Kovak woke before sunrise and slipped away from camp, leaving his companions to sleep a while longer. He spared no time tracking down his breakfast in the form of a great hare.

  He ate quickly, then sat a while, first in meditation and then in contemplation. He intended to bring up the “terrible dark” he overheard his companions discussing the prior night, and reiterate his own intuitive misgivings about the future.

  His thoughts centered on how to broach the subject, and what he would actually say to Mlasha and Pidwermin when he returned to camp. He wouldn’t press the matter too deeply, he decided, and would settle for an honest conversation and suggestions on how to proceed.

  The wyvern ahead of them would remain the central theme for this day and perhaps the next few days, depending on how things unfolded once they reached the Waywards. A warrior should never look beyond his present or next adversary and become distracted by a future that did not yet exist. Instead, one needed to patiently accept the current challenge and remain present within the moment while handling the work at hand.

  A quick glance ahead, however, was often both prudent and advantageous. As the Faolchu maxim stated: The wise general wields his main forces against the army before him but sets his scouts and spies on the militia forming across the canyon.

  Magic to Dispel a Hangover

  Tiny bubbles began to half-form and percolate on the black, shiny surface of the liquid. The purple frog poked a stick through one of the metal rings on the pot’s side and swooped it from the glowing ashes, setting it atop a small wooden table.

  A sugar jar, silver spoon, and honey ramekin formed a half-circle on the table’s glossy surface, with a large coffee mug in the center. Now, a steaming pot of fresh, black, and probably overpriced coffee sat beside the neatly arranged condiments.

  The giantess nibbled at a loaf of cucumber bread as she watched the frog mix the sweeteners into his coffee, the dull throbbing between her eyes growing steadily as the fog of sleep gradually receded. She judged by her purple companion’s half-scowl that he felt at least as badly, perhaps a little worse than she did.

  Having mixed and stirred to his satisfaction, Pidwermin turned the mug bottom-up to his mouth. Unfazed by the hotness of its contents he chugged the entire beverage with a single gulp, exaggerating an “ah” thereafter and wiping his mouth with the forearm of his shirt.

  “There now.” He proclaimed, the last traces of a scowl melting away from his visage. “Much better. Now for you, my dear.” He turned his attention to the giantess, produced a small vial from a belt pouch and tossed it towards her.

  Mlasha caught the vial between her thumb and finger, being careful not to crush it. “What’s this?” she inquired flatly. The throbbing between her eyes had reached the bridge of her nose and the inside corner of each eye.

  “It won’t taste pleasant, but it will dispel the aftereffects of too much wine.” Pidwermin assured her.

  Without hesitation the giantess flipped the vial’s plug away with her thumb and downed its contents. Immediately she gasped, her face wrinkling and reddening. “OH, gods of Ammerul!” she rose to her feet and shook her head, trying to hurl the awfulness from her taste buds.

  She placed her hand to her mouth and pressed tightly, closing her eyes and standing very still. After a moment her face softened, she lifted a waterskin and took a long gulp.

  “Very good.” the frog encouraged her. “Plenty of water today. You must rehydrate after a good bender.”

  The headache had completely vanished, along with the grogginess. “Thanks Dwerm…” she caught herself and promptly corrected. “I mean Pidwermin!”

  “You’re very welcome.” Pidwermin looked over his travelling litter, seeing that all his packs and bags were properly secured and neatly arranged. The table with the coffee and sweeteners was gone.

  “All packed and ready, are you?” Mlasha asked.

  “Nearly.” Pidwermin’s voice sounded a little distant, indicating he was involved in some sort of decision-making at the moment. “I think I shall put the litter away for a while. Seems a bit cumbersome or maybe just too formal for our business today. What do you think?”

  “You mean you’re just gonna leave your wardrobe and booze and all your spell ingredients here and hop to the Waywards?” Mlasha sounded incredulous.

  “Of course not. I’ll pack everything away and take it with us. As for hopping all the way, I’d hoped I may hitch a ride with you milady.”

  “Sure Dwer...” she faked a cough. “Sure you can ride on my pack. I suppose I’ll need to carry the litter in a duffle bag or can we make Kovak do that?”

  “Is that all I am to you Mlasha?” Kovak’s voice arose from the pre-dawn shadows. “A beast of burden?” the wolf emerged from a stand of small trees fifty yards from the remnant fire and strolled over to his companions.

  “Dammit”. Mlasha stomped the ground for emphasis. “Well done, I had no idea you were near.”

