned to see her opponent's face and exclaimed in surprise. The man standing in front of her - the one who was dragging her with his own brute force - was one of the most repulsive figures she had ever laid eyes on. His mouth was wide and deformed, gaping in a demented smile. Behind his lips were two thick rows of metallic triangular teeth, pointed like those of a shark. Two almond-shaped eyes, small and close together, studied her with the same amused curiosity as a cat toying with a mouse.

Drooling from the corners of his mouth, the man kept pulling the chain towards him, oblivious of Kyra's desperate resistance. In his other hand he waved a fearsome club.

"Mwahahaha!" he laughed, making a gurgling sound. He muttered something unintelligible, but the excitement in his eyes belied the need for words. The other men cheered him on, enjoying the scene. No one paid attention to their wounded comrades lying moaning on the ground. Kyra realized that any attempt to resist his overwhelming force was useless. From one step to the next, the distance between her and those monstrous jaws inexorably lessened.

It was then that an old memory, sealed within her for many a year, rose to the surface...

She had been little more than a child at the time, and a younger Dorian had been teaching her the basics of melee fighting. Every time she dashed against him, trying to hit him with a punch or a kick, he didn't just dodge the blow, but followed it through with his own strength, making her lose her balance. After several minutes of unsuccessful attempts, more frustrated than ever, Kyra had stopped fighting and had slumped on the ground on the verge of tears. Dorian had approached her with a smile, and while ruffling her hair he had revealed to her one of the simplest and most important secrets of the martial arts:

"When you fight against someone stronger than yourself Kyra, do as I have shown you. Don't fight against his force, rather follow it, and use it to your advantage. At that point, you will have taken hold of his most precious weapon, and victory will be yours."

It was time to turn that old lesson into practice: she stopped yanking the chain in her futile attempt to oppose the giant's strength, and instead focused her efforts on finding a foothold. Once she succeeded, she used it for leverage and took a great leap forward. Her attacker, caught off guard by the sudden imbalance of forces, staggered backwards. In the blink of an eye Kyra was on him and landed a violent head butt on his nose. The thugs grunted in surprise, but no one dared to intervene.

Kyra retreated to what she thought was a safe distance, but he didn't let go of the chain still wrapped around her ankle, and he yanked her back to him. Before Kyra could find a new escape route, he had whipped her across the face with a backhand strong enough to turn her around.

Even at such a disadvantage, Kyra was able to put into practice what she had learned through her years of hard training alongside the best warriors of the Kingdom: ignoring the pain of the blow, she took advantage of its force to pivot on one leg, then she made a leap worthy of an acrobat, and landed behind her stunned opponent. She grabbed a loose section of chain and wrapped it around his neck. The huge man, infuriated by this unexpected resistance, gave another tug on the chain: the metal rings tightened around his own throat, digging into the flesh. He fell to his knees, his face flushed, and Kyra dropped the chain.

The giant took the opportunity to break free from her grip, but he lingered just a moment too long on the ground, choking. Once he had recovered, he found himself staring at the very same club that he had dropped, and that was now firmly in the hands of his opponent.

"Sweet dreams!" said Kyra, before hitting him in the temple.

He fell headfirst to the ground, unconscious. Helpless and sprawled with his belly up and his grotesque mouth wide open, he looked like a huge fish out of water, in every sense.

And where a moment before the air had seethed with shouts and threats, there was complete silence. No one moved as Kyra walked around the circle like a wounded beast, even more dangerous than before. She sought out her faithful twin daggers and retrieved them, letting go of the club.

There was still no movement on the part of the gang members. They merely stared in silence, as if waiting for something to happen. It seemed to be a stalemate. The right move could save her life. The wrong one, however... It was better not to contemplate it.

She decided to play for all or nothing. Surely it was hard for things to get any worse. She raised her head, straightened her back, and stared into the criminals' eyes, one by one. Then she approached the inert figure of the gang leader, and knelt beside him. With a precise thrust, she cleanly extracted one of his artificial teeth.

She clasped the gruesome trophy between her fingers, then stood and raised it skywards so that everyone could see it.

"And now let's see what happens..." she thought, praying she had done the right thing.

That course of action too, had come into her mind when thinking about Dorian's lessons:

"What would you do, Kyra, if a pack of wolves surrounded you? No ideas? Let me tell you then. You should face the leader of the pack, knock him down, and cut his head off. Only then will the other wolves fear you and let you live."

It was the same with that sorry bunch of delinquents, even though she had settled for a tooth instead of a head. Beheading unknown people was not really her style.

Seconds passed in a tense silence. She could feel the sweat dripping down her face onto the ground.

Then, one of the men moved. And another. And another.

One by one, the criminals knelt before her, bowing their heads. They took off their colored handkerchiefs and held them out towards her.

Kyra swallowed, her throat dry. What was happening?

One of them, a skinny fair-haired man with a thin face like a ferret's approached her. He looked at her slyly, then said in a shrill voice:

"Nice to meet you, boss!"

"Boss?" stammered Kyra, more puzzled than ever.

"That would be you, from now on" continued the man, embracing all of his fellows with a gesture of his arm "The fearsome Dock Rats, at your service!"

Her arms fell to her sides, and she found herself speechless.

"Long live the new chief!" someone yelled.

"Viva! Viva!" chorused all the others, shouting, clapping their hands and throwing their colored handkerchiefs to the sky.

"What a bizarre dream!" thought Kyra "From today, I'm done with limpaq at lunch!"

She closed her eyes, and gave herself a firm pinch.

However, when she looked around again they were all still there in front of her. The fair man stared at her with a look of concern.

"Everything all right, boss?"

XI \- Leon

"How ridiculous!" Kyra thought. Was she supposed to thank some mischievous deity for her predicament, or should she just bang her head against a wall? Not even a day had gone by since she had passed through the city gates and she was already in deep trouble!

She could almost forgive herself for falling into the trap, though she was furious at herself for such naivety: Dekka was a city of many faces, and she should have been more careful from the start. But now, to think that she had become a gang leader just like that, completely out of the blue! It was really too absurd.

And she suspected it would be a source of countless problems.

"Let me understand this better" she said, turning to ferret-face, "Are you saying that you and these men are now under my orders? That I, a perfect stranger, am now your new boss?"

"Rules are rules" said the man, with a shrug "You defeated in duel our previous boss Kwan Shark-Teeth, so now you have to take his place."

"A duel? What nonsense!" snapped Kyra, "I was fighting for my life! I am quite sure I didn't challenge that beast because I felt like it!"

"Well, that doesn't change a thing, does it?" insisted the man, both surprised and insulted. "Aren't you glad? We Dock Rats are the most feared gang of the whole... docks! Many would kill to be in your place!"

"Yes, of course..." Kyra whispered, glancing around. She was at the gang members' center of attention; arranged around her in a circle were thieves, crooks, thugs and other dregs of humanity. Their stench was the only fearful thing about them.

"What's your name?" she asked ferret-face, who seemed the most civilized of the bunch.

"I never knew my real name, boss" he said, with a half smile "But you can call me Fishbone, like everyone else. I don't know why, but my enviable leanness has a comic effect on this bunch of idiots!"

"Fishbone, huh? Very appropriate" she said. The man looked like a stick in his shabby clothes, at least two sizes too large.

"Uhmpf! If you say so, boss."

"Tell me something, Fishbone. Can I go now, or does this farce have to last much longer?"

Fishbone shook his head.

"I wouldn't, if I were you. The rules, you know. A leader who turns his back to the gang is not worthy of respect. And if she's not worthy of respect..."

He drew a finger across his throat.

Kyra sighed. The wolf pack analogy fitted the gang perfectly. She would have to play along, and sooner or later an escape opportunity would come. She'd just have to keep her eyes open.

"So, what do you expect me to do?"

"I don't know, boss. It's your call, as I said."

Kyra looked at him almost pleadingly.

"You might announce your name, to begin with" suggested Fishbone.

"Brilliant" she snorted.

She turned around to face her bizarre rogue public, none of whom had dared utter a word until then. All eyes were on her. Had it not been for the squalor of the setting, and of the bystanders in general, it would have been a solemn moment.

