Mana Harvest 2
Author: Wolfe Locke; James Falcon
Date: 2022-04-29T18:00:00+00:00
Description: Cid is starting to settle in. New friends. New adventures. The new farm. It's a good life and he's thankful for it. Thankfulness comes in many forms. For Cid, it'll be Blueberry. As a Cobbler taster at the Spring Festival of Renewal. But the Spring Festival will bring more than just dessert. It'll bring another adventure.

Chapter One: To The Good Life

Life was going mostly well for Cid Dawnshield. He’d gotten used to the quiet life on the farm. The nice, slow-paced living sat well with him. The weather had been perfect for the season, and the time had been just right to finally sit down and do something he’d spent most of his life thinking would always be just beyond his reach. Write a book.

But more than a few days had already passed since he’d first started trying. He set his quill down with a hiss of frustration. He’d spent the last week trying to start his memoirs, trying to finally write down all the adventures he’d had in his former life as a city guard. He’d done everything he could to prepare. He’d bought a writing desk and put it in the corner of his living room far enough from a window so that he wouldn’t be distracted. He’d also bought three whole rolls of parchment, two colors of ink, and the extra fancy, extra expensive quill that the merchant had sold him on. It hadn’t worked. All he’d managed to write so far were the seven words on the top of his first parchment: “There and Back Again. A Guard’s Life.”

Damn my empty head. I don’t have a single idea except a title. It was a good title, at least. Humble but descriptive. It boded well for the rest of the book if he could ever manage to get started on it.

He pushed his chair back and went to the window and gazed out of it. Time to give up for the day. Maybe when the weather got colder, when he was really stuck inside for good, it would be easier for him to get to work. For now, there were just too many other things to think about.

Cid Dawnshield, former Guard. Retired guard. Sort ‘of farmer.

He’d been a city guard for years—all his life, really, since he’d barely been more than a boy when he’d signed up. For most of those years, he’d worked in the realm’s capital city of Hearthstone. It was a dangerous place, a warren of winding streets and narrow alleyways, where the wealthy often lived no more than a stone’s throw from abject poverty, and often enough, they took no notice of it. For a lad who’d grown up in the countryside, the city had been a rude awakening. At times a dangerous awakening. But he’d done his duty, did his time, earned his pension, and moved on. He’d since come to view Hearthstone as his home.

Knew that place better than my real hometown by the end of my service.

He’d been one of the longest serving guards in the capital and had outlasted three commanders during the span of his career and had almost outlasted a third by the time he’d retired. Lord Vanstone, the last of the three, had been by far his favorite. He was a hard man, with little patience for foolishness, but a fair one. Cid had been skeptical when the man had taken over the city guards. He was a noble, after all, and Cid had assumed that he would have a noble’s outlook on life, but Vanstone had earned his respect bit by bit. It was thanks in part to his efforts that the Magic Knight Corps had agreed to work with the Guards and granted them partial jurisdiction over the capital.

Cid’s smile faded at the thought of the Magic Knights. He’d wanted to be one as a boy—what lad didn’t? They were powerful and glamorous, always sweeping through town on their powerful horses, capes billowing out behind them. They were all powerful mages, every one of them, and they worked tirelessly to keep the kingdom safe. He’d called on them for help more than once when he’d encounter something that the Guards couldn’t handle.

But they were also rude, obnoxious, and arrogant. They felt that they were better than the Guards—felt they were better than most of the humble citizens they served, really—and they weren’t shy about it. Cid was no mage, or at least he hadn’t been back when he was a Guard, and the Magic Knights hadn’t been shy about pointing that out. They’d often needed the Guards’ expertise, though, when they were working on a job in Hearthstone. Cid and his mates had patrolled the city every day on foot. They knew every turn, every alleyway, knew how to tell which men in the Lower City taverns were career criminals and which were just trying to earn an honest living. The Magic Knights, riding high on their horses, had no idea.

All but Bran. He and Cid had met by chance on a job, and they’d been friends ever since. He’d been the only one to join the Guards in the tavern after they’d been through—the other Knights had kept to their side of the room—and he’d been the only one to buy the Guards a round of ale that night to celebrate a job well done. He’d been a powerful ally as he’d risen through the ranks of the Corps. It was thanks in part to him that Lord Vanstone’s work had succeeded.

And he’d been a loyal friend, too, always quick to lend a hand when Cid or the Guards needed help. When the time had come for Cid to retire, he’d been the one to suggest the quiet town of Haven as a possible new home. And, unbeknownst to Cid, Bran had written the letter of recommendation that had allowed him to settle there.

He sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. His time in Haven hadn’t exactly been as peaceful as he’d hoped it would be. He’d bought the long-abandoned Oak Tree Farm thinking it would be a good retirement project. The property had been in rough shape when he’d moved in, but there was something satisfying about making slow but incremental progress on it, gradually putting things back together. He’d enjoyed working in the fields, alone with his thoughts, and he’d liked fixing up the dilapidated buildings on the farm and breathing new life into the place. It was a slower life than he’d had in Hearthstone, but he liked the gentler pace. He’d learned a lot about growing vegetables and running a farm, and bit by bit, he’d started to turn a profit. Oak Tree Farm now had one of the more popular stands at the weekly farmers’ market, and he rented out some of his extra fields to smaller farmers who needed more land. To his surprise, he’d become a half-decent farmer.

There had been other surprises too, and not all of them had been good ones. He’d learned, to his shock, that he was a mage, and that Bran had always suspected he’d had that power. His friend had given him a packet of Level One elemental spells that had come in handy over the last few months on the farm. He’d watered his crops with Water One, tilled the soil with Earth One, and cleared out trash and debris from the property with Air and Fire. He wasn’t extremely powerful—certainly not Magic Knight level—but he had enough strength to do what he needed to do at Oak Tree Farm. That had been a pleasant thing to discover, although part of him wondered if he could have had an easier time as a Guard if he’d known of his ability earlier.

Some of the things he’d learned about the residents of Haven, though, had been shocking in a different way. He’d thought he was moving into a peaceful village full of gentle farmers and quiet shopkeepers. That had been true, in part—they did do those things. But everyone in Haven was also a powerful mage. It was a seed town for the Magic Knights, in part because it was built on top of a Mana Cavern, and many members of the Corps came from either the town itself or the surrounding countryside. Almost all of the villagers were either current Magic Knights, former Knights, future Knights, or affiliated friends and family members. Non-Knights could only live in town by special dispensation from the Corps. Bran had written Cid a letter of recommendation that had allowed him to buy Oak Tree Farm, and the villagers had spent several weeks hiding their true identities from him and pretending to be regular farmers. Cid had not appreciated their deceit, and he was still figuring out whether he could trust them again.

The largest betrayal had come a few months earlier. The Village Elder, Daryl Nightgreen, had been a good friend to him and had provided him with help, supplies, and farming advice. His grandson, Lyle, was a strange and outspoken boy who didn’t seem to fit in in Haven, and Cid had genuinely felt for the boy. He had had no reason to suspect the family’s intentions were anything but straightforward—especially when Daryl had revealed to him that the lad was being bullied in town over his missing parents and his inability to do magic. Cid had learned many good—if underhanded—fighting techniques in his time as a Guard that required no magic at all, and he had genuinely enjoyed teaching Lyle what he’d learned, thinking that he was teaching him to fight back against the boys who were hassling him. Lyle had taken to the lessons quickly, and Cid had taken pride in the boy’s growth and learning.

When Lyle had revealed that he wanted to venture into the Mana Caverns and pass a series of magical trials, Cid had been a bit disappointed. He’d hoped the boy would learn to take pride in his own strength and ingenuity, just as he had, but he had thought he understood why Lyle would feel the need to prove himself. When the boy had asked him for help passing the trials, he had agreed and had fought as hard as he could, both with and without magic, to make sure they passed through safely. In the end he’d done it—and, he thought, he’d shown Lyle that he didn’t need magic to be successful.

To his shock, though, the boy had revealed that the entire setup had been a ruse. Cid had been the one who was on trial, and he’d passed. The Magic Knight Corps had taken interest in his newfound abilities and wanted to see if he could cut it as an affiliate member. But instead of just asking him, they had asked the villagers to participate in an elaborate plan to trick him into passing the Trials. Bolstered by their suspicion of outsiders, almost the entire town had agreed.

Cid had been livid when he learned the truth, and absolutely furious when he saw that Bran was the Knight the Corps sent to break the news. Even more irritating was the fact that the Magic Knights now expected him to act as village constable, fighting monsters and keeping Haven safe from harm. Part of him—a large part, if he was being honest—had wanted to refuse, sell the farm immediately, and move to another quiet town where he’d be treated with respect.

But, well, he loved Oak Tree Farm. And, annoyed as he was with Bran, he knew that his friend didn’t have much control over what the Corps did or didn’t do. In the end, it was easier to stay. He’d reluctantly agreed to serve as constable, with one major caveat: Lyle had to come with him on every round he made to make up for lying to him. The boy had agreed, and they’d been patrolling together for the last few months with no major incidents. They’d seen monster tracks a few times, and once they’d heard something roaring in the distance that Cid thought might be a kraken, but they hadn’t had to fight at all.

To his surprise, the boy was loyal and diligent, and seemed to be genuinely sorry for the trick he’d pulled. He’d make a decent Guard someday if he kept it up, although Cid was watching him closely in case he showed any signs of backsliding.

He sighed heavily, opened the window, and leaned out. It was a beautiful late summer day, although the breeze already had an edge to it that reminded him fall was coming. The light on the fields was warm and golden, and the corn was growing high, almost ready for harvesting. He liked it here in Haven even with all the craziness he’d experienced. He’d stay. But it would take him a while to trust the villagers again, and it would be a while before he spoke more than three words to Daryl Nightgreen. That was just how it was going to be.

He left the window behind, pulled on his boots, and went out into the farmyard. The air smelled like grass and fresh corn, and the woods were full of birdsong.