  “That makes us even from last night.” Replied the wolf coolly.

  “Ranger games.” Pidwermin mused. “Charming as ever.”

  Knowing well his friend hated to be startled or caught off guard, Kovak did what he imagined any true friend would do. “How many times have I caught you off your guard this past month, lord constable? Six, or is it seven now?”

  The frog gave the wolf a side glance and raised an eyebrow, then foisted his snout high with a grunt, hoping to signify that he couldn’t be less interested in the answer to that question. “Perhaps I merely play along to encourage you.” he lied with as much haughtiness as he could muster.

  It seemed like not so long ago when his senses were nearly as keen as his canine partner’s. He knew the booze was dulling his edge, but he apparently had little control over the matter.

  The drinking had taken on a spirit of its own, one that wielded great authority over when, where, and how much would be consumed. The purple frog merely acted as host for this spirit, having no say nor even influence in certain areas of his own life.

  “I got this for you at Danbhelm.” Mlasha had taken something from her nearby pack and tossed it towards Kovak. The wolf softly palmed and caught the object, which weighed more than he expected.

  He turned his hand over and opened it palm up to inspect what he had caught. He found an iron ring with four flower-like petals set like the ends of a cross around its perimeter. Heavy runic symbols, engraved deeply into the metal, ran along the circumference of the brooch.

  “It’s Duarden.” Mlasha informed him.

  “I can see that.” the wolf affirmed. “It’s very well made, and striking.”

  “Now get rid of that broken down clasp before you lose your cloak in the breeze.” she pressed.

  “Thank you.” Kovak took another long look at the brooch, then replaced the beaten and worn clasp that loosely held his cloak together with the stout new piece. “What does it say? What do the runes mean?”

  “For a friend.” Mlasha replied.

  “Then it’s perfect. I shall wear it always. By the look of its make it will easily outlast me.”

  “Indeed. Dwarven ironwork might easily persist another five-hundred years.” Pidwermin confirmed the wolf’s musing about the brooch outlasting him.

  The frog had changed his garments and now sported a blue waistcoat over an orange shirt of fine silk. His trousers were pale green.

  Mlasha noted the travelling litter and breakfast table were both gone. She shook her head briskly and blinked twice. She started to say something but struggled to find the words.

  Seeing the confusion on her face, mouth agape on the verge of forming a question, the frog made eye contact with the giantess and patted a bulging pouch hanging from his belt. The purse was no larger than a good-sized wallet.

  Mlasha let her question go, turning her attention to the work before them. “Are we ready to move then?”

  “Nearly so.” Kovak responded. “First, I must confess overhearing part of your conversation last evening. I would like to know more about this “terrible dark” your people speak of, for I myself have sensed trouble – for lack of a better word – looming in the future.

  “Do your people not speak of such an evil time?” Mlasha asked.

  “No, nor have I myself witnessed such times in my two and one-half centuries living. Perhaps my homeland is too far removed from these lands.”

  “Perhaps.” The giantess agreed. “What do you want to know? I will tell you what I can.”

  Kovak thought a moment before responding. “I have felt a sense of unrest with regards to the future, seen flashes of war and a great struggle, though I cannot discern who the enemy is.”

  “War always seems to be part of the stories known to my people about the terrible dark. There are always skirmishes between clans over resources and territory, but the great wars of the dark times are often waged on the whole of my people by outside forces. For example, the Scourge, a tyrant necromancer who sought to rule the entire north and annihilate the giants and humanoid races.”

  “What did you call him Pidwermin?” the giantess was pleased with herself for using the right name this time.

  “Vinresh the Cleanser.” the frog replied. “A sorcerer of extreme power and equal madness. He thought himself a god, at least until the Al Kari and the good dragon Hevusteninnus destroyed him.”

  “I have not heard this tale.” Kovak admitted.

  “Ooh it’s a good one!” Mlasha assured her friend. “Was well before my time but the stories of the elven armies is a grand telling. Those Al Kari were brave and valiant, but,” she eyed the frog with a gentle smirk, “It was of course the Duarok who eventually slew the evil magician.”

  “Of course.” The frog feigned concession. “And if you ask the dwarves, it was the Duarden. The Shai Hai Ula will tell you their people vanquished the threat. We’ll never know the truth of course; too many tribes and nations survived to claim victory and thus narrate the affair to history.”

  “What do you mean we’ll never know?” the giantess sounded confused. “I just told you it was the Duarok who bested the necromancer.”