"My name is Kyra" she said, sporting a frown meant to inspire awe and respect "It seems I shall be your boss from now on. My predecessor has decided to resign" she added, pointing disdainfully at the unconscious body of Kwan Shark-Teeth.

It was a smart move: there was a lot of grinning and derisive laughter. Their reaction gave Kyra an interesting idea: there was something she had dearly wanted to do right from the start of the ambush...

"Otto!" she called loudly, looking around.

There was no response.

"Come on, don't be a coward! I want to reward you for the wonderful gift you have given me!"

There was some movement to her right. A couple of the men parted, cursing, and Otto appeared between their knees, pushing his cart with his arms. He advanced timidly, his gaze fixed on the ground, until he found himself at Kyra's feet.

"Here I am, boss" he said, giving her a smile of naive hope.

Kyra smiled back, with the sweetness of a cobra.

Then, without warning, she landed him a blow so violent that it overturned him. Otto remained trapped under his board, turned over like a turtle on its back, and screamed his anger with all the power of his lungs. His cries were drowned by an avalanche of boos and laughter.

Now Kyra knew she had done the right thing. She squatted next to the turtle-like man.

"With this, Otto, I consider my debt of gratitude paid" she said, offering her hand "and you should feel lucky about it."

Otto snarled at first, refusing to admit the public humiliation. But since he was stuck there with everyone mocking him, he soon realized he had no choice. He ground his teeth, spat, and finally shook Kyra's outstretched hand, accepting her help.

She pulled him towards her with such force that the robber almost fell on top of her. As their faces skimmed each other, Kyra hissed in his ear:

"Don't try it ever again, understood? You have seen what I am capable of..."

"Yes, boss! You have been very clear!" said Otto, moaning, as she shook his hand with such enthusiasm that she almost snapped his bones.

Kyra let him go, satisfied. Otto shot out as fast as a rat, and laughter followed him as he went back into hiding. Fishbone approached, his mouth stretched into a chequered smile.

"Well done, boss! You're smarter than I'd thought! But there's one more thing you have to do to become one of us..."

He knelt beside Kwan Shark-Teeth and jerked the bandanna from his head: it was dyed red and black, in stripes. He turned around, then seemed to reconsider, and kicked the motionless giant in the ribs. Only then did he hand Kyra the bandanna.

"Here, you deserve it."

"How nice!" thought Kyra "Another pack ritual..."

Trying not to think about all the dirt and sweat already smeared on the handkerchief, she tied it around her forehead.

The Dock Rats responded with a jubilant roar.

"I propose a toast to your health, boss!" yelled Fishbone, raising his voice above the general clamor "To the Old Lantern!"

"To the Old Lantern!" they all repeated in chorus.

Kyra knew right away that her new authority was going to be useless in that situation. She was literally swept away by the torrent of cheering men; swept ever deeper into the ill-lit maze of the docklands.

Whether she wanted or not, her visit to Leon would have to wait.

\------

The next morning she woke up with a start and a sense of panic, unable to remember where she was, or why. Her temples throbbed like two beating drums.

Irritated by the rays of sunlight filtering through the shutters, she found it difficult to keep her eye open. She glanced around: she saw a bed with not-so-white sheets, some dusty furniture, and four walls covered in wallpaper that had certainly seen better days.

After a while, her memory began to return: blurry images of a feast, men singing and dancing, choruses, laughter, and above all, gallons and gallons of dark rich limpaq flowing from the steins...

She rubbed her temples.

"When will you learn, Kyra?"

The events of the night before were hazy and unreal in her mind, but the fact that she had awakened in a bed at the Old Lantern left no room for doubt. It was all true: she really had put pay to Kwan Shark-Teeth and his henchmen, and she really had become the new leader of that gang of thugs.

"Dock Rats" she thought, disconsolate.

At least the name was apt. Seldom in her life had she come across such a dirty and forlorn group of people. As she understood it, most of them were just a jumble of half-baked criminals. The really dangerous people among them, murderers and the like, could be counted on the fingers of one hand. The old gang leader had been one of these: they had told her that he was deranged and violent, and had been accepted as leader only out of fear, not respect. That was why they had all been so happy to see him knocked to the ground, defeated. That was also why Kyra had immediately begun to watch her own back.

Kwan had in fact appeared at the tavern's doorway shortly after midnight, a huge mass standing against the dark background of the night, causing a dead silence to fall. He had approached Kyra very slowly, studying her, working his way through the men turned to stone. He had stopped less than a step away from her, a towering, fearsome creature, and had looked her up and down with indecipherable eyes.

But just before Kyra was about to plant a knife in his stomach - and much to the great surprise of all present - Kwan had parted his lips in a horrific metallic smile. A little black window appeared in his mouth where the tooth Kyra pulled out had been..

After giving her a friendly, resounding slap on the back - which had almost made Kyra spit out her teeth - Kwan had snatched a cup from the hands of a poor fellow nearby, toasted Kyra with a mumble, and downed the strong beverage in one gulp. Then the feast had resumed amid laughter and cheers, as if nothing had happened, and Kwan had lost himself in the crowd, jostling through the mob of drunks.

Kyra had been speechless at first. Then, after thinking a while, she had realized it couldn't be otherwise: "Like the wolves, again..." People on the edge of society like Kwan, people lacking the most basic ethical principles, respected one law only, and respected it all the way: the law of the fittest. By humiliating him in front of everyone, and most importantly from a position of distinct disadvantage, Kyra had taught him a lesson hard to forget. Like a dog - or a wolf? - trained by beating, from now on Kwan would follow and obey her without question.

She returned to the present, and found herself still sitting on the bed. If only she could stay there all day...

And why not? When it came down to it, was she or wasn't she the boss?!

She laughed at her own joke, but then Ezer's anguished face passed before her eyes, and the weight of her responsibility extinguished her smile. She had better things to do than lounging around, and she felt ashamed of all the time she had already wasted. Things were going to change, and that very day. First, as planned, she would visit the merchant Leon and obtain more precise information on the disappearance of young Ethan. Then \- the idea had begun to form in her mind the night before - she would think how to take advantage of the Dock Rats.

Their group wasn't well-trained, there was little harmony between them, but they had their strengths: for one, they enjoyed a certain supremacy over the other residents of that district, because of their repeated affrays with the hateful City Watch. Their fame endowed them with excellent powers of persuasion, and these would come in useful if they had to comb the neighborhood in search of information. In addition to that, the gang members shared an enviable knowledge of the city's slums. Who better than a rat, in fact, to discover unexpected paths, and to walk through seemingly impenetrable defenses? These skills would certainly come in handy.

One step at a time, though. Starting with Leon.

She washed in haste, put on clean clothes, and left the room. Contrary to her expectations, rather than finding the whole noisy gang waiting for her in the main hall, she found just two familiar faces: Fishbone, who was wearing his usual wide grin across his hollow face, and an embarrassed looking Otto, whose gaze was fixed on the ground. Both wore the signature striped gang handkerchiefs across their foreheads. Kyra thought she should probably wear hers, before she offended someone.

She greeted them, and sat at their table.

"You slept well, boss?" asked Fishbone.

"Like a stone" she said.

"It was a really good feast... We should change boss a little more often!"

"That's very funny, Fishbone. But where is everyone?"

"Oh, don't worry; they've gone out to do their routine chores. We're quite an independent bunch, as you'll find out."

Kyra couldn't hide a smile of approval. She had been afraid of spending hours handing out tasks that did not interest her, and resolving issues that did not concern her. Now, however, she would be free to do what she had to.

"Very well" she said "What about you two?"

"Well, we thought you may need someone to guide you around town..."

"Can't say I liked the first experience" said Kyra, staring at Otto with accusing eyes. The man shrank back and blushed before her.

"Eheheh, I don't doubt it, but we will ensure that things go better this time!" said Fishbone.

"I very much hope so."

Still struggling with her hangover, Kyra didn't eat anything, and was happy with just a simple infusion of bitter herbs. The innkeeper served her with ill-concealed fear, and she realized that the man would not ever ask for - nor receive - the payment he deserved for that breakfast, not to mention the feast and the room. She vowed to herself that she would pay the bill as soon as possible, even though it may not be easy to convince the other gang members.