Time to get to work.

Chapter Two: Life on the Farm

Cid’s chickens ran up to him, squawking as soon as he got out into the farmyard.

“Scat,” he said good-naturedly. “You’ve had your feed for the day. Don’t be greedy! I feed you plenty.”

The chickens were new to Oak Tree Farm and still settling in, but he was happy with how things were going. He’d started small—just three hens and a rooster named Pete—and they’d started laying within a few days of their arrival. He ate most of the eggs for now, but he was planning on bringing some to market once he had a larger flock. He’d taken some of the villagers’ advice and let the birds peck in the dust for bugs to eat in addition to the grain he spread out for them every morning. As a result, the hens laid some of the most flavorful eggs he’d ever tasted.

He’d enjoyed remaking the henhouse, too, although it had taken him a bit of time to figure out how to do it. That had been back when he’d been very angry with the Havenites, and he hadn’t wanted to ask any of them for help. There had been an old and beat up chicken coop in place when he’d first moved in, but it had collapsed when he’d tried to fix it. Cid had needed to build a new henhouse entirely, but he was happy with what he’d made in the end. It wasn’t fancy, but it kept the hens warm and dry, and it had a hinged roof that made it easier for him to reach in and get the eggs. He also had a fenced-in run for the chickens, although he let them roam the farmyard for the time being. Letting them free graze improved the quality of the eggs and the durability of the shells.

That run will be useful if I ever have to travel, though. Keep them from roaming too far while I’m not here. Be a shame, be wrong to keep them locked up if I have to go. Maybe I can get somebody to watch out for the chickens. Lyle might know somebody.

He frowned; mood soured by the thought of having to leave Oak Tree Farm if the Corps required it. Who knew what he might run into as constable? Things had been quiet so far, but there was no guarantee that they would stay that way.

A problem for another time. The me of whenever, if ever that happens.

He lifted the roof of the henhouse back and gathered the three eggs inside as the hens flocked around his feet, begging for more food.

“Off with you,” he said, clutching the eggs close to his chest so that he didn’t drop them. “You’ve had plenty to eat.”

He’d need to refresh the straw inside the coop soon—it was looking a little thin, and the nights were starting to get crisp—but he could do that later. For now, he wanted to fix some breakfast before he got to work in earnest.

There was one last thing he needed to check on before going inside, though. He made his way out to the lush field on the hill where he kept his horse. Nightshade had been his old mount back in the Guards, and Lord Vanstone had generously agreed to give him to Cid in his retirement.

Well, maybe it wasn’t all that generous.

Nightshade was a crotchety beast with a short temper, and he hadn’t done well with the green recruit he’d been assigned to in Cid’s absence. Lord Vanstone was probably cutting his losses in giving the horse up to another owner.

Even now, Cid watched the old gelding’s ears flatten in irritation when he saw a figure walking up the hill toward him, but he perked up and whinnied a greeting when he recognized his master.

“You’re a one-man horse, buddy,” Cid said once he got close enough for Nightshade to hear him. “And we love you for it. But I’ve got no treats for you now. Just checking to see how you are.”

In truth, the old horse had filled out a little since arriving at Oak Tree Farm—too much rich grain and lush, green grass—but Cid couldn’t fault him for it. Nightshade had worked hard for the Guards for years and had spent most of his life cooped up in a stable in Hearthstone. Now that he was semi-retired, just like Cid, he’d earned an indulgence or two.

He had quickly taken to his new life as a jack-of-all-trades farm horse, strong enough to pull a plow and drag old trees into the farmyard for chopping. Cid took him out into the forest at least once a week now to gather lumber for firewood. He wasn’t sure quite what to expect, but it seemed like winters in Haven were cold and snowy. He’d need to keep the fire well stoked if he wanted to stay warm.

“Bet you’re not looking forward to spending the winter in a stable,” he said, but Nightshade had already turned away from him once he’d realized there were no treats coming and was cropping the long grass next to the fence.

Ed, the town carpenter, had built a nice barn for Nightshade that was bigger than any he’d had back in town. Hopefully, that was enough to keep Cid’s old mount in good spirits through the winter.

But watching the horse eat was making him hungry. Cid made his way back down the hill, eggs still cradled in his shirt, and back into the farmhouse.

It had been a dump when he’d first moved in—broken stairs, filthy floors, hole in the roof, and full of garbage—but he’d spent a lot of time fixing it up since then. It wasn’t quite finished yet, but it was a huge improvement. The floors were sparkling clean, and with the help of Water One, he made sure they stayed that way. He’d even spent the past week re-staining them so that they were almost new, and he loved the way they looked in the sunlight now—warm and honey-colored, just the way he’d always imagined. He’d spent his first few weeks on Oak Tree Farm sleeping on the floor of his bedroom wrapped in a cloak, but now he had a soft feather bed and a strong wood bedframe.

Need to get more blankets.

Another thing to add to the winter checklist. Maybe he could get a horse blanket for Nightshade too so that his friend could still have fun outside once the weather got colder. It would be a shame to keep the big horse cooped up inside for months if he could find another option.

He headed into the kitchen to cook up the eggs. It, too, had been spruced up since he’d first arrived at Oak Tree Farm. He’d cleared out the trash, stained the floors, and painted the walls a clean white. A traveling merchant had brought him a nice iron wood stove and a charmed ice box that allowed him to store perishables through the summer heat. He’d even bought yellow curtains from the Village Store, and they cheered him up every time he entered the room. Cid had never had to decorate a house before, and he still wasn’t quite sure if he was doing it right. But he liked the home he was making, and he supposed that was what mattered.

He lit a fire in the stove and grabbed some potatoes from the cellar, then threw them in the oven along with some spices he’d picked up from the farmers’ market. Then he cracked the eggs he’d gathered and put them in a pan, letting them cook slowly over the heat that came up from the fire below. His stomach was growling by the time they were ready.

Got to get started on breakfast earlier tomorrow.

It was a good meal, simple but hearty, and he shoveled it down quickly. He ate the same thing most days—the Guards had had a mess hall, so he’d never really learned to cook—and it never got old. Still, it might not hurt to learn some new recipes. He’d get tired of eggs and potatoes someday.

And now that I have eggs, I can try baking this winter.

He’d never match Roger the Baker’s ability, but he could at least make some sweet things so that he didn’t have to go into town to buy dessert. And who knew? He might want to have some of the villagers over someday if things ever got less weird between them.

He threw the plate and pans in the sink to wash later, then headed back outside. The day was glorious, sunny but still cool enough to work without breaking a sweat—a vivid reminder of why he’d decided to stay in Haven despite everything that had happened. It was beautiful here, his crops were lush and growing fast, and his old horse seemed to finally be happy. And the land was his—no one else’s. That alone made it worth it.

Time to get to work for real.

He’d wasted enough time that day fiddling with his memoirs and talking to Nightshade. He had crops to tend to, and he wanted to get started on tilling one of the south fields down by the brook for next year’s growing season. For all his efforts, the farm was still only about a third of the way up and running. Most of the larger fields were still lying fallow, full of rocks and unworkable.

If things keep going well, I might have to hire some hands to help out.

Oak Tree Farm was one of the largest properties in Haven, and its land was very rich, fed by the Mana Cavern below. Crops here grew twice as fast as they did in the other farms around town—and to Cid’s chagrin, so did weeds. When the farm’s former owner had died without naming an heir, the Crown had stepped in to hold the land, and because of its value, they’d made the price so high that it was well-nigh impossible for any of the villagers here to buy it. Only a former Knight or Guardsman, possessed of a formal Land Writ, would have been able to do it. Cid had done exactly that.

“Hey, Mary,” he said as he passed a small field full of gently waving corn.

Mary was an elderly woman, a former Magic Knight, who had rented one of his fields when she’d run out of room on her own farm. He’d been uncertain about having a tenant farmer on his land—especially one from Haven—but to his relief, things had gone well so far. Mary was polite, delivered her bag of gold on time each week, and seemed thrilled with the way her crops were growing.

“Cid Dawnshield,” she said, looking up from her weeding. “Pleasure as always. Another bushel of corn this week for the market!”

“Good to hear,” he said stiffly.

“Thanks again for having me here. It’s been a big help.”

She smiled hopefully up at him, and Cid sighed. She was trying—and she kept trying. He had to respect that.

“Glad to have you,” he said and turned his back to walk toward his own fields.

He spent the rest of the morning tending to his existing crops, using magic to lift water from the troughs and sprinkle it onto the dirt. Weeding he still had to do by hand, although he made a mental note to ask Bran if there was a spell he could use for that. It was the least the Magic Knights could do for him.

Once he was satisfied that everything was growing well, he moved on to the new field by the creek.

What would grow well here?

It got plenty of light and was close to a good water source. He wondered if tomatoes would be a good fit. It would be nice to have fresh tomatoes next year.

He let his mind wander as he used Earth One to till the soil, then pulled some water from the brook to wash out some of the larger rocks. No need to rush this one, after all. He had all the time in the world.

Chapter Three: Another Day

By midday, Mary was heading back to her own farm, and Cid was wrapping up his work on the new field. He wasn’t done yet—there was still had about two thirds of the soil left to till—but he’d done as much as he needed to do for the day. This late in the season, he was mostly just monitoring his crops, making sure they were growing well, and waiting for harvest time.

That will be a big week.

He’d been doing all right alone so far, but he might need to hire additional hands to get the harvest brought in. It might be good to start thinking about which villagers he’d be comfortable asking to help out.

Lyle should be good for it when the time comes.

Speaking of Lyle… it was time for their constable shift. Cid walked back down the hill and into the house, kicking off his muddy boots by the door, then washed up at the sink as best he could. There was still a little dirt on the back of his neck, but he didn’t have time to do more. Luckily, his uniform covered the worst of it.

