The sun began to peek over the mountain range behind the party as they moved slowly and evenly on the flat plane. The occasional fluttering and beating of quail, disturbed and displaced by the early morning travelers, was the only ambient sound.

  To an observer the small crunch of their footfalls on the tall, dry grass would have sounded too faint for such large creatures. There was nobody on the plane to note this fact, for the populace was sparse in this region of the duchy.

  Kovak and Mlasha walked almost in stride through the open field, with the wolf half a pace behind and to her left. The pair made pleasant conversation about the niceness of the fall day as they traversed the easy terrain. They would purposely stay off the road for as long as possible to avoid alarming any local traffic they might encounter.

  The wolf’s right elbow rested comfortably on the hilt of his massive sword. His left hand drifted unencumbered with the rhythm of his steps, ready in an instant to dart across his waist and draw the fearsome blade.

  Mlasha’s spear reached six feet above her head, longer than most human pikes. The head was a standard taper, like an arrowhead only much larger, with the distinction of a double-edged blade running the full two feet from base to tip. Swinging from a hook on the gargantuan beauty’s belt was her mace, with its immense bronze head mounted on a shaft of treated oak.

  She wore piecemeal armor, for greater mobility and less encumbrance. A wide pauldron on her left shoulder included an extended plate that covered her collarbone and upper chest, while a series of small plates on her belt supported a plackart that protected her lower abdomen and a chainmail skirt fell to her knees. Leather bracers splinted with steel bands protected each forearm from the wrist to the elbow.

  Pidwermin rode on the lady giant’s pack, perched comfortably over her right shoulder. “Keep this angle and we’ve got about a thirty mile hike.”

  The frog did not need the map he reviewed as he spoke, but he felt it made him look less like a showoff to at least pretend he was consulting it.

  “This really is the best approach; not only does it avoid the swamp but it keeps us off the road almost the whole way.” he went on. “If we were to take the road we’d actually add more time to the trip because we would essentially have to backtrack to reach the causeway.”

  “You used the map to calculate an exact angle of approach to make the best time possible.” Mlasha observed.

  “I did.” the frog confirmed. “I actually had the easy job. Mathematics did the heavy lifting for me.”

  “Who is Mathi Mattis?” the giantess asked, sounding somewhat alarmed.

  “No dear, math-e-mat-ics.” the frog corrected. “The use of numbers to figure all sorts of things out.”

  “Oh ok.” the giantess nodded. “Like all that figuring you did last night with the dates of certain events to figure out how things aligned with certain divine powers.”

  “That was numerology.” Pidwermin clarified. “A different sort of number science.”

  Mlasha shook her head. She wanted to follow what the frog meant but was already a little flustered.

  Sensing this Pidwermin took charge of the conversation before a barrage of questions might ensue. “If you keep the exact trajectory I showed you when we started we’ll arrive at the base of the Reach just prior to the forest wherein sit the Waywards.”

  “The reach is called a peninsula in the common language, right?” the giantess had become a collector of facts in her time with the frog. She showed a true interest in learning.

  “That is correct dear.” Pidwermin encouraged Mlasha’s studiousness, even if he did at times recoil from half a dozen questions in rapid succession.

  “The first settlement is a trading post called Narooh, is that right?” Kovak already knew the answer to this question.

  “That’s right.” Spoke Mlasha. “The next settlement, the village of Storm Haven, made the complaint about the wyvern over a month ago. I wish we could have made this journey sooner.”

  “I know, as do I, but we had business elsewhere. We shall end their torment presently.” said the wolf.

  After a moment of silence the wolf continued. ”There’s a well-reputed bowyer and fletcher in Narooh. A human named Guysal.”

  He paused, looking towards a stand of trees far off to the left. Amidst the saplings and brush and small Maple trees arose the unmistakable trunk of a heartwood tree, with its distorted trunk bulging out in a vaguely heart-like shape near the center just below the first branches.

  “I shall have business for him by the time we arrive.”

  Kovak dropped to all fours and darted to the base of the heartwood tree. After a moment of assessment, he sprang straight upward, catching a branch with one hand and planting his feet against the trunk.

  “Do we have time for this?” Pidwermin wondered aloud.

  “Guess so.” Mlasha assured her frog companion. “Unless you wanna tell the giant wolf otherwise.”

  “I suppose not. This gives me time to gather some thoughts about our wyvern anyway.” He cast his gaze back up and across the Jagged Jaw range. “It only makes sense the beast should be coming off those mountains. Unless there’s a large enough cave close to the Waywards. I shall keep one eye to the slopes behind as we travel, and perhaps I’ll spot the winged reptile entering or leaving its lair.”

  With deft, practiced movements, Kovak scaled and circled the great canopy of the heartwood, which rose a good sixty feet over the ground below. After a few moments he selected a suitable branch.

  Using his field knife, a relatively small but razor-sharp blade, he severed the branch and dropped from the tree with a thud. As he returned to his companions, this time walking on hind legs at a casual gait, he began the meticulous process of shaping his branch, some eight feet in length, into a bow.

  As the party continued the trek northeast and toward the unseen coastline, he worked with the precision of an artisan, carefully stripping away the bark and smoothing the wood until it was flawless. His large hands moved with surprising gentleness, a contrast to his immense, muscular frame.