She left the table shortly after, flanked by her odd pair of guardian angels. They left the tranquility of the half-empty tavern behind them, and were immediately struck by the noisy vibrancy of the neighborhood, crowded and colorful as ever. Men and women came and went at a brisk pace, immersed in their own affairs, while merchants shouted from behind their diverse piles of wares.

The only thing that really got to Kyra was the unbearable stench that plagued the streets. The locals seemed immune to it, but she felt stifled by the lethal mix of aromas of ripe fruit, spoiled fish and sewage. When she gave instructions to Fishbone and Otto, she did it while covering her nose with a sleeve.

"Don't you like the pure morning air?" joked Fishbone.

Kyra rolled her eyes, trying not to vomit.

"I have some business to attend with Leon, the draper" she muttered behind the cloth "Can you take me to him?"

Otto cleared his throat.

"Sure, boss! It's a stone's throw from here. And I mean it this time."

"Let's go then. I have already dallied long enough."

Otto kept his word: in less than ten minutes he took her to the front of an anonymous looking store, and announced that they had arrived at their destination. The air was less putrid there, and Kyra was able to resume normal breathing. A glance at the store front was enough for her to realize that Leon's business wasn't going too well: the goods on display were few, and the store's appearance, starting with its peeling paint and crumbling sign, left much to be desired. It looked as if it were on the verge of bankruptcy.

It did not strike her as an isolated case though. She had noticed many other stores in similar conditions since her arrival in Dekka. She thought of the fat merchant's rantings at the "Dancing Lion" in Mirna. He had not lied: the Factory really was making a clean sweep of the competition. Who knew what Leon's opinion on the subject would be? She must remember to ask.

"Wait here, if you want" she said.

Otto and Fishbone looked at each other, and then smiled at her.

"Go ahead, boss. When you are done, you'll find us here where you left us."

"Lucky me..." Kyra mumbled between her teeth, as she turned.

A pale wooden door with glass insets stood before her. She gingerly pushed it open, and entered a confined, poorly lit room. Rolls of fabric of various sizes were randomly stacked along the shelves. At the center of the room stood a massive desk, besieged under a small mountain of debris.

Kyra stepped forward, raising clouds of dust in her wake. She was beginning to wonder if the store had been abandoned when a man came out from the back, with a surprised and almost frightened look. He adjusted a pair of round glasses on his nose and squinted through them to better see the unexpected visitor.

"A customer?" he murmured, with a hint of a smile "I was losing all hope!"

He looked about forty years old, was of medium height, and his baldness revealed much of his scalp. His face, with its sunken eyes and strained lips suggested a deep unease.

"Are you Leon, the draper?"

"In person" he answered, as a shadow of doubt crossed his face "Who else did you expect?"

"Nobody else, just you" she said, advancing a step "But I am not here to buy from you."

Leon retreated, waving his arms.

"Leave me alone, I beg you!" he wailed "I have already told you everything! Everything I know, I swear!"

Kyra outstretched her arms.

"Calm yourself, you have nothing to fear from me! I come from the village of Mirna, on behalf of Ezer, the fisherman."

She pulled the yellowish letter from her pocket, and showed it to him.

Leon stared at her open-mouthed, but the doubt did not leave his eyes.

"If you do indeed know him, you must also know his wife's name..." .

"Her name is Anna. The old man named his boat after her."

"Right... But tell me: how does my dear Anna fare these days?"

"Not too well actually. She's been dead for years. And once you are through with these silly games, we must turn to serious matters. I have not come all this way for nothing."

An expression of relief crossed Leon's face. He stepped forward and shook her hand with enthusiasm.

"At last!" he cried "My letter found its destination! But tell me, where is Ezer? Where is the boy's father?"

"He is not here."

"He isn't? And who would you be?"

"My name is Kyra. Let's say I am... a family friend. I thought it was too dangerous for the old man to come, so I came in his place."

"A brave decision" Leon nodded, studying her. Then, with sad eyes, he said: "I am truly sorry, I did not want you or anyone else involved in this ugly story, but I saw no other way. I hope I haven't caused you too much trouble..."

"I am scraping by well enough" said Kyra, and she almost laughed aloud at the thought of the draper's expression after finding out what she had managed to do in less than a day since her arrival in Dekka.

"Very good. We need to talk! But where are my manners? Would you like something to drink, a cup of tea perhaps?"

"No, thank you, there's no need to..."

"Have a seat, please, if you can find a chair in this sea of junk! I'm going to get you something."

And with those words he disappeared into the back of the shop, leaving Kyra no time to reply. Brimming with impatience, she dropped into the first chair she found, not worrying about the dust. Leon returned a few minutes later carrying a tray on which a porcelain teapot and two old cups were precariously balanced. Kyra tried to swallow at least a finger of the foul, greenish drink, while she rattled off the sequence of events that had led her there.

Just as she had foreseen, the dealer almost jumped out of his chair when he heard about the Dock Rats.

"I can't believe it! You mean that you are now the boss of that gang of thugs? You alone have defeated that mountain of muscle with iron teeth?"

"Why, do you know him?"

Leon whistled in admiration.

"Who doesn't? I'm gobsmacked! I would have fled with my tail between my legs! I can only hope that all this fuss has not drawn the Watch's attention to you. It would be very inconvenient, especially if you are serious about helping me..."

"If I weren't, I think I would have spared myself the trip, don't you? But I need more precise information; your letter was too brief. What else do you have to tell me?"

Leon gazed into the distance as he cast his mind back to the recent past.

"As you read in my message, there has been no trace of the boy for several days already... Since that accursed night when he decided to satisfy his curiosity and I didn't even try to hold him back..."

He adjusted the glasses on his nose.

"I don't know how many times I had told him it was dangerous to wander about near the Factory, and even more so to ask questions about it, or about the Automatons! The few who tried paid dearly for it, believe me!"

"Do you know who's behind it?"

"Dinor, the governor, no doubt. And the City Watch on his payroll..."

"These are potentially damaging accusations. Do you have any proof?"

"Yes, I have very concrete proof". Leon groaned and rolled up his sleeves. "I believe it will stay with me for some time yet!"

His forearms bore several bluish bruises, the unmistakable marks of hostility.

"This is why I was so scared when you said you had been looking for me. Please excuse my candidness, but I doubt you are accustomed to making a good first impression on people..."

Kyra raised an eyebrow.

"What happened to you?"

"The City Watch. And to think that it is they who are supposed to protect law abiding citizens from scum. Bah!" He shook his head in disgust. "When Ethan vanished, I went to ask for their help. But it didn't go as I had hoped. They sent me packing with no explanation, and then three of them came to pay me a visit. They questioned me, thinking I knew things that I didn't... And when they were finally convinced that I knew nothing, they left me these reminders to drop the matter. But they made a terrible mistake!"

He slammed his fist on the table, and then drew it back, blushing.

"I am scared, I admit, but I am also furious! I will not take this lying down!" He looked at Kyra with intense eyes. "I have already suffered a great deal in the past because of abuse like this. I don't want history to repeat itself."

"I believe you" said Kyra "And we share the same aim: to find the boy and take him back home safe and sound."

"You can count on me! After sending the letter, I didn't just sit about twiddling my thumbs: I found out some interesting things from Ethan's closest friends. Apparently, the fool had infiltrated the grounds of the Factory several times before." He looked at her with curiosity. "You know what I mean, right? Here in Dekka we have spent the last few years talking about it, so it's no longer a novelty for us. But I would imagine that the Factory and its Automatons are still news outside our walls..."

Kyra nodded, trembling at the thought of the Automaton guard she had seen the previous day on her way to the docks. That boy Ethan must really be mad to have gone so close to the Factory of his own free will!

"There is no building larger than the Factory in the whole of Dekka, and perhaps not in the whole Kingdom" said Leon "It is certainly bigger than any other structure I have ever laid eyes on. The surprising thing is that it was built in under a year! And under turbulent conditions, to say the least: an entire district was razed to make way for the foundations, and the City Watch made every effort to keep the curious at a distance."

"How were they able to work so fast?"

"There are rumors that a small army of Automatons took care of all the work, and I am inclined to believe it. And of course nobody I know, neither a casual acquaintance nor a friend, was ever employed in the construction, which I think is rather strange. But where did those damnable machines come from? I am quite sure they did not fall from the sky into the governor's hands..."