He changed into the constable’s outfit the Corps had sent him and headed outside. At least the clothes fit; they must have asked the Guards for his measurements.

Nice day, at least.

And, annoyed as he was about his Corps-mandated constable job, part of him had missed the routine of being a Guard. Dangerous as Hearthstone was, he’d liked going on patrol, getting to know the ins and outs of the city, learning who was on the rise and who was up to no good. Being the Haven Constable was a much safer, much lower-stakes version of that.

He whistled a jaunty tune—this one an old one about a bear and a maiden—as he made the stroll into town. Lyle was waiting for him on one of the bridges that crossed Haven Brook. He was wearing his uniform too, although he still looked uncomfortable in it. The Corps had sent it over when Cid had insisted on an assistant as a condition of agreeing to take on the job. They’d made it too big so that the boy would have room to grow, and it was still a little roomy on him.

Lyle was filling out, though. Cid had him doing regular workouts, weightlifting, daily runs—everything he’d done as a green recruit. He’d also been schooling him on swordplay and hand-to-hand combat when he had some time in between farm work and patrols. The boy had been beanpole-scrawny when they’d started, all skin and bones, but he was starting to put on some muscle.

Got to get him on some heavier weights soon. He’d scout in the forest for some bigger rocks when he got the chance.

“Cid!” Lyle shouted when he saw him. “Over here.”

“Yep, kid,” Cid muttered. “I see you. Hard to miss.”

He was still annoyed with Lyle about the Mana Trials, although that was fading the longer they worked together. The boy was hard-working and diligent, and he seemed to take his new job seriously. He’d clearly been bored out of his skull in Haven before Cid had showed up. The added responsibility had been good for him.

“Here, lad,” he said when he got to the bridge. “Do you have your sword?”

“I do,” Lyle said, drawing it from his scabbard.

It was a short blade, more of a long knife than a sword, but it was of good quality. His parents had been in the Magic Knight Corps and had died in service, leaving their son to be raised by his grandfather. They had left half an armory’s worth of weapons behind them, and he had inherited all of them. Cid had looked them all over when he and Lyle had first started working together, and had selected the one the boy was currently using. It was a good starter blade, appropriate for a green recruit who was still learning the ins and outs of swordplay. Cid had already picked out the next sword Lyle would use when he outgrew this one.

“Let’s train a bit before we go out,” Cid said. “I’ve got time. You remember what I showed you?”

Lyle lifted his sword up in a guard position.

Cid nodded. “Good. And?”

He brought the blade across his chest in a cross-body parry.

“Good. And?”

He raised it above his head as if he was defending himself from a head strike.

“Very good. The three guard positions. Now.”

Cid pulled out his own sword and moved it slowly, as if he were about to attack Lyle’s first guard position. The boy brought his blade up to block it.

“Good.”

He brought his sword toward the second, then the third guard, each time moving slowly enough so that the boy had time to see the attack and parry it. They did the same exercise a few times, just to get Lyle warmed up. Then Cid started moving a bit faster—still slower than he would in an actual fight—and changing up the order of his attacks so that the boy would have to think on his feet.

It was dull work, but he knew from years of experience how essential it was. He’d done many drills just like this one when he had trained. It took time to build up the lightning-quick reflexes that made a good swordsman. Only when Lyle was able to parry each blow automatically, without thinking about it, would he be ready for a full-on practice fight.

They did one last drill—this one almost at full speed, and Cid grinned as the boy blocked each attack in turn. It was good to hear the sound of blades clashing against each other in the summer air. He’d missed it more than he’d thought.

The lad was really coming into his own, too. His bladework was good, and his parries were getting faster.

“See if any of the boys around town want to spar with you,” Cid said, lowering his sword for a moment. “Get sticks if they don’t have practice weapons. Practice fighting for real. You can do drills with them, too—like this one—when I’m not able to get away from the farm.”

Lyle nodded, face grave, and sheathed his sword. “I will.”

“And work on some of the grappling and hand-to-hand work that I showed you. I’m too strong to help you much with that. You need to fight with boys your own size to start with.”

“Aye.”

“When you’re ready, when we’ve been doing this for a few years, I can write you a reference for the Guards. My word still counts for something there. They’ll hire you on as a recruit if I recommend you. If you still want to be a Guard, that is.”

“I do,” Lyle said. “More than anything.”

“It’s not glamorous work,” Cid said. “Not like the Magic Knight Corps. It’s hard, dirty, and dangerous. If you end up stationed in the Lower City, you’ll need to keep your eyes about you. Not all of my friends made it out of the Guards alive.”

“I want to do it,” the boy said firmly.

Cid nodded. He’d give Lyle a year or two to see if he changed his mind. And he still needed to see how the boy did when faced with a real test. The Guards had no patience for cowards or shirkers, and he couldn’t recommend any recruit he didn’t think would be a good fit for the job.

“Enough practice for now,” he said, putting his own sword away. “Let’s go on patrol. You see anything while I was out on the farm?”

It was good to have an assistant who lived in town. Oak Tree Farm wasn’t far from Haven—only a twenty-minute walk or so—but it was still enough of a distance that Cid sometimes missed out on the latest gossip and happenings. Lyle seemed to be everywhere at once somehow, and he usually knew what was going on.

“Not much this time,” the boy admitted. “Roger set part of the bakery on fire by accident—got distracted talking to Miss Maggie. But he was able to put it out in time, and only one of his loaves of bread got scorched. We fed it to Maggie’s pigs. And I think Rumphius might sign up for the Corps. They rode through yesterday and left a poster. They’re looking for strong lads eighteen and over who can pass the Mana Trials. He passed last year, and he’s been waiting for them to come by ever since.”

“Wait,” Cid said. “The Magic Knights were here? Yesterday?”

“Yeah. But only for long enough to put up the poster. Then they rode off. I think they’re recruiting in the other towns around here, too. And your friend wasn’t with them.”

“Ah,” Cid said. Right. Bran was in the desert now, on a mission in the Southern Lands. He often wasn’t quite sure where Bran was exactly. Not in Haven. That was for sure.

“I’m glad Rumph is leaving,” Lyle admitted. “He’s a real jerk.”

“Right.”

Many of the boys in town had bullied Lyle for years. Cid didn’t know whether it was because he was being raised by his grandfather, because he was strange, or because they just didn’t like the look of him, but it had clearly had an impact on the boy. That was one reason he’d asked him to be assistant constable even after his trick with the Mana Trials. He’d seemed like the kind of lad who’d thrive with a real job to do.

“Afternoon, fellas,” Roger said as they passed the bakery. Just as Lyle had said, there had clearly been a fire there recently. One of the walls of the building was scorched.

“Roger,” Cid said cautiously. “You need any help getting that sorted out?”

The baker laughed. “No, no, thanks for the offer, but I’ve got it handled. Comes with the job, doesn’t it? Risk of fire.”

“I guess.”

“Here,” Roger said, reaching into the wicker basket at his feet. “Have a loaf. It’s a new kind. Cranberry nut.”

Cid paused. “I don’t—”

“Take it. Please.”

The baker held the bread out insistently—a little too insistently—and Cid sighed. Roger, too, was trying to make things right. But he didn’t really want a loaf of cranberry nut.

“Thanks,” he said tersely, taking the bread and stuffing it in his pack. “Looks good.”

“Think I did well.” Roger looked back at him hopefully, but Cid turned away.

“Have to get moving,” he said. “Patrol. Can’t wait.”

He walked off faster than he’d intended too, and Lyle had to trot to keep up with him.

“Roger’s really nice,” the boy panted. “He makes good bread.”

“You can have the cranberry loaf if you want.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Cid shrugged. He knew Roger was trying—just as old Mary, his tenant farmer, was trying. But it would take a lot more than a free loaf of bread to make things right.

“Seen any monster tracks lately?” he said, changing the subject.

To his relief, Lyle bit. “Monster tracks? I don’t think so. I thought I saw something up by the mill this morning, but I think they were just cow tracks that got rained in.”

They’d seen spidren tracks a few times just outside of town earlier that summer, but no sign of the monsters themselves. And Cid hadn’t seen anything in a few weeks. Hopefully, they’d moved on.

“Well, keep your eyes out,” he said. “And we’ll look out for trouble as we circle the village today.”

The rest of their patrol went without incident. Many of the Havenites greeted them as they passed, although Cid’s response was usually terse, and they didn’t see any trace of monsters or bandits. Their shift ended just as the sun was starting to sink below the trees, and Cid walked Lyle back to the bridge where they’d met.

“Same time tomorrow?” he asked.

The boy grinned. “Same time tomorrow.”

Chapter Four: Growing Quickly

Cid stood on the bridge and watched Lyle scamper off toward his grandfather’s house. The boy was growing, but he was still young. Fourteen.

What was I like when I was fourteen?

Not like Lyle, that was for sure. Cid had dreamed of being a Magic Knight, had even gone as far as to dream up an imaginary horse for himself and give it a name, but he’d had too many duties at home to get into as much trouble as Lyle did. His father had been a shopkeeper who’d always struggled to make a living, and Cid had ended up serving as unpaid extra labor behind the counter or at the market. He’d run off to join the Guards as soon as he could—although he’d still sent money home to his family while his parents were still alive. From what he’d heard, the extra income had made a difference.

But he had run off, so he might have been more like Lyle than he liked to admit. Maybe all fourteen-year-olds were the same on some level.

He sighed and turned toward the road back toward Oak Tree Farm. Thinking of his family reminded him that he should write to his sister. Laurie was two years younger than him, and she’d married well and gone to live in a small manor on the northern coast of the kingdom. He wasn’t quite sure how it had happened—he’d been in the Guards at the time—but somehow, a minor lord had taken notice of her while he had been stopping at the market on his way through town, and he’d made an offer of marriage on the spot. Their father had recognized a spectacular stroke of luck when he saw one—and while he’d loved his children, he’d jumped at the chance to have one less mouth to feed. He’d acquiesced immediately, and off Laurie had gone.