  “Dwerm was just saying.” Mlasha was interrupted by the frog clearing his throat in annoyance. “I mean,” The giantess sounded almost nervous for a split second before composing herself. “ Pidwermin mentioned he thought the Wyvern was holed up on the mountains. With that bow, if we can spot it on approach, you might be able to save us a load of trouble.”

  “Were you expecting trouble?” Kovak feigned surprise before awkwardly flattering his companion. “Surely you’ve dealt with one of these things before.”

  “Actually I haven’t. They’re pretty rare up here. More likely to find them to the south.”

  “I see.” The wolf conceded.

  Mlasha’s eyes darkened slightly as she recalled the tales she had heard. “Wyverns are formidable creatures, not to be taken lightly. They are smaller than dragons, lacking the forelimbs but possessing powerful wings and a venomous sting in their tail. What else do you know about them Dwer… FROG?” Her voice raised in irritation as she corrected herself this time. She wanted to call him Dwerm and didn’t know why he had to be such a little ass about the whole thing.

  The purple, talking frog sighed very deeply, almost as if in real pain. “You may call me Dwerm, for the time being, young lady but I reserve the right to revoke that privilege at any time henceforth.”

  “Thanks Dwerm!” The lady giant nearly squealed her gratitude.

  “May I also call you Dwerm?” the wolf inquired innocently.

  “Absolutely not.” Pidwermin shot back. “Now, as for the nature and habits of wyverns, according to Malmud’s Manual of Monsters they usually hunt alone, but some stories suggest they can be found in family groups, particularly during breeding season. I believe the northern wyvern is known to mate during the summer months, and gestation periods are short, so it’s possible we are dealing with the mother of a new hatchling or two.”

  “Guest station periods?” Mlasha interrupted.

  “Gestation refers to the time it takes for the offspring to form in the womb or in this case, the egg. The time the bun requires in the oven, so to speak.” the frog explained patiently.

  “I see.” Mlasha confirmed.

  “They can hunt both nocturnally and diurnally, meaning at night or during daytime.” the frog continued. “Versatile creatures in that regard. There are some notes to suggest they are most active during the liminal hours, or the between times, such as twilight, the periods just before sunrise and immediately after sunset.

  “Many sources also say they prefer hunting at times of peak moonlight, such as during one or both of the full moons or when both moons are waxing close to full.” the frog paused. “If this is true we may well be in luck with both mother and daughter waxing the next few days, providing ample light for a night hunt.”

  “They always attack from the air and will likely flee the immediate vicinity if confronted on the ground. Most accounts have them returning quickly once airborne for a counterattack. They are, by every report I can find, quite ruthless and violent.”

  “As am I.” Kovak paused his work for a moment, considering the frog’s words. “And how does one kill a Wyvern?”

  “Strike at the heart,” Mlasha replied. “Their scales are tough, but there are weak spots along the belly and under the wings. Avoid the tail at all costs; their venom can kill even a person our size within minutes.”

  “The lady with the spear speaks the truth, so far as we know.” Pidwermin commended the giantess. “I could only find two warriors who’ve actually faced a wyvern. As the lady noted they are more of a rarity in these parts. Corporal Austinus verified the weak spots beneath the wings of his wyvern, having driven a pike therein to maim the monster and ground it so his squad could hack it to ribbons; the thing still killed three of his men. According to the corporal this was a young wyvern, smaller than an average adult.”

  No one spoke for a moment.

  “What of the other account? You said you spoke to two warriors.” Mlasha pointed out as though the frog may have forgotten.

  “So I did.” the frog confirmed. “He potentially verified a weakness in the scaling of the wyvern’s belly, but it’s difficult to say for sure. He killed it with a bolt from the ballista he operated during the siege of the Black Wall.”

  Mlasha laughed out loud. “I see what you mean. You can punch a hole in the side of a keep with one of those bolts.”

  “Indeed.” the frog agreed.

  “We should have brought one of those with us” the giant lady lamented. “You and Kovak could have carried it.”

  The three travelers shared a brief laugh, then fell silent for a while. The comfortable scraping of Kovak’s blade against his bow-in-progress kept time with their pace as they continued northeast across the grassy plain.

  Even at a casual pace, Kovak and Mlasha could cover a tremendous amount of ground in relatively short time. The frog had previously calculated the pair could, on easy terrain like these lowland plains, travel around four times farther than even stout men in the same time frame. In other words, if human soldiers moved roughly a mile in about thirty minutes time, the wolf and giantess would cover nearly or just over four miles in that time.

  They weren’t as quick as horses at this pace, but if the need arose Kovak could run faster than most steeds for short distances and very close to a horse’s speed over slightly longer stretches. Mlasha could break into a sprint from a dead stand and outrun any horse. She could keep ahead of the fastest horses for as long as her endurance held up.

  Probably an hour at that speed would leave her exhausted. An ettin’s muscles required a good deal of rest to maintain their awesome physical power.

  Overall, Pidwermin decided with his impromptu analysis of available travel methods, the giantess and the wolf were superior to horses. However the endurance of a horse made being pursued by a group of riders decidedly challenging.

  This musing represented one of many calculations, assumptions, and extrapolations the frog would make on this journey. He filed his conclusions away for later reference.