"Let's get back to Ethan. Why was he so interested in the Factory?"

"I cannot say for sure. From what is rumored, the Factory's only purpose is to produce as much as it can in the shortest time possible. What does it produce? Anything! Think of anything, and you'll find it on the list. Raw materials enter one side, and finished products come out the other, ready to be traded. At least..., this is the facade that we all are shown..."

"But...?"

"But that doesn't explain all those security measures! Are they really just to keep spies out, as Dinor says? It's ridiculous! Even if I or anyone else managed to get hold of the Factory projects, we wouldn't know what to do with them, not without a huge amount of money. A governor, though, with full access to the city's coffers... Bah! The boy had noticed anomalies in the transport of products out of the Factory: there were special wagons loaded with concealed goods, armed escorts, sudden detours... In short, he felt something was wrong, and decided to investigate further."

"And he discovered something, right? Something that shocked him."

"This is what his friends have confirmed, even though they didn't seem to know much more than me. That night, when Ethan came to me... He was distraught, I had never seen him like that before. He had a strange light in his eyes when he left. I'm afraid he bit off more than he could chew, and managed to get inside the Factory. As if wandering around outside it were not dangerous enough already! This time, he never came back to tell the story."

"So this is your hypothesis: after telling you, Ethan went back to the Factory that same night. He attempted to get in, but someone saw him and he was caught, or even worse. And we still don't know whether he was alone."

"I believe he was. None of his friends appear to be as brave - or rather, as foolhardy - as to follow him in his investigation. Certainly not since he began to hang around the Factory. Any sane person would avoid that place like the plague!"

"Sensible of them" mused Kyra "Do you know anything else that may come in useful?"

"No, unfortunately. Ethan always acted with discretion, and that night was no exception. He told his friends only the bare minimum, and this is all I have managed to get from them."

"So, correct me if I am wrong, but that seems to leave us only one path" Kyra said, gravely "even though the prospect is not at all enticing. If our only clues point to the Factory, then that's where we have to begin our search."

Leon frowned.

"I wish I could disagree, but I fear you are right: the Factory is the key to everything."

They sat in silence for a while, each considering what to do, until Kyra realized that she was wasting time. She had got the information she had been looking for: now it was up to her to organize an effective plan of action.

"Thank you, Leon" she declared, leaving the still warm cup on the side; "You are a man of good heart. Few others would risk so much to help someone like Ethan."

"Ethan was - no, is! - a special young man" said Leon with a smile, "Brave, selfless, willing to do anything to solve the problems of others. And you are made of the same stuff, Kyra, judging from your intentions. I am but a timid man, trying to save what little dignity I still possess. I will give you all the information I can to help you, but do not ask me to take even a step towards the Factory, I beseech you! I don't... I can't do it!"

It seemed to Kyra that his thoughts had retreated into a distant past.

"I want everything to be resolved in the best way possible, believe me! If only I were a man of action, instead of what I am..."

"Don't be so harsh on yourself" she said, "Have faith, I will solve this matter. I promised that to a friend, and I never make promises lightly."

"I am glad to know that" said Leon, with a fleeting hint of a smile.

"Very well" said Kyra, rising "It's time to get going."

"Wait!" he held her back "I don't know how you intend to start your quest, but perhaps you will accept some advice..."

"I'm all ears."

"I think it would be foolish to try to enter the Factory from the surface: you would meet with armored doors, patrols of Automatons, and who knows what other kinds of mischief. The boy came across this kind of thing, and it did not help him."

"What should I do then? Fly?"

"Of course not. But I imagine that entering from underground may offer better opportunities."

"What do you mean?"

"The old sewer pipes: they form a network beneath the city, and I bet that not all the passages below the Factory are watched over so diligently. Surely some of your Rats must know enough about them to lead you there."

"Yes, I guess that could work..."

"And now a warning, if you will take it: the Dock Rats are not the only band of brigands here in Dekka. There are many more, and I have heard that one of them has established its headquarters somewhere down in the sewers. They are numerous, well armed, and they know the underground system like the palms of their hands. It would be a bad idea to fight them on their home ground. It would be much better to gain their cooperation. If you ever meet with their leader, show him this."

He slipped a gold ring from his finger, adorned with a green gem, and gave it to Kyra.

"I cannot be sure, but I think it will be of help."

Kyra weighed the ring in her hand, and looked with curiosity at Leon.

"Don't ask" he said, avoiding her unasked question "You will know everything in due course, if fate decrees it. And make sure you don't lose that ring, I would like to have it back on your return."

"As you wish" said Kyra, slipping the ring onto her finger "Thank you again, Leon. You are a resourceful man. I don't think you have told me all there is to know about you..."

"It is just your kind impression" he said, accompanying her to the door "Be careful, please. I don't want another missing person on my conscience."

"Fear not, I will return safe and sound, and with the boy."

"May the Gods hear you! Farewell, Kyra."

"Goodbye, Leon."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Fishbone gave a low whistle. He and Otto were loitering on a street corner.

"Such a long time boss! We were beginning to think you had sneaked out the back... Were you able to conclude your business?"

"Enough chitchat, Fishbone. Let's move back to the Old Lantern, I need your help to arrange something."

"Ohh! Not even a day in command, and you are ready for action?" he teased "We really are lucky!"

"You have no idea just how lucky..." said Kyra, wondering what would become of his enthusiasm once the goal of her mission became clear to them all.

\------

Leon stood watching them until they had disappeared from view.

He took off his glasses and laid them on a shelf. They made his head ache every time he put them on. But they were perfect for giving him an air of clumsiness...

The girl was a real stroke of luck: using the old man as his tool had been a desperate move, with little hope of success, but Kyra's appearance had changed the cards on the table. She seemed to have skill and cunning; a real fighter. Maybe he would get from her more than he had dared hope for. And all without exposing himself, which was what really mattered in the end.

Kyra... A pretty girl, as well as a strong one.

Too bad he had to send her into the belly of the beast...

He sighed.

"How many lies, Leon? Until when?"

On one thing, however, he had not lied: his conscience was already too heavy to bear another loss.

XII - The Guardian

Sitting in front of the mirror, Kyra brushed her hair slowly, relishing the simple act that reconciled her with her femininity. Lately, she thought, she had been living more like a man than a woman, and that troubled her greatly. She had seen similar transformations take place in many women soldiers: one day you stopped taking care of your appearance, then you started to talk, dress, drink like a man, and so on, until you only remembered you were a woman when undressed...

She studied her reflection in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw: high cheekbones, full lips, regular features, smooth tanned skin. Overall, a face that could bring many men to their knees. She smiled at herself with mischief, but inevitably her glance fell upon the reflection of her left eye. Crossed by a thin, bleached scar, the eye stared back at her as if it were not her own. Empty, dead and useless.

How she hated it.

Even though the flesh wound had been partially healed by time, she could not say the same of the wound that marked her soul. She remembered the agonizing days after the accident all too well, when, consumed by anger, she had wanted to erase her whole face and cease to exist. It had taken months to learn how to accept herself, and to start to feel like a complete woman again. Inside, however, the damage had been huge, and maybe permanent. She concealed her discomfort well when she was among people, and still managed to convey the idea of a strong and seductive woman, but it was a game that cost her greatly.

She thought of Dorian, so far from her that she struggled to recall the angular features of his face in their entirety. The only person in the world who really cared about her, the only person with whom she could be herself, and she had seemingly managed to erase him from her life. She also thought of Raduan, the way they had parted: his bearded face flushed with anger, his deep black eyes fixed on hers with fury. Would he ever be able to forgive her?

She almost jumped at the knock on the door.

"Come in" she said. She put the brush away, and prepared to welcome her guests.

"With permission, boss" said Fishbone, sticking his head around the door, "I have hand-picked a few individuals, as you asked."

"Good, come in. I want to meet them in person."

Fishbone came first. He was followed by a haughty-looking woman: her hard face, topped by a shock of black hair, looked neither old nor young. Slender and petite, she wore tight-fitting black clothes, and she moved like a cat. Kyra didn't remember seeing her at the feast.