She’d been a bossy child, and apparently, being the lady of a manor suited her. Cid hadn’t seen her in years, but they exchanged letters once in a while when they both had time. Their lives were so different, though, that it was hard to think of what he could write to her. What did she know about being a Guard? She never seemed to have much patience for his stories, and he found her interminable catalogues of manor accounts, stores, and provisions tedious.

Still, she was his sister, and with his parents dead, she was the only blood relative he had. He would write to her. Tonight. If nothing else, it was a way of putting off writing his memoir that still made him feel like he was being productive.

“Cid! Cid Dawnshield!”

Cid froze. He knew that voice. It was Miss Maggie from the local tavern. She was popular in Haven—in part because of her skill as a brewer—but she had no patience for fools. On top of that—and Cid didn’t like to admit this to himself—she was also pretty, with sharp eyes and long, blonde hair.

She also had a secret. He’d seen it behind the bar the last time he’d been there: an old plaque thanking her for her service to the Magic Knights. She’d never mentioned it, and he’d never asked, but he’d wondered about it more than once. What could Maggie have done for the Knights that they’d send her a sign of their gratitude? Cid had no idea, and she wasn’t telling.

“Hi, Maggie,” he said. “I’ve got to get back—”

“Haven’t seen you around the pub lately,” she said. “Something wrong?”

“Um,” he replied. “You all tricked me into running the Mana Trials? You pretended to be normal villagers, but you weren’t? At all?”

She smiled. “Right. That was a bit of a sneaky trick, wasn’t it?”

The other Havenites seemed ashamed of what they’d done, but not her. She had a cheeky grin on her face. Cid knew that it should annoy him—after all, she’d been just as involved in the plan as the rest of them. But for some reason, with Maggie, it didn’t.

“It was,” he said.

“Let me make it up to you,” she said. “Let’s have dinner.”

“Um?” Cid said.

“You can cook?”

“I can cook?!”

“Weren’t you saying that you wanted to learn more recipes?” she said. “This is the perfect opportunity. I’ve got recipes aplenty, and I don’t judge.”

He crossed his arms. “Shouldn’t you be cooking? Try to make up for the Mana Trials thing?”

“I can.” She shrugged. “But you’ve had everything I know how to make. It’s all on the tavern menu every day. It’s not very exciting.”

Cid gritted his teeth. He didn’t like it—and he would never admit it to her—but he liked the prospect of making dinner for Miss Maggie. Maybe he could impress her. She wouldn’t expect a man like him to be able to cook.

“Here,” she said. “I’ll bring all the ingredients. It’s only fair since this was my idea. And you can take a recipe from my recipe book if you like. I’ve got a lot, and half of them, I’ve never made.”

“I’ve got ingredients,” Cid protested. “Oak Tree Farm has great produce.”

“Then I’ll pay you for what you use.” Maggie grinned. “And that’s final. You shouldn’t lose money because you’re making me dinner.”

“I’m not objecting. I’ll take the money. Oak Tree Farm’s doing well, but I’m not made of gold.”

“I’ll send one of the kids by later with the recipe book,” she said. “Don’t have time to go out to the farm today. You pick one out and send them back with an ingredient list. I can bring anything you don’t have tomorrow night.”

“Wait,” Cid said. “Tomorrow night?”

“Yeah.” She grinned. “Dinner tomorrow night. You available?”

He shrugged. “Sure. Not like I have much of a social life around here.”

All he had to do in the evenings was procrastinate on writing his memoirs—and he could do that any time. At least a dinner with Maggie would be a change of pace from his normal routine.

She smiled, looking genuinely pleased that he’d agreed to her suggestion. “Fantastic. I’m looking forward to it. And I’ll bring a bottle of my newest specialty ale for you to try, too.”

Maggie turned and walked off down the road toward town. Was he seeing things, or was there an extra spring in her step?

Probably just imagining it. She operated by her own rules.

He was looking forward to this dinner, though, despite the fact that he hadn’t been given all that much choice in the matter. What could he make? He tried to remember what his mother had once made for him, but those days were so long ago that he couldn’t picture any family meals at all. There might not have been many. His parents had spent most of their time at work.

Well, maybe something in Maggie’s recipe book would jog his memory.

He walked briskly as he made his way back to Oak Tree Farm, hoping he could get home before the sun set fully behind the trees. He needed light to write his letter to Laurie—and he had trouble working by candlelight. It was something about the way the light flickered.

It’s definitely the light. Not that I’m getting old. He was no spring chicken, but like Nightshade, he still had plenty of good years left in him.

When he got back to the house, he pulled off his muddy boots and went to his desk. Thinking longingly of the hot bath that was waiting for him later that night, he pulled out a quill and a fresh piece of parchment and began to write.

Dear Laurie—

He stopped. What could he tell her about life on the farm? What could possibly interest her? She’d probably be offended that he hadn’t written in so long, that he’d made a whole new life and hadn’t told her, but that couldn’t be helped.

Surprise! I bought a farm! I’ve retired from the Guards and have purchased a nice plot of land in a town called Haven. It’s north of Hearthstone, but still south of you, I think.

He thought. He wasn’t exactly sure where her manor was, actually. He’d never seen it. The Guards had always taken up too much of his time. He’d always hoped he could go and meet Laurie’s children—his nieces and nephews—but something had always come up. But that could be fixed now that his schedule was freer.

It’s a lot of work, but I think winters will be slower. Maybe I can come up and visit the manor sometime if you have a spare room? I’ll bring produce from the farm.

What else could he tell her?

The villagers here are nice. I’ve met a lot of people and am settling in. They helped me get things set up here, assigned me a slot in the weekly farmers’ market, and even gave me some seeds to get things started.

He didn’t want to go into the whole Mana Trials story. She wouldn’t understand what he was taking about, and she wouldn’t care. Laurie liked hard facts and figures. There was nothing she enjoyed more than a list.

The farm itself is doing well. Things grow quickly here. I’ve got corn, zucchinis, a few tomatoes, and a few kinds of beans. In the spring, I hope to expand my tomato operation and put in some sweet peas as well. I have Nightshade, my old horse from the Guards, here to help me plow. I want to get a few cows next calving season to keep him company. I recently got a few laying hens and hope to expand my flock. Maybe I’ll get some ducks, too. They’d enjoy swimming in the stream. I have a ready source of fish, a good stove, and an ice box to keep things cool. All set up with the comforts of home!

Laurie would like all the details he was providing. By all accounts, she’d whipped her manor into shape as soon as she’d arrived there.

Maybe you could come by sometime? Give me some advice about my operation?

She’d like that, too.

I think of you often.

That was a lie, but a pretty one.

And I often think of mom and dad as well. Send me a letter to know how you’re doing! You can send it to the tavern in Haven, and I’ll pick it up there.

All love,

Your brother, Cid Dawnshield.

He signed the letter with a flourish, folded it up, and sealed it with a spatter of candle wax. He didn’t have a proper seal—had always used the Guards’ seal, but he hadn’t been allowed to take that with him when he’d left—so he scratched his initials into the wax with his quill. Maybe he could whittle something better out of wood when he was stuck inside this winter. It would be nice to be able to sign with his full name.

Someone knocked at the door, and he jumped.

“Who’s there?”

“Grigory Stone! Miss Maggie sent me!”

Right. She was going to send someone with her recipe book. Cid picked up his letter and went to the door.

“What do you have here, lad?”

The book was almost as big as the boy’s chest, and he was red-faced with the effort of carrying it all the way from town. Cid took it from him.

“Come inside,” he said. “Have some water. I’ve got fresh cranberry loaf, too, and a little bit of butter. You can help yourself.”

Grigory brightened at the words ‘cranberry loaf’ and followed him inside. Cid set the bread on the table, along with a small plate of butter, and turned to the book.

“Let’s see,” he said, more to himself than to the boy. “What do we think we can pull off?”

Chapter Five: Cranberry Load

“Can I have another slice of cranberry loaf?” Grigory said, looking hungrily at the bread on the table.

Cid shrugged, still flipping through the recipe book. “Sure. I don’t like it, so eat up. Fruit in bread isn’t my thing.”

“More for me,” the boy said, cutting himself a thick piece. He put a thick slab of butter on top of it and swallowed the whole thing down in two bites.

Maggie’s book didn’t contain many surprises—it was mostly hearty pub fare of the kind served in every tavern this side of the Kingdom of White Lions. Beef stew, and potato and carrot pie and the like, with a few lighter salads for summertime. Cid had already had most of the recipes at her bar over the last few months, and those that he hadn’t had in Haven, he’d had in Hearthstone or the towns around it.

It was familiar comfort food, but none of it was exciting or romantic at all. He couldn’t imagine serving Maggie a parsnip stew and expecting her to be impressed—even if it was a good parsnip stew, thick with mashed turnips and potatoes.

“Grigory,” he said. “If someone was making you dinner, what would you want them to make?”

The boy looked back at him, baffled. “They’re making it for me? Why?”

“I don’t know. Because they want to impress you.”

“They want to impress me? By making me food? Why would they want to do that?”

Cid sighed. He was starting to think that Grigory was a little slow. “Because you’re the sort of person who likes that kind of thing in this made-up situation. What would you want them to make?”

“They’re paying? And it can be anything?”

“Sure,” Cid said. “They’re paying.”

“A giant steak. The most expensive cut of beef they can afford. And some kind of crazy sauce with gold in it or something. I can strain out the gold and use it later.”

Not a helpful answer, buddy.

Grigory seemed to expect some kind of response to what he’d said, so Cid grunted noncommittally.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said.

He kept flipping through the recipe book, watching from the corner of his eye as the boy cut slice after slice of cranberry loaf, until something caught his eye.

It was an older recipe, one he’d never seen Maggie make, and so faded that he could barely make out the spidery script on the page. It didn’t look like Maggie’s handwriting.