  Thinking he may have heard the slightest hint of ire in Mlasha’s voice, Pidwermin quickly righted himself. “Yes, you did! Good heavens my hangover may not yet be gone after all. Apologies dear.”

  “Maybe you need some more of that coffee stuff you drink.” the giantess could not have been more sincere in her concern for the frog, her facial expression that of a genuinely worried friend.

  “He’ll be fine.” Kovak regained control of the conversation. “One thing I do feel strongly is that I, and perhaps we, shall be taken or called elsewhere during at least some of the dark times.”

  “Elsewhere?” Mlasha sounded like a young child when her curiosity was roused.

  “I cannot say where as I have not seen. It is, however, a strong and distinct feeling.”

  “Intriguing.” The frog spoke up. “There is ever the possibility the king will make war on his nemesis and the isle of Myrrha. It seems unlikely the duchy will be mobilized with his forces, given the duke’s declaration of independent sovereignty.”

  “Perhaps the war will be made not on Myrrha but on the duchy.” Mlasha added. “King Jeslinan has hated Duke Mershod bitterly since that declaration.”

  “It’s possible.” the frog admitted. “Though I’d reckon the king would be less eager to attempt what he knows will be a long, difficult affair than what he deems an easy victory. His Majesty somehow manages to delude himself into thinking the queen of Myrrha is a frail adversary.”

  “War can come from unexpected enemies as well. Perhaps there is a previously unseen threat. Or, our displacement might have nothing to do with warfare at all, but pertain to some other matter altogether.” The wolf paused for effect. “We must be vigilant and at the ready for the unexpected.”

  “Sound advice.” Mlasha agreed.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Hear, hear.” Pidwermin made clear his support as well.

  “What more do the stories of your Shkamtas relay about the dark times?” Kovak pressed without sounding too assertive.

  Though Pidwermin held the formal authority and acted as a father figure in their trio, the wolf had quickly earned his station as their practical and tactical leader. The training from his Eshj Eshja had molded the mind of a young Faolchu apprentice into that of a disciplined, shrewd, and capable warrior and commander. He had led others of his kind into battle many times prior to being displaced from his homeland.

  “Disasters are a common theme. Earthquakes, great storms, some of the very old tales even speak of the mountains and seas moving.” Mlasha checked the straps and buckle of her pack.

  “There is little we could do to prevent or defeat such events. I suppose if a great earthquake is to take us then it was fated to be.” Kovak did the same for his pack.

  “Probably true.” Pidwermin added. “At the same time, Aris Hagelin teaches that a magical solution exists for every problem. You might say it’s a sort of contract between the first magicians and the gods who taught them the Art.”

  “Who is Harris Maggelan?” asked Mlasha. “You mean he can stop an earthquake?”

  “Aris Hagelin.” the frog corrected. “It’s a magical tradition into which I am initiated.”

  “You mean you could stop an earthquake?” Mlasha’s eyes grew large as pears.

  “Doubtful milady.” the frog gently dashed the giantess’ hopes.

  “Oh.” Her eyes contracted to the size of plums as a slight frown formed. In the center of this half-frown her mouth took on a circular, pouty shape with the slightest of gaps between the top and bottom lips.

  “No don’t sulk young lady. The sight pains me.” Pidwermin encouraged the giant beauty. “That’s not to say there is no solution. I shall do my research and see what I might find.”

  “Good thinking Dw., I mean doo de doo le doo, that’s some good thinking frog! Do de le de.” However ridiculous her attempt to feign casual humming may have been, as it turned out the giantess had a lovely singing voice.

  “Last night after everyone went to sleep I did a bit of pondering.” the frog explained. “I remembered a book I’d borrowed from Lady Mershod’s library.”

  “You’ve been courting the duke’s lady again.” Mlasha teased. “You better be careful D-Pidwermin.”

  “Mind out of the gutter youngling.” the frog scolded. “Her Grace has a fabulous collection of old occult manuals and history books; that is my only interest in her.”

  “If you say so.” Mlasha winked at the frog.

  Pidwermin cleared his throat. “As I was saying I remembered a book I had read by a sage called Corrulius at the Wise Towers in Baaltar. He wrote at length about a one-thousand year cycle; at the time I found it somewhat interesting but eventually forgot about it and never finished the book.”

  “I see.” Kovak nodded. “A book about an unspecified cycle that you never finished. Profound indeed.”