She gave her a nod as she passed before her. The woman did not answer, but simply threw her a distrustful look.

The third person had to stoop to enter.

And once again, Kyra was facing that grim smile full of false teeth that she had come to know well. Kwan Shark-Teeth must really be worthy if Fishbone had called on him despite the bad blood that ran between them.

The raven-haired woman freed a chair from a pile of clothes, tossing them away unceremoniously, and sat with her legs crossed. Kwan dropped onto the bed, and for a moment Kyra thought that he was about to lie down: she made a mental note to change the sheets at the first opportunity.

She studied the three of them for a while, before speaking:

"Do you know why I have summoned you?"

"Because we are the best, I suppose" replied the woman, scornfully.

"That remains to be seen" said Kyra.

The other's eyes narrowed to slits.

"It has been proven countless times in the past, and without your approval."

"What is your name?" asked Kyra, choosing to ignore the provocation "And why have I not seen you before?"

"You have not seen me because I was not here, and I don't have to answer to you."

"There goes my authority..." thought Kyra.

"Suit yourself" she said "But didn't I ask your name?"

"Bah!" snapped the woman, annoyed by Kyra's impassiveness "If you really want to know, my name is Selita."

"And no one can move in the shadows as she does" said Fishbone.

"Hush! Why did I listen to you in the first place?"

"Perhaps because of your sense of duty..."

"Shut up or I swear I'll...!"

"Selita, then" continued Kyra, ignoring the quarrel. "If Fishbone is telling the truth about you, your skills will be of great help to us."

"Of great help for what, if it isn't too much to ask?"

"All in good time. And you, big guy" she asked the perpetually grinning Kwan "How can you be of help?"

Rather than giving her a clear answer, the man began to gesticulate, tracing signs in the air with his fingertips. Kyra was confused, and Fishbone explained:

"Kwan says that you are skilled, boss, but he also says that you may need his muscles. Brute force can count more than agility, depending on the situation."

"Well, I think we can agree on that" she replied, puzzled by the strange form of communication.

"Kwan has been dumb since birth" Fishbone told her, "Meaning he communicates in signs. And I had to learn them under duress to be able to pass on his orders to the others. The life of a right-hand man can be really hard sometimes. But what else can I do, it's all I know..."

He glanced at Kwan with a grimace of contempt, before going on:

"Anyway, I agree with him for once: you won't find two arms as strong as his in all of Dekka. Just as you won't find a mind sharper than mine, so I gave myself permission to attend this meeting."

"Ah... such modesty!" Kyra said, returning his smile.

"Now that we are all friends, could you explain why the hell you summoned us, boss?" sneered Selita, emphasising the last word with obvious sarcasm.

She was going to be a hard nut to crack, Kyra thought. For some reason, she wasn't willing to accept her authority. How was she going to react then to the request she was about to make?

"The reason? It's simple. I want you to help me enter the Factory."

Selita's pupils dilated in disbelief. Fishbone responded with a laugh, but Kyra did not accompany him, and the laughter died on his lips. He turned as white as a sheet.

"I retract everything I said: for having submitted voluntarily to this I am certainly the most foolish man in town!"

"Is that some kind of joke?" asked Selita.

"No, it isn't. I must recover something from there; or rather, someone..."

"I won't waste my time on this madness!" shouted Selita, rising to her feet.

"Go, then, but you will have to find yourself another gang. There is no place for cowards among my Dock Rats" Kyra said.

Selita gave her a look as sharp as a knife, and for a moment she seemed about to attack her physically. Then, trembling with rage, she sat back down. Kyra held her glare, before turning her attention to the other two. Kwan, who didn't seem very upset, began to gesticulate. Fishbone snorted and laughed.

"Our genius wants to know how we break through the front door. He fears the Automatons will prove too strong even for him!"

"He can rest easy: that is not how we will enter. But before we go into detail, I need to know if you will stand by me all the way."

Kwan merely grunted, with an affirmative nod. Fishbone gave a shrug, sighed, and said that he would as well. They turned towards Selita: she bit her lip, shook her head, but finally nodded.

"You can count on me: I have never stepped back in my life, and I'm not about to begin today" she said, giving Kyra a look of defiance "But let me tell you this: it's a very bad idea!"

"Perfect!" Kyra exclaimed, embracing them all with a grateful smile.

Although there was no harmony between them, that agreement was a first step. Too bad that her action plan was going to cause further quarrels.

"To begin with" she said "How about a little excursion into the city sewers?"

\------

"Brilliant!" Selita growled, shaking stinking mud from her boot. Not for the first time since they had set foot in the tunnels, she made no effort to conceal her disgust.

"If you have a better plan, I'm all ears" snapped Kyra, who had had enough of her negative attitude.

"To be honest, I've already got one! Let's turn round and go home before we suffocate in this stench..."

Kwan grunted, in an imitation of laughter.

"Very funny" snorted Kyra. "Instead of wasting time joking, why don't you try telling me where we are?"

They had been walking in torchlight for a couple of hours at least, and were slowly approaching the foundations of the Factory. Their reconnaissance of the previous days had shown that it would be useless to try to access the system from anywhere nearer their goal: to prevent intrusion of any type, every possible entry had been sealed from the outside, in a mile's radius of the Factory. Dinor had thought of everything.

After painstaking research, and undeniable stress, they had finally discovered the best access point to the sewers. A block away from the port the black mouth of a tunnel spewed waste into the sea, and it was from there that they had had to enter. Kyra's stomach turned merely recalling it. The only detail she remembered with pleasure was the patch of starry sky at the mouth of the tunnel, when she had looked back one last time before beginning the long march.

Since then, they had relied solely upon Fishbone's instincts.

Ferret-face had collected a great deal of information on the tunnel network, and roughly knew in what direction to move. Or at least that was what they were all hoping: it seemed impossible that Fishbone had not yet lost his bearings in that labyrinth of channels, trap doors and ladders, even more so considering that they were moving within the narrow circle of torchlight. An oppressive silence hung around them, broken only by their steps and by the squeaking of rats. No sound came from the streets above their heads: the layer of rock was too thick. They were completely alone in the darkness.

"We should almost be there, chief" said Fishbone, showing some hesitation "The channels are getting narrower, so..."

"We should be almost there, or we are almost there?" interrupted Selita.

"Hey, this is the first time I've ever taken a trip around the sewers, okay? Get over it! But we are heading in the right direction, I'm sure of it. As I was saying, the channels get narrower as we move toward the center of the network."

"So we're about to enter the hot zone..." said Kyra.

"Exactly. We'd better stay alert: if they've put such effort to preventing access from the outside, it is likely that there are security measures even down here."

As they cautiously walked on in silence, Kyra noticed the tunnel walls becoming ever filthier. She was trying to work out why, when an unexpected light, coming from a spot in front of them, caught her attention. They stopped and took stock of the situation. Kyra listened carefully, but couldn't hear anything abnormal. She motioned to proceed with caution.

The tunnel opened into a dimly lit space: the light source turned out to be a crack in the rock, near the ceiling. The room had a vaguely circular shape with a central pool into which the sewage flowed from three different drains. To one side, a couple of rats were fighting over an old apple core. Given the intensity of light, Fishbone reckoned it must be late morning. This meant that they must have been underground for longer than Kyra had imagined.

"Let's take a break" she suggested "This seems as good place as any."

No one complained. Kwan was the first to sit next to the pool, and the others followed. They put out their torches and enjoyed what little natural light filtered in from the outside. Tested by the long walk, and not in the mood for conversation, each remained silently absorbed in their thoughts. Kyra noticed that Fishbone kept looking at the triple junction of the tunnel, switching from one channel to the other with nervous head movements. He seemed confused about which direction to take.

"Assuming that we aren't already lost" Selita began without warning "How will we get into the Factory? They're certainly not going to be rolling out a red carpet for us!"

"One problem at a time..." Kyra said, wearily.

"Uhmpf! Thanks for that, I feel much calmer now!"

Kyra didn't reply. She had become immune to Selita's constant criticism. As long as it was just verbal, it didn't touch her. On the contrary, the woman's hostility gave her a twinge of pleasure. Perhaps she had unintentionally usurped Selita in the long line of pretenders for the gang command: this would explain her loathing. Did the viper really want her place? Let her try and take it! She threw her an innocent smile, and let Selita keep her sour look.