“Mom’s Spaghetti,” he read, squinting at the book. “Grigory, what do you think?”

“Think about what?” the boy said, mouth full of bread.

“If someone made you spaghetti for dinner, would you be impressed?”

“Um,” Grigory said. “Maybe?”

“With handmade noodles,” Cid said. “And a fresh sauce.”

“I don’t know, mister. No one’s ever made anything like that for me before.”

But Cid was already frowning at the book. No oregano? Dried tomatoes? It didn’t seem like a very good recipe. And something about it reminded him of something…

An image jumped into his mind unbidden: his own mother, setting a piping-hot bowl of noodles down on the table for him to share with Laurie. She’d made meatballs, too—big ones, full of herbs and fresh parmesan cheese. And if he dug back in his memory—really thought hard about it—he thought he might be able to remember how she’d done it. She’d made it all right in front of them, after all, standing at their kitchen counter. He’d seen her do it.

“I don’t think I need this,” he said, closing the recipe book and sliding it back across the table toward the boy. “I can do it myself.”

Grigory blinked. “Okay?”

“Take it back to Maggie and tell her I’m going to surprise her. She’s not going to expect what I have planned.”

The boy looked blankly at the recipe book, then picked it up and tucked it under his arm. “Okay. I’ll tell her that.”

“And one more thing,” Cid said, walking back into the living room to retrieve the letter he’d written for Laurie. “Can you take this back to the village to be mailed? I want to see if it can be sent out tomorrow.”

“A letter?”

“Yes, Grigory, a letter.”

“Okay?” He tucked the parchment under his arm along with the book, then jumped to his feet. “Sure, mister. I can take that back for you.”

“Thanks, Grigory. Take the cranberry loaf back with you, if you like.”

“Neat!”

Cid watched the boy go with some relief. Grigory was nice enough, but he was looking forward to the peace and quiet of having the rest of the night to himself. He wanted to take a warm bath, and he wanted to use the time to try to reconstruct his mother’s spaghetti recipe. He could almost picture it. Hopefully, the steam and hot water would refresh his memory a bit.

He felt a little guilty as he took another roll of parchment upstairs with him to his bedroom. These were the supplies he’d set aside for his memoirs, and here he was using them up on letters to his sister and pasta recipes.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I’ll get started on the book in earnest.

But not tonight. He was taking tonight off.

An hour later, he had a rough approximation of a recipe ready. He wasn’t quite sure about a few things—the amount of oregano seemed off, somehow, and he couldn’t remember if the pasta needed three or four eggs—but it was close. A starting point. It was definitely better than the spaghetti in Maggie’s book, that was for sure.

Hopefully, this will impress her.

If not— well, too bad for her. He was pretty sure he’d like what he was going to cook. And he’d be sure to make enough that he could have leftovers later if he wanted.

He dried off, climbed into his soft feather bed—one of the best purchases he’d ever made—and drifted off to sleep. It was funny. He slept better here in Haven than he ever had anywhere else. Something about the sound of the crickets and the wind in the trees—or maybe it was the satisfaction of knowing that another day’s work was complete. It was another reason to stay despite all the issues he’d had with the villagers.

He rose early the next morning and took a moment to take stock of the day’s tasks. He needed to feed the animals, as usual, and check on his crops to make sure they were growing well. He wanted to check on the fence on the north side of Nightshade’s pasture—one of the boards had seemed a little loose the last time he’d checked it. The last thing he wanted was for his horse to get out and run wild through the forest. And—

Maggie’s coming tonight.

He needed to prepare that spaghetti recipe, and he wouldn’t have time to test it out before she arrived. Hopefully, it would go well.

One thing at a time, Dawnshield.

He still had his daily chores to get out of the way first, and he’d better get started on them soon if he was going to go into town to get the spices he’d need for the sauce. His bed was comfortable, but he couldn’t stay here forever.

He rolled out of bed, pulled on a shirt and work pants, and headed downstairs. The chickens were already milling around the farmyard, pecking for bugs in the dirt, and they flocked to the porch as soon as they saw him emerge from the farmhouse.

“Easy,” he said, grabbing the grain sack from the shed behind their henhouse. “Easy. Food’s coming.”

He should start putting them in the chicken coop at night. They were bound to wander away on him one of these days, and while he hadn’t yet seen any foxes on the farm, he’d heard them yipping in the woods once or twice around dawn. The last thing he needed was for a fox to get in among his flock and wreak havoc.

Tonight. I’ll put them in tonight.

He scattered the grain on the ground near the henhouse, and the chickens ate greedily. While they were distracted, he lifted the roof off the coop and gathered four large, brown eggs.

That’s enough for the pasta dough, at least.

He set the eggs inside on the kitchen counter for later, then walked up the hill to check Nightshade’s pasture. The horse seemed happy enough, and the fence repair could hold off for another day or so, so he left him be and moved on to tend to his crops. Nightshade would have plenty of hard work to do in a few weeks when the harvest began in earnest, and he’d get a nice workout later that day when Cid went into town to pick up spices for the spaghetti sauce.

He watered his crops and gathered the vegetables that were ripe and ready for picking. It was a nice haul—a few turnips, some cucumbers and zucchinis, and plenty of large tomatoes.

Good. For the sauce.

The turnips, cucumbers, and zucchinis he could sell at the Village Store that day. There was always a market for zucchinis in Haven for some reason. They were his top-selling crop. He wasn’t sure why.

The villagers really like their zucchini, I guess.

He wasn’t in the mood for breakfast, so he spent a little time tilling his new field with Earth One, taking pleasure in the sight of the neat rows of dark black earth. He dug up plenty of big rocks this time, dropping them neatly in a line next to the field. They might be useful later on if he decided that he wanted to build a wall or upgrade the fence around Nightshade’s pasture.

Old Mary arrived just as he was heading back toward the house with his harvest. He gave her a wave but didn’t stop to chat. It was time to get this show on the road.

He left the tomatoes on the counter for later, bagged up the zucchinis, turnips, and cucumbers for sale, and grabbed Nightshade’s saddle and bridle from the tack room in the stable. The horse pinned his ears back when he saw him coming—saddle and bridle meant work, after all—but to Cid’s relief, he allowed himself to be caught without too much trouble.

“Let’s go, boy,” Cid said, mounting up. “Just like old times.”

The horse had gained a little weight since he’d arrived at Oak Tree Farm, but he was still fast as the wind. Cid held the reins in one hand and his bag of vegetables in the other as they galloped toward town. Why was he still walking in for his constable shifts? He should be riding Nightshade. That would help his old mount stay in shape, too.

He dismounted near Haven Brook so that the horse could get some water, and wrapped the reins loosely around a fence so that he wouldn’t stray. The Guards’ mounts were all trained to stay where they were left, but it was always better to have the extra security of knowing Nightshade would still be there when he got back. Then he slung his sack of produce over one shoulder and headed for the store.

The weekly farmers’ market was the best place in town to buy fresh vegetables, but it only met on Saturdays. The Village Store had a decent—if not spectacular—selection in between markets, and they were willing to buy fresh fruits and vegetables on off-days as well. It was run by an elderly couple—Eve and Cory Johnson—and their reclusive son, Wilbur. Cid had exchanged words with them a few times in passing but had never ventured into the store itself.

Hopefully, they give me a good price for these.

He’d heard that the Johnsons could be stingy, and he wasn’t in the mood to barter with them. But he also knew that they, like the rest of the town, felt bad about the trick with the Mana Trials. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

Chapter Six: For The Love of Produce

Here goes nothing.

He opened the door to the Village Store and walked in. A bell announced his arrival. Both of the Johnsons were behind the counter—a rare occurrence. Usually one of them stayed in the back room unpacking boxes and checking stock.

“Cid Dawnshield,” Eve Johnson said, re-arranging her cloud of white hair on her head. “Here to buy something?”

He looked around. The store’s produce stock was looking thin, which made sense. Most farmers in the area preferred to wait for the farmers’ market to sell their wares. They could usually get a better price for their produce there.

“Here to sell,” he said, and the Johnsons perked up. They knew they needed to put more stock on their shelves.

“What do you have, lad?” Cory Johnson said. He was an old man, older than his wife, with a pinched face half-hidden under a broad-brimmed cap. “We’re looking for vegetables.”

Cid put his sack down on the counter. He was ready to haggle—in fact, he was looking forward to it.

“Turnips,” he said. “A few cucumbers. And…zucchinis.”

Their eyes widened.

“Zucchinis,” Cory said. “Those’ll go quick. Let’s see what you’ve brought.”

He opened the bag, and they looked inside.

“Good quality,” Eve said. “Cucumbers are a bit small, though.”

“Five gold pieces,” Cory said. “That’ll cover the lot. And thank you, lad, for bringing these in. It’s a few days until the market—and there are folks in town who need fresh vegetables now.”

“Ten gold pieces,” Cid said, and the Johnsons scoffed.

“Ten?” Eve said. “It’s good to value yourself and your product, but you didn’t bring that much.”

“I’ve got the best zucchinis in town.” Cid grinned. He was enjoying this. “Well worth the money.”

“Five,” Cory said.

His wife sighed. “Come on, dear. He’s come all this way. Let’s give him six. We need the product.”

“It’s worth five.”

“Six. And he walks away happy. Comes back another day, maybe.”

“All right,” Cory said, turning back to Cid. “Six it is. And a good profit for you at that rate.”

Cid shook his head. “Ten.”

“We could do seven,” Eve said. “But that’s really as high as we can go. Can’t do ten. Absolutely out of the question.”

“Yeah,” Cid said good-naturedly. “Remember when you all tricked me for months by pretending to be normal villagers when you were secretly Magic Knights, got me to run the Mana Trials under false pretenses, and strong-armed me into being your town constable even though I was hoping to have a quiet retirement here on my farm?”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then Eve Johnson reached into the cash register for more coins.