  Since neither he nor his two companions could actually ride a horse, Pidwermin began to wonder what options might exist were a very lengthy trek to become necessary. The megaroose, a gigantic elk-like beast could certainly hold either the wolf or giantess but they were only used in mountainous terrain. They performed poorly on flatlands and wouldn’t enter the forest. Another option might be the Krum-Ruk, very large reptiles used to pull wagons by indigenous people on the Khelt. Of course those would only be useful if travelling far to the south; it was too cold in the duchy or even the crownlands for the creatures to survive the winter. The simple inquiry had turned into a problem that would require further research to tackle.

  “I presume your angle of approach maintains a good distance from the North March.” The wolf interrupted the frog’s contemplation of time and distance and speed and appropriate mounts for his enormous companions.

  Pidwermin had anticipated this for much of the morning. Kovak reviled the swamp and its potential inhabitants and was unwilling to get within a few miles of the place.

  “Eight or ten miles is as close as we’ll come to the swamp.” the frog assured his friend. “Then we’ll move parallel to the road from about three miles out for the last small stretch of the journey.”

  “The North March.” Mlasha mused aloud. She always enjoyed these human names that were a play on words. March referred to the Marquessate of the northern shore of the duchy, but it also sounded like marsh, and people used the term to refer specifically to the swamp they would be avoiding.

  The swamp was sometimes called the North March in reference to the Nar soldiers who died there as they moved in formation to attack an earlier settlement near The Reach. The northern raiders were ambushed and slaughtered by the Gutherians and Shai Hai Ula in a rare cooperative effort.

  The place was more commonly called the Swamp of Sorrows, for the souls of the dead Nar, denied entry into their warrior afterlife due to their humiliating defeat, lingered in the place. Many stories told of horrifying encounters with these warrior-ghosts and general ill fortune befalling those who passed too closely to the wetlands.

  “Dwerm says you’re powerfully afraid to even pass near this swamp. Why is it you fear the place so much?” The pointy question was aimed squarely at Kovak, but it was Pidwermin who flinched as though he’d been stabbed.

  “Bah. Heavens child.” The frog fumbled out in the open before gathering himself and belatedly attempting to deflect the blow. “I never said he was afraid.”

  Mlasha raised an eyebrow and glanced sideways at the frog. “Of course you did. You don’t remember?” The social cues and nuances of stretching or bending the truth to preserve someone’s pride or spare their feelings were lost on the ettin. She also didn’t grasp the idea of a person, Kovak for example, feeling shame or embarrassment over fear or any other emotion.

  Pidwermin groaned the way he did when his gut hurt after a night of celebration and excessive boozing. “How dear of you to remind me.”

  Mlasha did catch the sarcastic tone of this reply and it puzzled her. Before she could inquire about the meaning of the frog’s mocking Kovak spoke up.

  “It is a healthy fear, my disdain for haunting spirits and undead creatures. These are unnatural things, both affronts and abominations before living beings.”

  “I see. That makes perfect sense to me.” It made perfect sense to Mlasha. “So you believe the marsh is haunted by the fallen Nar as the legend describes?”

  “Well, it would stand to reason based on the story. The Nar sought to surprise the Guths and were instead themselves deceived and ambushed. They were cut down most ruthlessly at a moment when they thought their plan was near to its imminent fulfillment. Their victory turned to humiliation and destruction, their families and chieftains being disgraced in the process. These are the kinds of anguished spirits who would haunt the land after bodily death.”

  “A poignant perspective.” Mlasha surprised Pidwermin with her use of the word, “poignant”.

  Though he was impressed with her effort to expand her vocabulary, he was still irate with her revealing what he’d said regarding Kovak’s fear, so he held his compliment for the time being.

  “So…” it was rare for Pidwermin to begin a sentence he hadn’t already run through in his mind once or twice.

  “Forget about it.” Kovak interrupted his friend. “It’s fine.”

  The frog didn’t know if it truly was fine or not but just the same he welcomed the opportunity to avoid discussing the matter then and there.

  “Then you must have the same healthy fear of the revortor, or revenant depending on who tells the story I suppose.” Mlasha pointed out.

  Pidwermin’s face grew very warm indeed upon hearing the giantess bring up the revortor. Desperate to prevent her from saying more he blurted out: “Could that be the wyvern now?”

  The wolf and giantess stopped cold, then whipped their heads to look where the frog pointed, back towards the jagged peaks that loomed above the plain. After half a moment of peering intently, Kovak answered the frog’s inquiry.

  “That is clearly a mountain condor.”

  “Oh.” the frog chuckled. “So it is. Forgive me.”

  The wolf looked at the frog for a moment, saying nothing.

  “Geez Dwerm.” Mlasha chided. “Are you all right? That profile looks nothing like a wyvern.”

  “I suppose I got a bit excited.” the frog nervously offered. “Apologies to all. Now, as I was saying…”

  “I believe Mlasha was asking a strange question about the revenant of the Waywards.” the wolf interrupted, not taking his eyes off the frog.

  He and the giantess resumed their forward march, and still the wolf kept his eyes fixed on Pidwermin, who avoided eye contact.

  “I only asked if you have the same healthy fear of the revortor as you do of the Swamp of Sorrows.” Mlasha replied to the wolf’s observation.

  “That is a fascinating inquiry Mlasha.” said Kovak. “I’d be interested to know, if you wouldn’t mind telling me, why my healthy fear of the undead might extend to a common trickster spirit.”

  Still the wolf looked directly at the frog riding on the giantess’s pack. Said frog began to whistle under his breath.