Kwan grunted, attracting their attention. He put a finger to his ear, and then indicated the entrance of the central tunnel. They all held their breath and focused on the sound.

"Do you hear it too?" Fishbone asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hear what?" snapped Selita.

"Shhh!" said Kyra "Yes, I can hear it... But what...?"

What at first had seemed a distant hum was becoming an increasingly intense gurgle. Whatever it was, it was advancing with speed in their direction. She glanced at the spot where the two rats had been: just as she had feared, the apple core had been abandoned. No trace of the rodents. And when the rats jump ship...

"Get up!" she shouted "I don't like it, let's go back!"

Just a few steps later, the origin of the disturbing sound was revealed: black liquid flooded towards them like an avalanche from the middle channel. It was thick, pungent and oily, and carried with it a mixture of waste, debris and half drowned rats. Fishbone, with a sharp cry, climbed on to the shoulders of Kwan, who was staring at the scene frozen. Kyra searched for a hold and managed to scale the tunnel wall at the exact moment that Selita was swallowed by the black torrent

"Now what?" she thought, stunned. She had to come up with something quickly, or they would all drown! She climbed the wall like a spider, grateful for the cracks between the bricks. She looked down: the blackish flow was almost licking her ankles. Just a little more, and...

She looked again, in disbelief. The level was falling, not rising! She was overwhelmed with relief as the black wave subsided as fast as it had appeared, to finally vanish down the gutter. As well as a thick layer of tar, it also left Selita, covered with filth from head to foot.

"W-what the hell happened?" she choked.

"I have no idea!" said Kyra, testing the ground with the toe of her boot.

"Oil..." murmured Fishbone, still clinging to Kwan's back like a bird on a perch. When he realized, he jumped down with a little cry of surprise, and blushed deeply. The giant, filthy from the chest down, scratched his head. He hadn't even noticed Fishbone's presence.

"Oil?" asked Kyra.

"Yes, the same black oil the Automatons guzzle. Is this how the Factory gets rid of it, once it is used?"

"And from here it goes straight into the sea..."

"...it spreads..."

"...and kills all the fish!"

"Fish? Who cares about the bloody fish, damn you!" snapped Selita, in her pitiful state. Kwan pulled back a strand of sticky hair from her forehead, laughing, but she slapped his hand away.

"Try to see the positive side, Selita" said Fishbone.

"For all my efforts, I still can't see it!" she spat.

"The wave of oil can only mean one thing: that we are very close to the Factory, and that the right path is through the central tunnel!"

"With a little luck, there won't be any precautions where the oil discharges" said Kyra "It might just be the entrance we're looking for!"

"Wonderful news, I can't wait to stick my head through that hole!" said Selita, wiping her face with a handkerchief.

"Let's move on" said Kyra "I don't want to be here when the next wave comes."

She retrieved one of the torches: it was covered with tar. She tried to clean it, leaving just a thin black layer at the end.

"They say it's flammable: let's see if it is true."

She busied herself with the tinderbox, and a moment later a burning flame was dancing on the tip of the torch.

"They were right. Light your torches as well, but be careful, or we will end up roasted. Especially you, Selita."

"Very funny!"

They resumed their journey along the central channel, advancing with some difficulty through the tarry quagmire. As they proceeded, the tunnel narrowed, until its width was no greater than three feet. The atmosphere became even more claustrophobic, and the darkness, like a living thing, became more oppressive: the torches were unable to cut through it for more than a few steps. To make matters worse, the air was filled with the oil's acrid smell.

They continued until Fishbone, who was leading the group, called a halt. He put a finger to his lips, asking for silence, then he gazed into the darkness in front of him searchingly. Kyra approached him, tense. She could not see or feel anything unusual, but she felt a slight discomfort in her stomach, as if something very unpleasant was about to happen.

She blinked, and two bright red orbs appeared in the darkness in front of her making her wince. A loud hum pervaded the tunnel and made the walls vibrate. The two orbs did not move, but they burnt an ever brighter red. There was a loud click, and a brilliant light forced the four companions to shield their eyes.

Kyra peeked through her fingers, semi-blinded, and saw that the light came from a series of tubes hanging from the ceiling. They were not common lights: the light they gave off was cold and white, almost alien. She forced herself to look forward, through tears, towards the red circles, and had to stifle a cry: the two orbs were nothing less than the eyes of an Automaton, whose bulk of burnished metal took up an entire section of the tunnel. She heard a curse behind her, and realised that the others had seen it too.

The metallic being stood motionless, wrapped in its irritating hum. It was as tall as the ceiling, a massive cylindrical trunk supported by two heavy metal-rimmed wheels. The head was a vertical rectangle grafted onto the upper torso, devoid of features, with the exception of the crimson eyes. But what most frightened Kyra were the creature's arms: not two, but six; long, jointed and equipped with numerous spikes, blades and hooks. That appalling arsenal left no doubt as to the function of the Automaton.

The machine began to move: with a sinister creak, it advanced towards them, slowly at first, then faster and faster. It was huge, and there seemed no way to dodge it. They had fallen into a trap: the Factory was inaccessible from that side too.

With surprising speed, Selita gripped the small crossbow she carried strapped to her back. She took aim and shot two darts in rapid succession. Both hit the moving target with precision, one in the head and the other in the torso, but they bounced off its armor harmlessly.

"Get back, hurry!" yelled Kyra.

They turned their backs on the creature and tried to outrun it. It was fast, but if they could reach the branch between the tunnels, they may be able to escape from it. When Kyra looked up however, she saw something in the cold white light that made her scream in frustration: at the mouth of the tunnel, heavy metal bars had sprung from nowhere, blocking the passage. They were trapped like rats.

She stopped abruptly, and the others almost trampled her.

"What the hell..." Selita began. Then she saw the bars, and groaned.

"We can't go back!" shouted Kyra "It will crush us against the bars. We have to make our stand here!"

"That's easy to say!" replied Fishbone, in panic "That thing will wipe us out without even noticing!"

The Automaton continued its advance, accompanied by the constant hum. Was it an impression, or was the sound increasing in a cruel throb of expectation? Its inhuman eyes blazed with the intensity of small bonfires.

Kwan pushed Kyra aside.

"Stop! There's no way out!"

The giant didn't even look at her. He ran up to a pile of waste that nearly blocked the passage - Kyra remembered stepping over it a few minutes before. He rummaged frantically among the waste in search of something useful. A moment later, he grabbed the edge of something stuck in the pile and pulled at it with all the strength he could muster, his muscles bulging. The wreck of an old door emerged: time had made it unrecognizable, but it still looked robust.

The others positioned themselves behind him. Kwan turned the door horizontally, and wedged it between the walls as best as he could, propping it up with his weight. Protected by the improvised shield, the four stood waiting for the Automaton's inevitable impact. Fishbone closed his eyes and screamed as the collision shook the walls. Even though the door sent splinters of wood all around, it withstood the crash. Kwan gave a shout of defiance, doubling the pressure, and Kyra immediately joined him.

The Automaton did not give up.

It rolled back a few feet, and then charged again, once, twice, three times, its wheels turning madly. It whirled its armed limbs and tried to attack the four from above, but Kyra kept close watch, deflecting every thrust with her dagger. Kwan, his neck veins swollen and his back muscles stretched to the limit, began to show signs of weakening.

"He won't hold up much longer, we must change our tactics!" shouted Selita in the din "Let me try something!"

She grabbed the torch and tried to hurl it over the heads of Kwan and Kyra, aiming to burn the Automaton. Fishbone only just managed to block her, snatching the torch from her hand.

"Are you crazy?" he cried "Have you forgotten that we are soaked with oil? Do you want to burn us all alive?"

"Ahh! Let me do it, you idiot! Do you have a better idea? That damn thing will break through our barrier and tear us apart!"

"Calm down! We will make it!" said Kyra, while continuing to fend off the Automaton's swift arms.

At that pace, she thought, the mechanical being would soon find a gap in her defences. The speed of the attacks was superhuman, and, unlike herself and Kwan, who would soon run out of energy, the Automaton did not show signs of fatigue... Selita was right on this at least: they had to change their tactics.