“Ten it is,” she said stiffly. “Although the constable thing wasn’t our idea.”

Cid grinned and pocketed the gold. He wasn’t really mad at the Johnsons at this point. He just wanted a fair price for his vegetables. Can’t keep pulling the Mana Trials card forever, though. He’d have to be sure to pick his battles going forward.

“I’m also looking for some spices,” he said. “I’m making spaghetti.”

“That’s nice,” Eve said. She seemed a little irritated.

“I’ll need oregano. Some thyme. Dried basil and parsley. And a little powdered garlic. I think that’s it.”

He remembered his mom shaking the spices into the big sauce pot. Hopefully, he hadn’t forgotten anything.

Eve took his money—he used some of the same coins she’d just given him—while Cory spooned the spices out into small cloth bags. They were stored on the shelves behind the counter in big glass jars.

Maybe I should get some of those. For flour and sugar, if I end up doing any more baking.

He was no Roger the Baker—never would be—but hopefully, he could set up a decent home operation.

“How’s Wilbur?” he said. He hadn’t seen their son around town in a while. Although according to the Nightgreens, that was just how Wilbur was.

Cory froze behind the counter, face unreadable.

“Fine,” Eve said, her eyes downcast. “He’s just fine, Cid. Thanks for asking.”

That was weird.

Well, he didn’t want to pry. He put the spice bags in the same pocket as his coins and made a hasty exit. Nightshade was still where he’d left him, happily cropping grass by the riverbank, and he only grumbled a little when Cid mounted up.

“Come on, boy,” he said. “Let’s go make some spaghetti.”

His interaction with the Johnsons had been strange, but a good gallop on Nightshade’s back always lifted his spirits. They were back at the farm in minutes, and Cid gave the horse a good rub-down, took off his saddle and bridle, and let him loose in his field to rest.

What’s up with Wilbur?

He wasn’t sure, but it seemed like the kind of thing he wanted to stay far away from. He was tired of secrets. The villagers could keep their own counsel, and he would keep his.

He took the spices he’d bought back into the house, and set them on the counter, ready to make his mom’s spaghetti sauce. As he was rolling up his sleeves to get started, though, he froze. It had been quiet in the farmyard when he had arrived. Too quiet. Something was different. There was something… missing.

“The chickens!”

He sprinted outside. Sure enough, the farmyard was empty. The hens that had been pecking in the dirt just that morning were nowhere to be seen.

How do I even get a flock of chickens back? It’s not like they know their names.

He’d named them, of course—hadn’t meant to when he’d first got them, but somehow, he had. There were four hens, and each of them had her own personality. The plump one who was always harassing him for more grain was Peggy—the name fit her somehow. The hen who liked to bully the others, clucking at them angrily when they got the bugs she wanted, was Grumpy. The broody one with a thick coat of feathers who was his best layer, always sitting on her nest, was Fluffy. And the sweet, docile bird who was Cid’s favorite was Spot—named for the white patch on her tail.

The rooster, of course, was Pete. He just looked like a Pete.

The names would make it hard if he ever had to kill them for stew, though, as he’d been told he was supposed to do once they stopped laying.

Better not to think about that right now.

He needed to find them. Dark thoughts of marauding foxes and hungry weasels paraded through his head. Hopefully, they were still alive.

Where would a chicken go if it wanted to hide?

He looked in the chicken coop, just in case. Nothing. Then he started circling the farmyard, moving in gradually widening circles so he’d be sure to hit every point. They weren’t in the rain barrels, and they weren’t hiding in the tool shed. They weren’t in the small herb garden at the back of the house—which he should plant next season, come to think of it, so that he didn’t have to buy spices from the Johnsons anymore. The old couple creeped him out. The chickens weren’t in Nightshade’s pasture, and they weren’t in Old Mary’s cornfield, either.

After an hour with no success, he was trying hard not to panic. What if he couldn’t get them back? He’d come to rely on the fresh eggs from the hens for his morning meals, and he’d started to feel affectionate about the birds themselves, as well. He could always buy more if these ones were gone, but they wouldn’t be the chickens he’d come to know and love.

Just as he was about to give up, he heard a familiar noise. A hen was clucking somewhere nearby—but where? He couldn’t see her anywhere. He thought he knew which bird it was, too. They all sounded slightly different.

“Grumpy!” he shouted. “Grumpy! Where are you?”

She didn’t respond—she was a chicken, not a dog, after all—but she did cluck louder, and he was starting to pinpoint the source of the sound. It was coming from—

Above me?

He looked up. Grumpy was sitting on top of house, right at the highest peak of the roof. She looked down on him, fixing him first with one beady eye, then the other, and she looked extraordinarily pleased with herself.

“How’d you get up there?” Didn’t know chickens could fly.

And how was he going to get her down? Cid was about to go to the tool shed and pull out a ladder when he got a better idea. He grabbed the grain sack instead and scattered some corn on the ground right in front of the henhouse. Then he stepped back to see if Grumpy would take the bait.

She climbed right to the edge of the rooftop and looked down hungrily at the corn. He could sense the gears turning in her head as she shifted from one leg to the other, debating whether to jump.

“Come on, Grumpy,” Cid muttered. “Come on, girl.”

She jumped and awkwardly fluttered down to the ground, wings churning in a desperate attempt to keep from crashing. As it turned out, chickens were dismal flier. Too bad for Grumpy, but good for Cid.

She landed in the dirt with a thud and waddled over to the pile of corn, and Cid grabbed her. Grumpy squawked her disapproval as he carried her back to the henhouse and shut the lid firmly.

They’ll all be going in the chicken run from now on. No more wandering the farmyard.

One chicken found, four to go, but now he knew to look up. There were no other hens on top of the house or the tool shed, but he spied Peggy sitting pretty on top of Nightshade’s stable. He grinned as he shook out the corn from his sack for her. She’d be an easy catch.

Sure enough, she didn’t even hesitate. As soon as she saw the food, she leapt off the roof immediately. She was a better flier than Grumpy, but not by much, and Cid caught her easily and took her back to her nest.

“Good girl, Peggy,” he said as he set her gently in the henhouse. “But no more flying.”

He scattered a little corn for the hens as a reward and set out again in search of the other three. Now that he’d found two chickens, he was having a good time. They hadn’t been eaten by foxes. This problem was solvable.

There were no more birds on roofs, so he moved on to the next thing he could think of: checking inside Oak Tree Farm’s buildings and sheds. He found Fluffy inside Nightshade’s stable, where she’d nested in some of the bales of hay he’d stocked up for winter.

Haying season was early summer in Haven, and it was already over. Cid had bought all the hay that he could afford since he wasn’t exactly sure yet how much Nightshade could eat. He’d filled the hayloft and two of the unused stalls.

Hopefully, this is enough.

Next year, he’d try his hand at baling his own hay. He’d been so preoccupied with getting his farm set up when he’d first arrived that he hadn’t had time to do it this season.

Fluffy grumbled a bit when he picked her up, but she allowed herself to be carried back to the henhouse without trying to escape, and he set her inside with the others.

Three down. Two to go.

Only Spot and Pete left—and it was starting to get late. Hopefully, he could find them before the sun set.

Chapter Seven: Family Diner

Thinking longingly of mom’s spaghetti—he needed to get started on that soon if it was going to be ready by dinner—Cid resumed the search, redoubling his efforts as he scoured the farm for the last two chickens.

“Spot!” he called. “Spot!”

Hopefully, his favorite chicken was all right. He didn’t like to picture her alone and afraid.

He’d already checked a lot of the farm while looking for the first three hens, but as he passed the well, he heard something strange: an echo-y clucking that sounded like it was coming from deep underground.

“Spot?” he said hesitantly.

Is she…?

He heard it again—louder this time—and he went to the well and looked in. Sure enough, there she was down at the bottom, perched on the bucket. He’d left the bucket on its hook the last time he’d gotten water. She must have accidentally knocked it in, and fallen in with it.

“Easy, girl,” Cid said. “I’ll get you out of there.”

She trilled appreciatively in response, and he smiled. Spot was the smartest of his chickens by far. Sometimes, he wondered if she could actually understand him.

He grabbed the rope and pulled the bucket back up to the surface. The hen jumped off as soon as she saw daylight, but Cid grabbed her quickly with one hand before she could run away again.

“Not so fast,” he said. “Back to your coop.”

And you’ll be staying in the chicken run from now on.

She and the other hens would be mad about that, but they’d have to deal with it. He’d just spent all afternoon looking for them, and he couldn’t do that again—especially with the harvest approaching. Although, he had to admit that part of him had enjoyed seeing where the hens were hiding. They’d been surprisingly creative.

But now, where was Pete? True to his nature, the rooster was the crabbiest of his birds and the most willful. Cid wouldn’t put it past him to wander off into the woods somewhere and wreak havoc.

Pete was annoying, but he needed him if he ever wanted to breed more hens—which he would if he ever wanted to start producing a surplus of eggs to sell. Plus, there was something comforting about hearing him crow in the morning. It made Oak Tree Farm feel extra farm-y.

But now he was missing, and Cid had checked everywhere on the farm a large rooster could possibly be.

He’s probably off running around somewhere.

Pete would be fine if he had to stay out overnight—he was big, tough, and aggressive—and it might humble him a little to spend a dark night alone in the woods. It might teach him to stay closer to home in the future.

He’ll be back as soon as he sees me giving the hens their morning corn.

He walked back toward the farmyard, carrying Spot in his arms. She was snuggled in close to his chest, clucking happily as if there was nowhere else in the world she’d rather be. Aw. She was a good hen—the best of hens, really. He was lucky to have her.

As he dropped her back in the coop, he noticed something strange. Are those tracks in the dirt?

The farmyard was full of chicken tracks, and it shouldn’t have been a surprise that there were some near the henhouse where they lived. There was something about these, though…

They’re big. Probably Pete’s. And they’re leading away from the farm.