  “Huh?” Mlasha made a funny face. “I’m talking about the revortor, or revenant that wanders the Waywards.”

  “Of course.” said the wolf. “I know what you’re referring to. Is the revortor not a common trickster spirit? I assume it can be nothing else, since my trusted companion-in-arms Pidwermin Gauthier has explained it to me thusly.”

  “You must be thinking of something else Pidwermin Goat Hey explained to you.” Mlasha laughed. “The revortor is a dead Yunni who roams the forest where he and his mate were killed centuries ago.”

  “A ghost then?” the wolf asked flatly.

  “Not exactly.” said Mlasha. “The revortor still has a physical body, though it’s described as being swollen and deadish.”

  “Deadish, you say?” the wolf sounded like he was trying to find humor but could not. “Sounds lovely.”

  “You are quite certain of this?” the wolf pressed, still looking at Pidwermin as he walked.

  “Quite!” Mlasha said enthusiastically. “He does sometimes scare people and steal young maidens, although he never harms them – only takes them to his lair and serenades them before vanishing or setting them back out in the forest somewhere.”

  “Well this dead Yunni sounds like quite the gentleman!” the wolf exclaimed; his voice rang with enthusiasm yet his expression remained stern. “Tell me Mlasha, what other good works might he enact as he wanders the forests where he was killed ?”

  “Oh.” Mlasha thought for a moment, a little puzzled by Kovak’s demeanor. “Let’s see other than scaring passersby – he does that sometimes by turning into a forest cat or making himself bigger, like bigger than I am even.”

  “How wonderful!” Kovak sounded delighted, perhaps too delighted in fact. “So he’s not only dead but he’s bigger than a giantess? That is just so wonderful! Truly, truly wonderful! Is it not Dwerm?”

  Dwerm cleared his throat desperately and pretended to be distracted by a plant he spotted on the plain. “Is that a whitebell this time of year?”

  “You asked what else he does and I didn’t even get to tell you that yet.” Mlasha protested.

  “My goodness, I apologize.” Mlasha noted Kovak sounded more cheerful than she could ever remember him being. “Please, what more can this dead Yunni do? Does he perhaps eat people or steal souls? Wouldn’t that be just amazing? I mean really just amazing!”

  “No.” Mlasha shook her head, a little confused. “I don’t think he’s ever eaten anyone and I can’t recall any tales of him stealing souls.”

  “Too bad.” Kovak sounded disappointed.

  Mlasha was starting to suspect this was some kind of show.

  “The main thing other than scaring people and stealing maidens but not harming them and changing shapes or getting bigger is that he is really strong, stronger than an ogre even and can control the weather. Sometimes he tells people about the future as well.” Mlasha took a breath, then continued. “He is known for killing goblins wherever he finds them. Vengeance you see, because goblins are what killed him and his mate.”

  “It’s really a shame it’s just the one dead Yunni.” Kovak sounded over-the-top by now.

  Mlasha became convinced that her friend was only pretending to be happy about all of this. This made more sense anyway since she knew him to be fearful of the dead; he had even just admitted as much and explained his reasoning. What she didn’t understand is why he would pretend – obnoxiously so at that – to be delighted by all of this information about the revenant.

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  She wondered if his reaction might have something to do with his misunderstanding of Pidwermin’s explanation of the revortor. Was he angry about that? She didn’t know but was about to ask the wolf for clarification when he interrupted her with another strange outburst.

  “I mean wouldn’t it be just amazing if the dead Yunni and his dead Yunni wife both haunted the Waywards?” the wolf did something especially odd next; he threw his head back and laughed enthusiastically.

  Mlasha had definitely never seen Kovak do that before. She would have pointed the fact out too had not the wolf’s most recent comments reminded her of an important piece of the revortor’s lore.

  “Oh I forgot that part!” the giantess admitted.

  “You forgot what part?” the wolf asked, somewhat grudgingly.

  “You mentioned the Yunni’s wife.” the giantess explained. “Actually, I don’t know if they were married or not the story just calls her his mate. Anyway every thousand years in the late fall and early winter the revenant and his mate are reunited and roam the forest together.”

  Kovak laughed some more; a fast, high-pitched giddy kind of laugh.

  “Ooh Dwerm!” Mlasha blurted, saying the frog’s nickname so loud Kovak’s ears involuntarily went flat for a split-second.

  She composed herself and finished her thought: “That lines right up with the Herald and the Yondul doesn’t it?”

  “Absolutely young lady.” the frog couldn’t help himself. Despite his ire with the giantess, who he knew had no ill intentions, he was impressed by her sharpness in catching this bit of lore that aligned perfectly with their recent discussion of cycles and the Terrible Dark in particular.

  “You’ve caught another bit of local lore that lines up perfectly with the cycle of the dark tide.” the frog continued. “Well done.”

  “Fantastic.” Kovak clapped his hands together three times, each repetition harder than the last. He finally took his eyes off the frog, who had taken to whistling again. “Perhaps we’ll get to meet this revortor and he can turn into a giant with mythic strength. Maybe he can give some insight about the future as well, then introduce us to his wife before our great battle with the two of them.”

  “I don’t know.” Mlasha was confused again. A moment ago she was sure the wolf was acting up, but now he seemed so sincerely happy. She didn’t know what to think. “Maybe so.”

  The wolf went abruptly silent.

  Mlasha had told him all she knew about the revenant, so she too stopped talking for the moment.