She strove to keep calm and think, despite the desperate situation - how many times had this happened with the Company? She let her trained body keep up the fight alone, like a machine with automatic reflexes, and isolated her mind in search of a solution.

Every enemy had a weak spot. It was all down to finding it before it was too late.

With a degree of recklessness she put her eye to a crack in the middle of the door. She had to analyze the Automaton's movements. She studied its figure coldly, as if she were a league away: the head, the torso, the arms and wheels. Everything seemed manufactured and assembled with skill, it was a perfect killing machine.

But just maybe...

If there was even a tiny chance of success, she had to try.

A quick glance to her right confirmed a detail that her mind had noted moments before and that would now come in very handy: she grabbed a stick and pulled it from the waste. It was even sturdier than she had hoped. She clenched it in one hand and lay outstretched under the protection of the door.

"What are you doing? Are you crazy?" Fishbone squealed, terrified.

For an awful moment Kyra found herself at the mercy of the Automaton, looming over her. Then, with a sudden, startling movement, she jammed the stick between the spokes of one of its wheels. The creature extended its arms to nail her, but it pierced the bare ground: Kyra had already slipped back to shelter.

"Fall back!" she shouted, tugging Kwan to abandon the improvised shield.

They ran after her to the bottom of the tunnel. Behind them, the cacophony from the Automaton showed no sign of letting up. When they neared the metal bars, just one impossible step away from freedom, they turned to witness the destruction of the old door. The creature's tireless mechanical arms had finally prevailed.

With the way open before it, the Automaton tried to advance, but the rod stuck in the wheel prevented it from doing so. The hum of the metal body grew in intensity, and gray smoke began to pour from its joints, as if the effort was pushing it to the limit.

"Come on!" Kyra urged, under the hopeful eyes of her companions "Come on, try harder, damn you! Destroy yourself!"

The Automaton seemed to take up the challenge, and renewed its efforts. The sound became almost unbearable. The smoke streamed out, thick and dark, and flooded the tunnel.

"Come on!" Kyra said, shaking her fists.

With a loud pop, a couple of spokes in the Automaton's wheel shattered. The stick Kyra had placed there sprang away, slamming against a wall, and freeing the wheel. Selita let out a cry of despair, and dug her nails into Fishbone's arm. Kyra's failed attempt had only delayed the inevitable.

The Automaton resumed its relentless charge.

Now free to attack again, its eyes burned like the flames of hell.

XIII - Tiny Experiments

They followed Zontar downwards, descending the narrow corridors of the Gray Tower and sinking ever more deeply into the silence of the night.

Dorian shuddered involuntarily as the light of the silvery moon, seeping in through a loop hole, hit the face of the Sage: he looked like a specter, gliding through the nocturnal calm of the tower. Raduan uneasily followed his friend a step behind, wondering what awaited them.

Magic, Zontar had said, but in a tone of voice that betrayed his amusement. Yet the Sage did not seem the kind of person to make light of the Arcane Arts: it was said that the Enlightened made extensive use of them, and surely, if Zontar was their leader... As for himself, the only contact Raduan had ever had with the Arcane Arts had been around the summer campfires, where horrible creatures and fearless magicians came to life in the verses of the bards. And perhaps, in the Ritual of Liberation. But was that even magic? Or was it something different, something that only Abel could explain?

They continued their descent in the lantern's flickering light until they reached the dark underground levels of the Tower. The damp was such that the rough rock walls were covered with water, which dripped into pools on the floor. There were numerous passages that opened off the main corridor and disappeared into the shadows down to depths untold.

"The number of tunnels down here is so great that even I know only a small portion of them" said Zontar, anticipating his guests' curiosity. "The Gray Tower still holds many surprises. I believe that some of the creatures I faced so many years ago may have taken refuge here, away from the eyes of the world..."

Unsure of whether the Sage was simply making fun of them or not, Dorian and Raduan quickened their pace, careful not to leave the circle of light cast by the lantern. After countless turns they came to a portal so massive and solid that it seemed to have been carved out of stone. Curiously, it had no handle, lock or any other opening mechanism: its surface was smooth and uniform, with the exception of a silver symbol in its centre, portraying a tower in miniature.

"This helps me to sleep soundly" Zontar said. "Look."

He put the tip of his thumb on the carved figure, and whispered a word the two could not make out. In response, the symbol emitted a faint halo of white light. There was a sharp click, like the opening of a lock, and the door slid upwards without a noise, disappearing into the ceiling.

"A rather trifling use of the Arcane Arts" said the Sage, countering Dorian and Raduan's amazed looks with a smile "But I could not ask for better protection for my laboratory: the door opens only to the pressure of my thumb, and with a keyword. There is no way to force it."

They took a step forwards in the dark. A moment later, with a flash of blinding light, dozens of lanterns lit in unison. Raduan let out a cry: before their eyes was an amazing sight. The hall was vast, and was occupied by numberless workbenches, shelves and strange devices of all shapes and sizes. There were tools, books and test tubes everywhere. Colored liquids bubbled in pots and stills. Strange scents, whistles and a buzzing filled the air with the ceaseless symphony of science. The room seemed to have a life of its own.

"The lamps light themselves, another small comfort. Please excuse the apparent mess – it is only superficial: I tend to undertake several experiments at any one time." Zontar's pride oozed from every pore. "Wonderful, isn't it?"

"It is really... fascinating" said Dorian.

"Yes... fascinating" Raduan agreed, for lack of anything better to say. He had never set foot in such a place before.

"Thank you" replied Zontar amiably. "Now follow me, please. There is something rather interesting that I would like to share with you."

They followed Zontar along the narrow space between two rows of stills. Dorian paid close attention to where he put his feet, careful not to step on anything. Raduan almost burned himself when he involuntarily bumped against a scorching cauldron.

"Be careful how you go!" said Zontar "If you want to lose a limb, at least try not to do so at the expense of my experiments!"

"Sorry" Raduan blushed, rubbing his hurt arm.

"Uhmpf! All right, we are almost there."

Zontar approached a stone workbench at the center of the room, and drummed his fingers on the rough surface. The attention of his two guests was drawn to the items on display on the counter: a sword, a shield and a pair of boots. Nothing special, at first glance.

"I would like you to assist me with a little experiment" said Zontar, smiling "Nothing dangerous, do not worry. It will help you to understand better. Commander Dorian, wear those boots please: I think they are roughly your size. And take the sword and shield..."

Dorian obeyed, though he felt some trepidation. Raduan followed him with a grin, happy that he hadn't been chosen as the guinea pig.

"And you, Master Raduan. Please get that club and that shield."

Now it was Dorian's turn to smile as Raduan reluctantly did what had been requested of him.

"Good!" declared Zontar, with a certain excitement. "We are going to feign a brief struggle. But, as you will see, not everything is what it seems!"

"Are you sure that...?" Raduan protested, but the Sage calmed him:

"There is no risk, don't worry. Now take a few steps away from each other... That's it, perfect! Let the show begin! Master Raduan, attack your Commander. And Dorian, do not try to parry the blow: just dodge it. And pay attention to your balance!"

Raduan, nervous, prepared to attack.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I always am" said Dorian, winking.

Raduan stepped forward and aimed a blow from above, without great enthusiasm. Dorian dodged it by leaping backwards, as he had been asked to do. To his great surprise, despite having made little effort to escape the feeble blow, he found himself floating three feet above the ground. He landed clumsily on his heels and nearly fell. Raduan stared at him open-mouthed.

"Very good!" Zontar laughed, clapping his hands "Did you enjoy the experience, Commander?"

"But... how...?" Dorian stammered, looking at his feet. Where had all that momentum come from?

"Let's leave the explanations aside for now. Let's continue with the experiment! Repeat the sequence, please. Only this time Dorian, you should parry with your shield. And as for you, Master Raduan, put a little more energy into those strikes please!"

Raduan turned a doubtful look to his friend, as if to ask if he should go on. Dorian nodded. He advanced almost on tiptoe, fearing that the boots would play a trick on him. As agreed, Raduan repeated the previous attack, but this time with greater momentum. Dorian stood firmly and lifted his round shield to protect his head.