Cid sighed. He really needed to start cooking, but he was curious to see where the tracks led.

Might be nothing.

Might be. Or they might lead to his rooster. He looked down at the ground, then back to the house, debating how best to proceed. If Maggie was coming over at seven, he needed to get started on the spaghetti sauce by five at the latest. Looking at the sun, it was about half past four now. He had just thirty minutes.

But if Pete was in trouble…

“Half an hour,” he said to himself, teeth gritted. “I’ll give it half an hour. If I don’t find him by then, he can stay out.”

Hopefully, he wouldn’t come to regret this decision.

He followed the chicken tracks through the farmyard and out into the grass. It was harder to find them once he got into the pasture, but Pete—if this was Pete—had walked through enough patches of bare dirt that Cid could still see where he was going. He’d made a beeline straight for the woods.

“You had your eye on something,” Cid muttered. “But what?”

Old Mary flagged him down as he passed her field.

“Cid!” she hollered. “Cid Dawnshield!”

“I’m kind of in the middle of something,” he said. “Can’t stop to talk.”

“And what might that be?”

He frowned. Why were these villagers always so nosy?

“Chickens,” he said tersely. “They ran off. Have to find them before sunset.”

“That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about!” she said. “You’re following that rooster, aren’t you?”

“I am,” Cid admitted. “He’s the last one.”

“And you’re hot on his trail! He came rocketing through here just a few minutes ago. Seemed like he saw something he wanted and was dead set on getting it.”

Oh.

“How long ago?” he said, feeling a little chastened. Mary had just been trying to help him—and he’d been rude to her.

“Not long at all. You’re close behind him. You’ll catch up with him if you keep going that way.”

She pointed in the direction the tracks had led him, toward the woods.

“Thanks, Mary,” he said, and she grinned.

“Tell me what he was after if you can find out!” she said. “Must have seen something delicious out there.”

“Right.”

He hurried on toward the forest, making a mental note to get Mary something nice later. Maybe he could take a stab at a cranberry loaf of his own.

The tracks here were getting farther apart, as if Pete the rooster had sped up as he got closer to his goal. But what was his goal, anyways? Pete had always seemed like a simple creature. He only really cared about food and hens.

Maybe he saw some food. Or a hen.

Maybe. Or maybe Pete was deeper than he’d previously given him credit for.

He heard angry crowing as he neared the woods, and his hand automatically drifted downward, toward his sword side. Funny. He’d rarely left the house without his blade when he was in the Guards, but he didn’t wear it much around Haven. Only when he was doing his shifts as constable. Now he wished he had it. If Pete was in real trouble, if he’d run into a prowling animal, Cid wouldn’t be able to help much.

When he finally saw the rooster, though, he almost laughed out loud. There was no prowling animal. Instead, Pete was tangled in the branches of a blueberry bush—and he looked furious about it.

“You all right there, buddy?” Cid said. “Bit off a little more than you could chew?”

Pete glared at him, and he sighed.

“All right, all right. I’ll get you free. Hold your horses.”

The rooster didn’t fight him as Cid gently worked him free from the bush, and he didn’t protest when Cid tucked him under one arm for safekeeping.

Seems tired.

Pete must have been struggling in the bush for a while. At least he seemed to have gotten some blueberries out of it. The feathers around his beak were stained purple.

“I’ll pick you some for later,” Cid said. “Don’t worry.”

Pete didn’t respond, just grumbled to himself and stuck his head under one wing.

Look at me. Talking to a chicken.

It was good that Maggie was coming tonight. He should probably interact with an actual person before he started imagining that his animals could talk back.

Speaking of….

He needed to get started on the spaghetti sauce soon. He wasn’t exactly sure how long he’d spent following Pete’s tracks, but it felt like his allotted half hour was almost up.

The blueberry bush had given him some ideas, though. He’d found a stand of raspberry bushes near the Mana Cavern when he’d first moved to Haven, but it was getting late in the season for raspberries. He’d had high hopes that he might be able to make some raspberry pies and scones once he got the farm set up, but the number of berries on the bushes was already dwindling.

Next year. I’ll pick a lot. Make some into jam so I have it all winter.

Blueberries came into season later, and they fruited longer. The bush Pete had gotten stuck in was heavy with fruit. Maybe he didn’t have to give up his pie idea after all.

He could make a blueberry pie. Or a batch of scones. Or cobbler!

That settled it. He tucked Pete more firmly under one arm and started gathering berries into his shirt. The fabric was soon dark with purple juice, and he felt a little foolish. He hadn’t brought a bag with him—hadn’t thought he would need one to chase a rooster—but now he wished he had. He’d have to change his shirt now before Maggie came over.

At least he wouldn’t have to worry about getting tomato sauce on it while he was cooking. He could go wild in the kitchen—well, as wild as Cid ever got, at any rate.

Once he had a shirt full of berries, he carried Pete back toward the farm. Old Mary hollered when she saw him coming.

“You got him!” she said. “And looks like you got something else, too.”

“Berries,” Cid said, feeling a little sheepish. His shirt was half purple now. “Making a cobbler.”

“You know how to make a cobbler?”

“I can figure it out,” he said.

She nodded. “Well, let me know if you need any help. I used to bake for my sons when they were both still at home. Before they joined the Magic Knight Corps and headed south. Been a while since they’ve been back.”

Mary fell silent for a moment, eyes downcast, and Cid tried to think of something that would cheer her up.

“I’ll save you some cobbler,” he said. “Pack you up a piece when it’s done. And I’ll come find you if I get stuck while I’m making it.”

“Happy to help,” Mary said, but she still looked sad. After a moment, she went back to her weeding in silence.

“See you later,” Cid said lamely.

She gave him a feeble wave, and he headed back toward the farm to drop the rooster off in the henhouse.

The other chickens clucked a greeting when he opened the roof of the coop to set Pete inside, and he scattered a few berries for them on the henhouse floor. They hadn’t really earned a reward after they’d made him spend all day looking for him, but then again, they were his hens. Maybe the fruit would make their eggs taste better. Plus, they were cute.

He headed inside, dropped his harvest of berries into the sink so that he could wash them, then headed back to the door to strip off his dirty boots. Then he went back to the kitchen to survey the ingredients he’d set out earlier. The tomatoes and eggs from that morning were still out on the counter. He had the spices he’d bought from the Johnsons, and flour, sugar, and fresh garlic were in the basement downstairs. He had some butter chilling in the icebox as well.

What’s my order of operations here?

He needed to make pasta, fresh sauce, and a cobbler, and he needed to pick one to start with. After taking a moment to think, he headed to the counter and grabbed the tomatoes. He’d start with the sauce.

Chapter Eight: Like Ma’am’s

“All right,” he said to himself, giving the tomatoes a quick rinse in the sink. “Let’s get this started.”

He grabbed a large pot—a gift from one of the villagers—filled it with water, and put it on the stove, then lit a fire in the grate with Fire One. While he waited for the water to boil, he took a sharp knife and scored an X in each of the fresh tomatoes, right on the end.

That’s how my ma’am used to do it, right?

He couldn’t remember for sure, but he did know that she’d boiled the tomatoes so it would be easier for her to get the skins off. He and little Laurie had watched her do it, staying well clear of the stove and the big pot full of hot water. Their mother had told them horror stories of what happened when children got too close to the cooking fire—although now, part of Cid wondered how many of those stories had actually been true.

When the water was bubbling, he grabbed all the tomatoes and dumped them in.

Can’t leave them in too long or they’ll get mushy.

He remembered that much—once or twice, he’d distracted his mother at a critical moment while she was prepping the sauce, and there’d been hell to pay later. Mushy tomatoes were hard to handle.

He filled a bowl full of cold water from the tap while the tomatoes were boiling, just so it would be ready for him when he needed it. Then, he scooped the vegetables out of the hot water one by one and dropped them in the bowl to cool down.

Got to get them cool. Otherwise, they’ll keep cooking.

While the tomatoes were cooling, he set up a makeshift cutting board—really a piece of old wood that he’d buffed and finished on a day when it was too rainy to work outside—and dumped the boiling water out. He’d use the same pot to make the sauce in.

When they were ready, he grabbed the tomatoes out of the water barehanded, peeled them easily, chopped them up and dumped them in the pot. He added a pinch of salt from the bowl he kept on the kitchen table, then got a hunk of butter from the ice box and dropped it in too. Finally, he went downstairs to the basement to get sugar, fresh garlic, and flour for the pasta and blueberry cobbler. He chopped the garlic roughly—Cid always liked garlic—and threw it in, then added a little sugar. Finally, he tossed in the spices he’d bought from the Village Store that day.

Should be good to go.

The sauce didn’t look like much yet, but after two hours of simmering over the stove, it would be delicious. If he’d gotten the recipe right, that was. He’d find out later that night.

He carried the pot over to the stove and placed it on top, right over the hottest part of the fire. He needed to bring the sauce to a boil first. Then, he’d move it to a cooler part of the stove to simmer for a while.

Time to start with the pasta.

This would be the tricky part. In all honesty, he didn’t know how his mother had made her spaghetti. He’d seen her do it—remembered seeing her roll out noodle after noodle—but he’d always been too distracted to really watch her do it. In those years, he’d always been either fighting with his sister or listening to dreamy stories about the Magic Knights. Learning how to make pasta hadn’t been at the top of his priority list.

Should have paid more attention. Well, he’d do his best. And if his noodles were a little imperfect, that was life. Eggs, flour, salt, and a little oil. He had everything he needed. Just had to get the technique right.

Cid rinsed out the bowl that had held the tomatoes, dried it, and dumped some flour into it. He dug back deep in his memories, and moving hesitantly, he made a hollow in the center of the pile of flour.

Think that’s how she did it.