  “Wise ass!” the frog countered, all the while appreciating the sharpness of the wolf’s jab. His lupine companion was a good study and had learned much of the ways of sarcasm in their time together.

  The three rangers laughed briefly. Seldom were things too grim for this group of friends to find a moment of humor.

  “Forgive me.” the wolf laughed once more. “I could not refrain.”

  “I asked for it through my ambiguity.” Pidwermin admitted. “That and my elongated pause before continuing with my point.”

  “Now if I may?” he checked with the wolf and the giantess.

  “Please do.” said Mlasha.

  “I await breathlessly.” said Kovak.

  The three laughed again, then composed themselves.

  “Breathlessly, really?” the frog challenged. “As I was saying this Corrulius laid out his hypothesis about a one-thousand year cycle. Curious that he did not mention the Herald and Prince.”

  “Regardless he cataloged many historical events from the past five-thousand years; the good, bad, ugly, and pretty as they say. He then aligned these events with his proposed cycle.” The frog had one arm elbow deep in one of his pouches by this time.

  He pulled a book from the pouch and opened it to a bookmarked page. “Here it is: He actually begins the cycle with three-hundred and twelve years of what he calls relative peace – notable events occurring herein include the treaty between Izrad and Sarda that tendered three centuries of peace, the good dragons revealing themselves to the races, and so on.”

  “This is followed by forty-two years of, as he says, upheaval.” the frog looked at his companions. “Examples of events in this portion of the cycle include the assassination of the second Pylon and the flood that struck southern Myrrha.”

  “Next seventy-one years of stability and abundance.” the frog went on. “He cites the discovery of diamonds in southern Ziliador and the trade agreement between the Katuwazi and Guths.”

  “Next we have Mlasha’s terrible dark, which Corrulius describes as a time of general turmoil and suffering, complete with famines, pestilence, and a general rise of evil characters and creatures lasting three-hundred-thirty-six years! He of course cites examples as we have already done.” the frog closed the book.

  “Thereafter his cycle includes twenty-seven years of relief and mending, a dozen years of strife, a century of replenishment, another century of chaos, after which the cycle begins anew with the three-hundred and twelve years of peace.” the frog took a breath before continuing. “He backs all this up with recorded history; it is a compelling case to be sure.”

  “Fascinating.” said the wolf.

  “Another smarty pants agrees with the lore of my people.” Mlasha gloated.

  “So when we notice the world around us sliding into the abyss, that would indicate the darkness is upon us and set in.” the wolf observed, then fitted his cuirass over his torso and began fiddling with the buckles.

  “A sensible conclusion.” The frog agreed.

  “My people also tell of the natural evils and how they will rise.” the giantess added.

  “Natural evils?” Kovak asked as he adjusted his right pauldron.

  “Oh yes.” The giantess continued. “Spirits and forces of a dark twist that are bound to a location or region.”

  “Like the haunts of the swamp to our north?” the wolf inquired further as he drew his sword belt tightly into place, insuring the scabbard was firmly supported.

  “Not exactly.” the giantess clarified. “The kind of spirits I’m talking about aren’t dead. They’ve never been alive in the corporeal sense. These are demons and other nasty things that dwell in accursed spots or locales where the environment has claimed many lives.”

  “Earthbound evils.” Pidwermin added. “Indeed terrible phenomenon.”

  “Fey Nom Anon?” Mlasha asked. “I haven’t heard of that demon before? Where is its nest? Sounds awful.”

  After a thoughtful pause the frog reassured his ettin companion. “Oh it is my dear but fret not. It lairs far, far away from here.” He made a mental note to avoid using that word in the presence of the giantess thereafter.

  Kovak frowned as he looked down at his large, sturdy leather pack. The top flap laid back to reveal tightly arranged rows and columns of items fitted into place.

  Two blankets, fifty feet of rope coiled and tied off, two empty water bladders, two full water bladders, a small box of small nails, a man-sized hammer, four long bones lashed together with twine, and much more.

  These were only the first layer or two that he could see without removing contents. The wolf shook his head.

  “Oh did something spill?” Mlasha asked. “I hate when that happens.”

  “No.” the wolf answered. “It’s just too laden with too many odds and ends. I’m of half a mind to throw the whole damned pack into the river and start over when we reach the Waywards.”

  “Oh my goodness.” the frog spoke up. “Aren’t you holding a few potions for me? Oh yes healing potions; good to have you know. I think I may have stashed a few blank scrolls in a side pocket as well.”