The moment Raduan's club touched the surface of the shield it was enveloped in a blaze of blue light, and the club bounced off it as if repelled by an invisible barrier. A blue flash spread from the shield to the club, sizzling down to the handle and to the hand that held it. Raduan cried out in pain and dropped the weapon.

"What kind of joke is this?" he exclaimed, angrily. His hand had become as inert as a piece of wood.

"Calm yourself Master Raduan! It will pass in a moment. The shield is set to stun, nothing worse" said Zontar.

"Unbelievable!" murmured Dorian, unable to look away. The blue light on the shield died down until it disappeared.

"A formidable means of defence" the Sage said "But we are not done yet. It is time for the sword! And I am sure you will enjoy this even more!"

"I wouldn't be so sure..." Raduan grumbled, uncomfortable with the turn of the events.

"Fear not, Master Raduan, no harm will come to you this time! Hold the shield before you, away from your body. Now Commander, hit him with the sword!"

"Why am I always the one to take a beating?" muttered Raduan, but the Sage did not heed his words.

Dorian studied the blade for a few moments, wondering what would happen this time. Then he attacked: he directed an irresolute blow at Raduan's shield, afraid of hurting him. Raduan stiffened his muscles and held his breath, expecting some kind of violent reaction.

Clang!

Raduan peered over the edge of the shield and gave Dorian a quizzical look. His friend shrugged. Nothing had happened.

"I forgot!" said Zontar "The sword needs a... touch of magic. Utter this word while you strike, commander: Azvan. The rest will follow."

"As you wish."

This time, an instant before the sword completed its arc, he pronounced the word in a determined voice:

"Azvan!"

With a hiss, the blade shone with a burning orange light, like a fiery bolt. It sank up to the hilt into the thick metal of Raduan's shield, cutting it in two as if it were made of butter. The severed half fell to earth with smoldering, burnt edges, while the other was left hanging from the fingers of a shocked Raduan. The warrior stared at the glowing blade, just a foot away from his nose, and once more wondered if the Sage really deserved his title.

Dorian was speechless. A weapon like that rendered any kind of armor useless. In all likelihood, it could even breach the walls of a fortress.

"Your expressions say it all" Zontar remarked smugly. "But this is just a tiny example of the power of the Arcane Arts."

"An appalling power, in my opinion" said Dorian, poised between excitement and fear.

"No doubt, Commander. And this explains why I treat these things with the utmost discretion. If such artifacts should fall into the wrong hands it would be a source of enormous trouble for us all." He rubbed his brows. "As a matter of fact, they are unstable, and they do not have an endless energy supply at their disposal. For this reason alone they could never make a man all-powerful. Nevertheless, the temptation to possess such artifacts is a very hard one to resist..."

He shot an ambiguous look towards Dorian.

"Talking of which... You may return the items now please. The exhibition is over."

Dorian did so unflinchingly. Not for a single moment had it occurred to him to do otherwise: he did not trust that sword, nor the shield and the boots despite their extraordinary powers. Maybe because of them.

"Thank you, Commander" said Zontar, putting the items back in their place. "I imagine that at this point you may want to learn more about their inner workings. As I said, these are but a drop in the ocean of possibilities that the Arcane Arts can offer. But if you look more deeply, all of these items – these magical items, if you like - belong to the same family. They spring from the same source. I would like to explain this to you better, if I may. Let us get more comfortable."

He cleared a bench of books and test tubes and freed some space for the two warriors. He sat beside them, and began to explain:

"From the beginning, man has always been interested in the study of natural phenomena and the mechanisms that lie behind them. There is nothing new there. Let us take fire for example. Our discovery of how to make it was one of the first scientific breakthroughs of our civilization. For how long have we known how to light a fire, how to keep it alive, how to tame it and use it to achieve our ends? Knowledge is passed down from generation to generation, increasing and improving it whenever possible, and the history of fire is no exception: we now have lamps, furnaces, forges, all these tools that were once unthinkable, and yet all share the same root, based on the initial discovery of how to start fire."

"True", said Raduan. Dorian merely nodded.

"If you look, you will begin to realize that this process takes place in every area of our knowledge. First there is some kind of discovery, based on the observation of a natural phenomenon. This discovery is then expanded on and deepened to serve specific purposes. This research is put into practice through the creation of instruments and tools, which become more and more refined as time passes. And when possible, the details of each stage of the process are recorded in writing, shared among scholars and handed down to future generations."

Zontar paused, making sure that the two Company members had followed his train of thought.

"So far nothing new, am I right? Please excuse me for the long preamble, I tend to lose track of time when talking about such subjects!"

"We are in no hurry."

"That is good, but we should get to the point. There is only one area of knowledge where the process works in reverse: I refer to the Arcane Arts, which the ignorant call magic. We can forge artifacts of great power with them, as you have seen. But the absurdity of this is that nobody has any idea of how or of when the Arcane Arts originated! There are no chronicles, no gradual evolution over time... The truth is that we have based our studies on a small number of artifacts found over the years at the four corners of the Kingdom, and that is all. Ancient artifacts, manufactured by whom? We don't know. And in most cases we have no understanding of how they work."

Dorian and Raduan exchanged dismayed looks. All the legends and fantastic stories they had heard since childhood showed the Sages as the legitimate creators and custodians of the Arcane Arts! Neither of them had been expecting that this ancient tradition of thought would be placed in doubt by the Sage Zontar himself, the leader of the Enlightened.

"Basically, as you have probably guessed" continued Zontar, with a rueful smile "We are not as wise as we are purported to be. For several centuries the Sages have invested time and resources in the search for ancient artifacts of power, so as to study their behavior and attempt to reproduce it. However, this has often been without result, or worse, with disastrous effects. For this very reason, every time a scholar of the Arcane Arts is successful in an experiment, it is his duty to put everything down in writing, so that the precious achievement is not lost."

"Indeed" said Raduan.

"This was one of the reasons that gave rise to the ancient Guild of the Sages: the need to share and pass on the knowledge acquired. Unfortunately, this was also the main cause of the fracture within the Guild, and its parting between the Brotherhood of the Enlightened, which I myself founded, and those accursed Children of the Night! Some of us think that knowledge should be shared and used for the good of humanity. Others believe that it should be an instrument of power."

"Crawl..." murmured Dorian, remembering Abel's teachings. The Black Shaman was the backbone of the Children of the Night.

"Indeed. He and many others of his kind, unfortunately" Zontar conceded, frowning. "The world would be a far better place if the Sages were still united under the same purpose as before." He sighed. "But we are digressing. Excuse me if I repeat myself: there was no ancient testimony on the use of the Arcane Arts, of that I am certain. The oldest known text on the subject is 'On the Artifacts of Power', written by the great Ceilon, yet it contains nothing but the summarized description of preexisting artifacts! There is nothing to indicate from when or whence the artifacts came!"

Zontar saw the dismay on the warriors' faces.

"I realize how unlikely this sounds, and I share your frustrations. I will tell you though that despite the many uncertainties about the origins of the Arts, we have had many breakthroughs over the decades. We are now able to explain and partly reproduce phenomena that our predecessors would have considered to be of divine nature. You have seen it with your own eyes!"

The Sage winked at Raduan, and gave him a proud smile.

"The three items that you saw at work are the result of my modest skills. I tried to reproduce the behavior of artifacts that I had studied, and I was more successful than I had imagined. Would you like to know how?"

His eyes widened.

"Pay careful attention, as I am about to explain to you the basis for everything related to the artifacts of power and their functions. The very root of the Arcane Arts..."

And now for some chit chat...

Alas, gentle reader, here ends the first part of the tale...

Thank you for following me this far!

This is only the beginning of the adventures of Kyra, Dorian and Raduan, originally written in Italian: the second part of "City of the Automatons" awaits, as do "The Forge of Destiny" and "The Eternal Flame".

I hope it has been an enjoyable and exciting read up to this point! I would be very grateful if you could give me five minutes of your time to let me know your opinion at: francesco.bertolino@gmail.com

Translating my work into English is not an easy task, but if you would like to read on, and if you, like me, are eager to continue, please make some noise and let me know!

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With affection,

Francesco