  Only the frog’s ridiculous whistling remained. After a moment or two Pidwermin began to feel the pressure of performing solo and stopped.

  After clearing his throat, vigorously, several times, he started to speak. “My friend…”

  “Is there anything I should know about wyverns that you have thus far chosen to keep from me, for my own good of course?” the wolf interrupted. “Don’t wait until moments prior to our engagement to inform me that a wyvern is an undead creature of some sort that can turn one to ice by breathing on them.”

  “Of course not.” said the frog. “I have told you all I know about wyverns and there is nothing at all undead about them.”

  “Very well.” Kovak’s calm demeanor suddenly returned.

  “A fine place these realms.” the wolf scowled. “Are there any locales without some undead resident?”

  The sun climbed higher, casting a warm glow across the landscape. The smell of saltwater moved with the wind and at one point a pair of running deer spotted the group and abruptly changed course.

  A single merchant wagon on the distant road was the only other traveler encountered by the rangers. They politely took cover behind a plains cedar tree to avoid alarming the driver and their two mounted escorts.

  The morning was otherwise uneventful. Kovak continued to whittle and shape the bow as they walked, the rhythmic scraping of his blade against the wood a constant companion. Mlasha, ever curious and perceptive, struck up another conversation.

  “Why the heartwood tree? Why not ash or oak?”

  “Oak is a very stout, hard wood, good for many things, including strong arrows, but not for the Triz Enya.” Kovak lifted the bow-in-progress as he told Mlasha his people’s word for it. “The wood must be strong and unbreaking yes, but it must also flex a great deal under the power of a trained Trizzai.”

  The wolf continued working his knife along the branch as he spoke. “Ash is also very hard, and more flexible than oak. In fact, many Triz Enya are made from ash.”

  “Heartwood is strong, though not as hard as ash or oak. It is a very flexible wood, and this is more important for the Triz Enya. Above all other considerations the heartwood tree is a sacred symbol, a sanctified creature favored by the goddess of love and victory L’la, who in turn reminds me a great deal of a goddess my own people revere - H’cheusia the goddess of fulfillment and serendipity.”

  “How interesting.” Mlasha paused to consider her next words. “Tell me of this goddess of love and how she pertains to your bow craft.”

  “This may seem a contradiction.” Kovak began. “The Faolchu are among the more mystical Vargr. We seek a deeper understanding of the divine emanations – gods and goddesses – and we seek the secret teachings offered by esoteric lore. There are many layers to all spiritual ideas and teachings.”

  Pidwermin leaned in to listen closely, for such matters, esotericism and the occult were of prime interest to the wizardly frog.

  The wolf continued. “On the surface L’la rules the domains of love and romance. Love takes many forms, to include the care a warrior takes in learning his craft and maintaining his armament. We might think of these as the first and second layers of the goddess.”

  Kovak smoothed out a dip in the wood of his bow by rapidly working the blade of his knife along its surface and lowering the area around the indentation. After a moment or two of focus on this task he then continued his explanation.

  “L’la is also a goddess of victory, which many rightly associate with triumph in battle. This of course relates to any weaponscraft but there is something more. L’la rules over attraction, not only romantic attraction and the drawing to one of a mate, but a magnetic force in all living things that allows us to attract to us, to bring into our reality the things we desire. Her victory is also the winning of those things we seek above all others; the successes we bring to ourselves through our magnetic spirit.”

  Mlasha listened intently. As the giantess posed no new questions – an unusual circumstance to be sure – the wolf proceeded with his lengthy answer to her original inquiry.

  “In this way L’la and H’cheusia are very similar. H’cheusia also rules the domains of victory in all aspects of life and tends to the power of mortals to participate in the bringing of blessings into their lives. These ideals are sacred to the warriors of my people, who are taught not only to seek victory through arms, but through hard work, service to others, and the living of a good life.”

  “That is profound.” said the giantess. “I’m not sure what to think or say.”

  “That is a fine and honest response.” said Kovak. “Perhaps you will gain an insight to these matters from the goddess herself, or from a goddess you know already. I find this often happens once the mind has been opened to new matters of spirit.”

  “Maybe I will.” said Mlasha. “Tell me, do your people believe many of the gods and goddesses of the different nations and races are the same beings given different names by those who follow them?”

  “We certainly believe that is a possibility.” Kovak wiped a layer of sawdust from the bow with his hand then blew away the remnants with a puff. “Do your people have such a belief?”

  “Not really.” Mlasha motioned to the frog on her back with a nod, “It’s something Dwerm talks about sometimes. My people explain the similarities between the gods of different cultures a bit differently. We are taught the gods and goddesses are themselves created by powerful, mysterious beings called D’haeomin D’hanemae. It is explained that these beings make many children and the gods of various people are thought to be sibling deities.”

  “That is a sound explanation.” Kovak observed.

  “I think so.” Mlasha then chuckled. “To be honest I leave most of that stuff to the clerics and focus on my fighting skills.”

  “A worthwhile effort and it shows.” Kovak complimented his friend. “You are one of the more formidable warriors I have met in this life.”

  “That’s sweet.” Mlasha smiled. “I’m sure you tell all the gals that.”

  The three rangers laughed.

  The frog pointed to the south and the shadows of the looming Jagged Jaw peaks above. “Looks like an entire herd, or the better part of one, at least. Rare to spot that many outside of the fall migration or spring return.”