  Kovak stared at the frog without a word.

  “Yes, good heavens.” Pidwermin palmed the side of his own head. “I nearly forgot about those new coasters I got for the Lady Mershod, and of course the two vials of ink that arrived by courier a few days ago.”

  “Ink?” the wolf repeated incredulously. “After that last spill…”

  “Did I forget to mention those?” the frog cut him off. “Mind you these vials are of Gnamil design, to include a rubber gasket that’s guaranteed leakproof! Those gnomes are ingenious are they not?”

  Mlasha laughed.

  Kovak half-growled.

  “Oh!” the giantess fussed. “Don’t you take that tone with me.” She laughed some more.

  “Really Kovak.” the frog scolded. “It’s just a few small things. If it’s that much trouble I’ll reorganize things when we get to the forest and see if I can take some of it off your hands.”

  “Do your belt pouches and bags not hold unlimited volumes of material?” the wolf held his arms out with his palms facing upwards. “I fail to understand why I must safeguard your tedium and try to carry all of our day-to-day supplies in a mundane pack.”

  “Well.” the frog folded his arms and looked away. “Forgive my daft inconsideration, sir.”

  “You’re forgiven.” Kovak informed the frog.

  “Good.” the frog didn’t miss a beat. “Thank you. It’s not a matter of space, you see, but an issue with how that space is arranged. I simply need to make the time to re-organize my travelling inventory and I promise to do just that once we’ve finished with this wyvern problem.”

  “I’ll believe this when I see it.” the wolf admitted.

  “Just give me the damned items here and now!” the frog retorted.

  He fumbled in his pouches and finally produced a metal ring upon which hung several empty pouches. “I’ll just start a new pouch and call it Kovak’s rejects.”

  The wolf initially had no qualms about returning the various items to the frog. He would feel no guilt in making Pidwermin carry his own knick-knacks and miscellany. It would take time to find and dig out everything, of course.

  “Let’s have it then.” the frog now stood, empty pouch in one hand, with the other hand extended palm up.

  Kovak considered the situation for a few seconds, then said: “Why not just give me that pouch and I’ll store the entire pack therein?”

  A brief silence emerged as all three rangers considered this stunningly obvious proposition. Mlasha broke that silence, as she often did under similar circumstances.

  “Really.” she gave the frog a shame-on-you look. “You have a whole ring of those things. Why haven’t you given Kovak and I both one before now?”

  The frog had no immediate answer. After some silent stammering and a few awkward facial expressions with accompanying hand gestures he shared his conclusions.

  “My typical unintended selfishness I suppose.” Pidwermin spoke without sarcasm. “I just get so caught up solving this or that problem, or making these or those plans or generally musing about one thing or another and I tend to forget about simple things that I ought to give attention to.”

  “Who among us is perfect?” Kovak offered.

  “Well give us each one of the damn things.” Mlasha remained focused.

  “Yes of course.” the frog complied, handing a magical belt pouch to each of his companions. “I’m really quite sorry I didn’t think of that before now.”

  “Thanks Dwer… dammit, dammit, dammit!” Mlasha grabbed one of the pouches. “You know what I mean to say!”

  “Thank you.” Kovak took the other pouch and pulled the drawstrings open.

  “So I just?” He motioned with one hand as if placing something into the pouch.

  “Just start with a corner of the pack if you like.” Pidwermin explained. “You’ll find the pouch accommodates the girth and size of whatever you present it with.”

  Mlasha had already begun stuffing items from her pack into her new magical beltpouch. “I’ll just lighten the load a bit but leave the pack out for you to ride on.”

  “How thoughtful.” said the frog. “Thank you my dear.”

  Kovak eased the corner of his pack into the mouth of the small pouch. He shifted the pack a little and more of it disappeared into the tiny pouch. The mouth of the pouch opened impossibly wide to allow the width of the pack to enter, after which the wolf simply guided the large backpack, frame and all, down into the beltpouch, which remained quite small. In the end the pouch looked as if it held perhaps fifty coins.

  “It will never be larger than that.” the frog informed him.

  “There.” Mlasha was apparently satisfied with the amount of gear transferred from her pack into the new pouch.

  “Thank you both for indulging my questions this morning.” Kovak concluded the morning pow-wow by adjusting his belt and fastening the new pouch near his fighting knife, then strapping his harness of eight throwing knives over one shoulder and diagonally across his chest. “The conversation was both fascinating and unsettling. Shall we depart?”

  ?