  A group of more than a dozen lagopicus, large harelike mammals with comically long ears, powerful hind legs and small forelegs. In many ways the lago, to use their common name, resembled a hare or rabbit the size of a large deer or small elk. Most of the creatures grazed while a few kept watch, and those few carefully eyed the giantess and the wolf.

  They were a good distance away from the trio, but close enough that the young could be seen leaning from the pouches on the undersides of their mothers. Surprisingly fast runners, the lagos’ main advantage over predators was their ability to bound incredible distances with a single leap.

  “They aren’t running.” Mlasha observed.

  “Why should they at this distance?” the frog pointed out. “Or so they believe.”

  Pidwermin wasn’t certain the nimble creatures could escape either of his companions.

  “They’ve got quite a headstart it’s true.” Mlasha noted. “The meat is fantastic. Too bad that bow isn’t ready yet.”

  Kovak half-smiled. The frog chuckled.

  As if overhearing the discussion a sentry lago made a braying sound and without delay the rest of the group sprang into a run. After making quick work of a fifty yard stretch they bounded, some of the larger ones easily covering sixty feet, with a follow-up leap of nearly eighty. The sentry remained half a moment to stare down the rangers before he too leapt off in the direction the others had run.

  Mlasha returned her attention to the bow Kovak was forming.

  “You said ‘Trizzai’. That means archer?” The giantess was a warrior. She enjoyed talking shop with others like her.

  “That and more. Our word for an archer is Trizz’ll. It is a respectable occupation or a worthy skill to learn. Kovak continued: “The Trizzai, however, goes a step beyond skill with the bow. He or she commits to a lifetime of honing the craft of the Triz Enya, which would mean in the Common language something like strength bow or bow of strength.”

  “The Nar Men use such a bow. It relies on the brute power of the wielder to generate the force of the arrow. The stronger the bowman, the more devastating the projectile. Is that what you mean?” the giantess was intrigued.

  “Yes, that is part of how the Triz Enya works. It also relies on the inner strength, that of the Zh’lyr.” Kovak answered.

  “Juh lure?” the giantess asked.

  “Close.” said the wolf. “Zh’lyr.” he said without the hard “j” sound and emphasis on the deep “y” consonant.

  “Zhh-ll-yy-rr.” Mlasha tried again,

  “Better.” said the wolf.

  “I’ve heard you say that before.” the giantess pointed out. “Is it a word for determination or willpower?”

  “It can be both.” Kovak confirmed. “It is always also something more. It begins with a focused mind, which is directed to unite with the vital force – this is the force containing and directing the life energy that animates a living creature.”

  “The word ‘psi’ in the common tongue,” Mlasha began. “That sometimes means fire and other times means like water – the substance the psionicist and psychic project or harness. Are we talking about the same thing here?”

  “To my understanding of that word, it would be stated as h’uur’ehah in my language,” the wolf explained. “This is the energy of psychic activity, present in all things but inert until an activated mind touches it. This is a part of Zh’lyr.”

  “However,” Kovak continued. “The h’uur’ehah is only directly referenced when teaching or discussing training. It is always implied but never mentioned when speaking or writing about the active form of psychic work.”

  The wolf paused and allowed Mlasha to contemplate his words. The giantess lowered her eyes as she walked, as if looking deep within herself. Kovak saw this and knew she was processing the lesson. After a moment he continued.

  “The unified mind and vital force birth a third agent – that of Zh’lyr; it is at once a part of the warrior and an entity unto itself.”

  “Much like the “ki” and “kiai” of the Kutawazi warrior ethos,” Pidwermin added helpfully. “The wherewithal to extend force with the mind and body, sometimes through a ‘spirit shout’ as they call it. A force that is unseen and unmeasurable yet can interact with the physical world.”

  “Yes,” Kovak agreed. “Very much like the ki of the Kutawazi, which Seikium speaks of.”

  Mlasha nodded. “My people speak of “G’rath, the red power an enraged warrior can harness to focus more clearly and strike with more power. Only after years of training can this be achieved.”

  “Very good,” the wolf nodded. “Each of these ideas touches on the same reality, albeit in a slightly different manner.”

  “By virtue of the Zh’lyr it is the evenness of the warrior’s mind that guides the arrow, and the strength of the warrior’s resolve that preserves the bow through much time and use. These are more than maxims or lofty notions. They are…” Kovak took a lengthy pause before continuing. Such aspects of the path are difficult to convey with words.”

  “One must learn by doing, experiencing the thing rather than trying to understand passively,” Mlasha added.

  “Exactly!” Kovak sounded genuinely pleased.

  “Looks like your masterpiece is nearly ready,” Pidwermin observed, nodding at the wolf’s bow. “Timely, that. The Waywards are nigh.” The frog nodded again, this time in the direction they were walking.

  Just short of a mile ahead of the party, the roadway came into view as it curved to avoid a large patch of flowering trees and shrubs. A vivid collage of colorful, perennial flowers attended the bases of the larger plants. Sturdy wooden benches dotted the sea of flowers, and a mortar wellhead stood near the garden’s center.

  Beyond this welcoming scene, perhaps ironically, a stoutly fortified wall of timber stood atop a foundation of sizable block. The forest began exactly on the other side of the palisade and stretched out beyond the horizon.

  The fall color of the ancient trees created a mesmerizing patchwork. Orange, yellow, red and gold hardwood crowns alongside spires of deep green and pale blue conifers stood out magnificently against the pale green and tan fields of the grassland.

  “I’ll bet Bertrand and Dalish have apple pastries in the oven right about now.” Mlasha smiled from ear to ear.

  “I dare say,” the frog cheerfully agreed, adding: “Along with some apple wine from last year’s harvest and perhaps some apple brandy from this year!”

  Mlasha faked a groan. “I can’t do any more booze for a while after last night.”

  “Lightweight,” the frog chided.

  A small number of guardsmen could be seen behind the top of the wall on the fore rampart of the fortification. Beneath them stood a massive set of double doors tall enough for Mlasha to stroll through without ducking. The righthand door was opened outward, allowing an eight-foot access space for entry or exit.

  The Shai natives called the forest H’liwassia, meaning ‘lonely woodland’, before the Gutherians came along. The settlers who founded the Waywards named the place Aranoa Mha, which means forgotten forest in the old Guth language.

  At their widest point the woods spanned around six miles, with their northeastward sprawl towards the tip of the peninsula running close to twenty miles. The nearby coast angled in from the northeast, staying close to the treeline and the wall until reaching the nearest beach – Freebooter’s Bay - perhaps three miles from the front gate.

  Between that beach and the front gate the ocean veered away from the forest. The entrance the companions saw ahead of them sat about two miles from the coastline.

  Much of the inland forest perimeter was contained neatly by the fortress wall. Nature would of course not be neatly bound up by the efforts of a few humans, elves, and Yunni and the treeline presently extended up to thirty feet beyond the wall in places.

  Within that approximately seventy-five square miles of hardwood deciduous mixed with coniferous evergreen sat the Waywards. This collection of four villages, one trading post, and a small seaport housed many of the civilized inhabitants of the North Shore. Off the beaten path, as the name implied, and peopled with independent folk not fond of city life nor the lot of the peasantry.

  Pidwermin noted, and not for the first time on this journey, how distinct the North Shore settlements, and those on the Jagged range, were from populations elsewhere in the duchy, and certainly in the kingdom as a whole. In this unusual region of Gutheria if one had the determination and wherewithal to endure the hardship and navigate the challenges of establishing a community or homestead away from the immediate jurisdiction of any lords or ladies, a life of some independence and leisure was a real possibility.

  The Waywards, being the main center of population in the region were technically subject to the Marquess responsible for the northern shore and its marches. The Marquessate of A’Tuath, meaning fairy realm in the old tongue comprised the entire north shore between the Jagged Jaw and the sea, plus the wilds of the Moon Bog and beyond. Smaller settlements in the mountain territory were directly answerable to the Duke himself.

  The Waywards were not considered a city. They had no charter granting them self-governance like Asmoth Snann, a major port to the east.

  Yet as long as these outliers paid their taxes and committed soldiers in a time of war, they were for the most part left alone. Very rare indeed in the feudal system of the day, where the vast majority of commoners outside of chartered towns and cities could either be peasants and work the land of their ruling noble or starve to death.

  “Narooh is not far past the front gate, perhaps a mile, if I recall correctly” Pidwermin spoke in his school teacher’s voice, as Kovak called it. ”Then it’s around three miles through the forest and onto the beach of Freebooter’s Bay, where sits Storm Haven. Another mile and you have the tiny independent port of KeelHaul, technically outside the jurisdiction of the Waywards. I should like, if we have time, to have our celebratory drinks at an establishment therein known as The Scupper. A horrid place to be sure but they are known to keep a store of Nar rum.”

  “As you wish,” Kovak agreed, and with this important matter resolved the trio approached the gatehouse to the Waywards. The chorus of forest sounds grew steadily louder the closer they came to the fortification, as hundreds of birds and countless insects performed the late morning serenade.

  Situations of this nature always followed a set pattern for the three adventurers. Initially there were shouts and some commotion as the guards laid eyes on the ominous group. A giant, bipedal wolf, with an armored giantess wielding a great spear were not the ideal sights for any city guard or outpost militia. Pidwermin was not usually even noticed until the group came within a conversational distance to the guard post.

  On a good day no arrows or bolts were loosed at the casually walking pair of monsters. Today was indeed a good day, likely because the corporal of the guard recognized the rangers and calmed his men down with a few harsh words.

  “Ho, Kovak and Mlasha. And Pidwermin?” the corporal spoke as if he welcomed three humans to his post.

  “I’m here, corporal.” The frog leaned out from behind his ride’s flowing blonde hair. “We come seeking the Wyvern.”

  “At last,” the corporal said grudgingly. “I’ve lost two more men this week. Something must be done soon, for now the beast’s offspring hunts with it!”

  “So there are two of the damned things,” the frog nearly spoke under his breath. “Let us not waste a moment then,” he raised his voice back to the proper tone of a constable. “Tell us all you know of the creatures’ tactics and timing and leave nothing out.”

  “I’ll do just that on the walk into Storm Haven. The mayor there is anxious for your arrival.” The corporal looked to a rather broad fellow with a particularly broad-bladed sword hung at his waist. “Torvan,” he barked. “You have the gate until I return.”

  “Yes Corporal!” Torvan sounded like a man who had been in charge before.

  Kovak and Mlasha passed through the open door, meeting their escort as he walked his mount out of the stable and onto the neatly cut roadway. The horse snorted and shifted uncomfortably in the presence of the travelers.

  As if on cue, birds and insects in the immediate vicinity fell silent, and any small creatures that may have been scampering about their affairs either stood stone-still or hunkered down. This was a typical response from wildlife when Kovak entered a grove of trees or meadow, or when he arrived at a waterhole. Animals recognize an apex predator, and most are aware when one appears in their environment.

  The trio turned quartet moved quickly beyond the gate and into the Aranoa Mha. Haphazardly falling and drifting leaves filled the air and flitted about on their way to the forest floor. The path was decorated by a quilt of orange, rust, gold, and red leaves.

  As they moved the song of the forest abruptly halted in stride with them, eventually commencing once more in an area after they passed. The corporal rode his steed alongside Kovak and Mlasha, at times clearly struggling to calm the horse in the presence of either the wolf or the giant, or perhaps both.

  Neither of the towering travelers took much offense. They were used to domestic animals and indeed most humans being frightened of them.

  The frog, however, did take umbrage to the corporal’s apprehensive mount. “Honestly,” he sounded like a host whose table someone had farted at. “I would think the beast would be used to us by now. This is our third visit over the past year.”

  “It’s a new horse,” Kovak informed his disgruntled constable.

  “Oh? How can you tell?”

  “By the scent.”

  “Impressive.’ The corporal admitted, with a touch of sadness in his voice. “And correct. My palfrey has gone on to that pasture beyond, where bones never grow old and no wolves… er, forgive me it is but an old saying.”

  “Where no wolves snap at her heels and nary a snake should cause her to buck,” Kovak finished the old saying for the corporal. “Nothing to forgive, corporal. My brother, the true wolf and the horse are enemies. However most vargr, and certainly the Faolchu, my own pack, would only prey on the horses of an enemy army. I am not the enemy of your mounts and so take no offense at your reference to those who are. I am also sorry for your loss.”

  “Thank you.” The corporal was taken aback by everything the wolf just said.

  “I hope it wasn’t the wyvern.” Pidwermin probed the corporal, also gently guiding the conversation back to business.

  “No. Old age,” the soldier replied, then after a pause added, “That winged devil has taken four horses and nine cattle, plus three goats and a coop full of chickens. Already much food and coin have been lost. Six men have died trying to fight the thing.”

  “Is there any pattern or structure to the attacks? Have you been able to predict the creature’s movements at all?” Mlasha pressed.

  “Yes,” the soldier took on his formal tone, as if briefing a superior, which of course technically he was. The Rangers were part of the Duke’s military structure, typically equated with officers in matters where they dealt with rank and file warriors. “There is a sighting every fourth day somewhere on this plain, whether in the forest or on the lowland grass. Often the beast is seen taking deer, which must be easy prey in the open, but it has visited us many times now.”

  “And this has been consistent for the past month or so?” Mlasha followed up.

  “It has,” the corporal confirmed.

  “Nothing outside of this behavior has been observed?” The giantess pressed, for she took pride in being a thorough investigator.

  “There is some speculation as to when the wyvern first arrived in the area. Three children went missing in the forest, never to be found, perhaps two weeks prior to our first sighting of the creature. Some think the wyvern took them.”

  “It is certainly possible,” Pidwermin interjected. “Small children would be easy prey for such a monster. Apologies, do go on.”

  “The last attack was six days ago near the guard’s stable. I mentioned there was a youngling with the larger one. Two days ago the pair were seen again over the open lands. Always too damn high for an arrow, or if not they attack with such speed and stealth there has been no time to raise a bow. Perhaps you will change that.” The corporal nodded at Kovak’s bow.

  “Perhaps,” the wolf agreed. “On the way to Storm Haven, Mlasha will take this to Guysal of Narooh to be strung.”

  “She will?” Mlasha inquired.

  “I hope so.” Kovak handed her the bow. “I will not enter the township for now. The locals are not fond of my kind. Also I have business out here.” He waved broadly to indicate the woods around them.

  “If the stop at Narooh is acceptable to the corporal.” Kovak turned to face the mounted soldier.

  “Certainly. It’s for a good enough cause,” the corporal agreed.

  “Very well,” Pidwermin said in an official sounding tone. “Mlasha and I will drop the bow off with this bowyer, and thereafter proceed to Storm Haven speak to the mayor and pick up any supplies on our list. Meet you at camp before sunset?”

  “Very well.” Kovak was already walking away from the path and into the forest.

  “I only hope I can remember the way to our rustic accommodations,” the frog lied. He knew well where the camp sat but would have much preferred a cozy room at a local inn.

  “You’ll remember.” Kovak humored his friend. “One hundred paces east of the little pond, where the sapling Yew sits among the small maples.”

  “Yes, of course. Thanks so much.” Pidwermin pouted.

  “You have the trinket I gave you?” the frog hollered into the forest after the wolf, who was no longer in sight.

  “I do!” Kovak called from beyond the tree trunks and undergrowth to the northeast.

  “Business?” Mlasha asked the frog as she watched the wolf disappear into the foliage.

  “With the local fairy royalty at that.” The frog may or may not have been teasing.

  Mlasha’s eyes widened. “Really?”

  “I can’t say I approve of the affair. Best if you ask him for further details, my dear. I know little more than I have said already.”

  Frog and giantess, with corporal and horse continued on towards the opening in the tree line ahead, beyond which sat the small trading post of Narooh.