He cracked the eggs into the hollow one by one, then added a pinch of salt and a splash of oil. Then, he started to knead, working hard until the eggs were mixed in and he had a ball of dough that felt cohesive. He sighed, wiping his forehead and inadvertently smearing flour all over his face. Pasta-making was hard work—and the sun was starting to set. Maggie would be here before long.

Well, if she walked in on him still making pasta, she’d survive. He set the dough aside to set for a bit, then walked back toward the stove. He was pleased to see that his sauce was already boiling, and he poked gently at his tomatoes with a wooden spoon. They were softening up nicely. He moved the pot over to a cooler part of the stove to simmer, then headed back to the counter to get started on the cobbler.

Last thing to prep.

He grabbed two more bowls and set them down on the counter. Then, he rinsed the blueberries off one more time, gathered them up, and dropped them in one of the bowls along with a healthy portion of sugar. He mixed them together with his hands, enjoying the feeling as the blueberries mixed with the gritty sugar.

He didn’t have a proper pan to cook the cobbler in, so he grabbed the iron skillet that he used to make his morning eggs, hoping that it would work. He scooped a large hunk of butter into it, then set it in the oven to warm.

It’s just like when I used to make corn bread, I guess. He wasn’t sure if cobbler would behave exactly like corn bread, but it was worth a shot.

While the butter was melting in the skillet, he grabbed the second bowl to mix the batter in. Then he poured in flour, sugar, and a little bit of salt, plus a pinch of a top-secret Magic Knights powder Lyle Nightgreen had given him.

“Gift from my grandpa,” the lad had said. “We all use it here. Makes bread and things rise without yeast. It’s made baking here a whole lot easier.”

Hopefully, the boy had been telling the truth, and this wasn’t another weird trick.

Once the batter was ready, he opened the oven to check on the skillet. The butter had melted in the pan, and he pulled it out and sloshed it around a bit until the bottom of the skillet was fully covered. Then he set it down next to the two bowls, wincing a little as the butter sizzled. The iron was hot. Hopefully, he didn’t burn his nice kitchen counter.

He dumped the blueberries into the skillet, shaking the pan until they were evenly distributed. Then he poured the batter on top, trying to cover the entire layer of berries. He smoothed the whole thing out with a spoon, then set it gently in the oven.

It’ll bake in about forty minutes, more or less.

Depending on the way the fire burned. He’d need to check on it in about twenty minutes or so to see if he needed to add more wood. That should give him enough time to prep the pasta.

Cid washed the two bowls he’d just used and set them out to dry. Then he took a moment to check on his sauce. It was bubbling nicely and already smelled delicious. He gave it a stir and then turned back to the counter. It was time to make the pasta, and that would take a good bit of time. Making spaghetti by hand wasn’t easy.

He remembered seeing his mother do it, and she’d always struggled to get the size of the noodles just right. She’d eventually delegated the task to him and Laurie whenever she made this dish. They’d had smaller hands, and rolling out the pasta was easier for them. In some ways, Cid was lucky. This was one task he already knew how to do—at least in theory.

But he’d grown a little bit since then, and that wasn’t going to help. This was going to be more difficult than it once had been. He turned to the ball of dough on the counter and squared his shoulders. He had faced off against monsters. He wasn’t going to let some pasta defeat him.

Picking up the dough, he divided it into four pieces, all about even in size. He didn’t have a rolling pin, so he grabbed a large glass from one of the kitchen cabinets. He could use it to flatten the dough out in a pinch.

He tossed some flour on the counter, then grabbed the first piece of dough and rolled it out as flat as he could. The thinner it was, the more likely his pasta was to cook well and evenly—and that was important. No one liked doughy pasta.

Once the dough was as flat he wanted it to be, he grabbed a knife and started slicing the dough into thin strands of spaghetti. His first attempt was a failure—he cut it too thick—but the second try was a little more successful. His noodles were a little uneven in size—and definitely uneven in length—but they’d do. As long as they tasted good, it didn’t matter if they looked a little ugly.

He repeated the process with the other three balls of dough until he had a large pile of uncooked noodles on the counter. Then, he stood back and looked at what he’d made. There’d be plenty of food, at least. That was a good thing. It was better to have too much than too little.

Cid set another pot of water on the stove to boil and checked on his blueberry cobbler. It seemed to be baking nicely, and he added a stick to the fire to keep the temperature high. His sauce was almost ready—it was thickening up—and he moved it to the very edge of the stove where the heat was lowest.

He had a moment to breathe while he waited for the pasta water to boil, so he cleaned up the kitchen a bit. His shirt was covered with tomato juice now in addition to the berry stains from earlier. He definitely had to change into something nicer before Maggie showed up. Luckily, he had more clothing now than he’d had when he’d first arrived in Haven, although his armoire wasn’t exactly full yet.

Once the water was ready, he dumped the pasta in, then took the sauce off the stove. There were still a few big chunks of tomatoes floating in the pot, so he crushed them with a wooden spoon. Then poured the sauce into a big bowl to cool a bit, covering it with a lid so that it wouldn’t cool too much.

This will be delicious.

It certainly smelled delicious. His stomach was already growling. Luckily, the food was almost ready. He glanced up at the clock and swore. If Maggie was on time, she’d show up at his door in five minutes. He needed to move faster.

Luckily, he’d cut the pasta thin enough that it didn’t need much time to cook. He fished one noodle out with a fork to taste it.

Done.

He dropped a colander into the sink, then grabbed the pot and dumped the pasta out to drain. He’d just put it back in the pot when it was done to serve from. It didn’t need to look perfect.

The cobbler still needed a few more minutes to cook, so he sprinted upstairs to change his shirt, hoping he could make it before Maggie showed up.

But he was out of luck. Just as he reached the top of the landing, he heard a knock at the door and froze.

Damn.

Chapter Nine: Interuption

He stood motionless at the top of the stairs. She’s early. And he was still wearing a filthy shirt covered in tomato sauce.

Maggie knocked again, more insistently this time. “Cid! Cid Dawnshield! Are you home?”

“O-one second!” he shouted. “I’ll be right down!”

She didn’t respond, and he sprinted into his room, stripped off his shirt and tossed it on the ground. Then he threw open the doors of his armoire and grabbed the first piece of clothing he saw. It was an old shirt—one of the two he’d brought with him to Haven—and a little worn at the elbows, but at least it was clean. That was what mattered.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and headed downstairs.

“One more second!” he bellowed as he passed the front door. “Almost ready!”

He went back into the kitchen, dumped the noodles from the colander back into the pot he’d cooked them in, and set the pot on the counter next to the bowl of sauce. Finally, he pulled the blueberry cobbler out of the oven and set it on the windowsill to cool. The fire in the stove looked like it was burning down of its own accord, so he let it alone, making a mental note to check that it was fully out before he went to bed that night.

Pasta. Sauce. Cobbler.

He smoothed his hair down and sauntered to the front door, trying to look casual—as if he hadn’t just spent the last few hours furiously preparing for this dinner.

Maggie raised two growlers high in the air when he opened the door.

“Brought you something,” she said. “Well, two things. Both new brews. You can tell me how they turned out. One’s a standard lager; one’s a fruit sour. I used some of the raspberries that grew around here earlier this summer.”

“Sounds good,” Cid said, taking the beer from her. “I’ll have to try both.”

“One more thing,” she said, digging in the pocket of her cloak. “Grigory told me what you were making—”

“He did?!” Cid had hoped that the spaghetti would be a surprise.

“Yeah. Small town, Haven. Everyone tells each other everything. Maybe you’ve noticed. Anyways, he told me you were making spaghetti, so I brought”—she showed him a small silver tin—“parmesan! Best in town. I figured you wouldn’t have any.”

“You figured right,” Cid said. “You wouldn’t happen to have any fresh basil in there, would you? I only have dried.”

“I don’t,” she said. “I can go back into town to get some—”

“No need,” he said quickly. “Just in case you had any.”

“Oh. No. I didn’t bring any basil.”

There was a slightly awkward silence. Then Cid realized he was blocking the door. He quickly stepped aside.

“Come in!” he said, gesturing into the farmhouse. “Dinner’s all ready. Mom’s spaghetti!”

She followed him inside and looked around.

“Your place is nice,” she said approvingly “Good furniture. High quality. I’m not sure what I expected, but—”

“I know,” Cid said. “Bachelor, former Guard, lived in the barracks all my life. Could have been really bleak, right?”

“No,” she said. “Not like that. I just wasn’t sure how you’d decorate, is all. You can be hard to read, Dawnshield.”

“Really?” That was news to him.

“Yeah. Maybe it’s because you’re not from around here. Haven’s pretty insular. You might have noticed.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Cid said tersely.

Another way of putting it might have been ‘wary and hostile to outsiders’. But he didn’t want to get into that with Maggie right now. He just wanted to have a good night.

“Take a look!” he said, changing the subject. “Homemade pasta. Fresh sauce. Blueberry cobbler! Still cooling down, but I think it’ll be good.”

“Didn’t know you knew how to bake,” Maggie said. “But it looks great. Here. Pull out some glasses first? We can taste both ales before settling in for dinner.”

“The blueberries are fresh, too,” he said as he grabbed two coffee mugs down from the counter. He still only had one real glass. “Picked them today on the property.”

“You’re lucky that you have berries right here,” Maggie said. “I always have to forage in the woods if I want any.”

“I’ll bring some to the tavern next time I’m in town. I’ve got a stand of raspberry bushes, too. Not much left on them right now, but next year, there should be a lot.”

She nodded and uncorked both growlers. “That would be nice. Hold up your cup and I’ll pour you some. Sour or lager first?”

“Sour.”

Cid lifted his mug, and she poured a little ale into it. The beer was a vibrant pink, reminiscent of early summer raspberries. He took a cautious sip.

“Wow,” he said. “This is incredible.”

“It turned out well,” she said. “I’ve got a few notes for next time, but I’m happy with it. Here, try the lager.”

He drained his cup and held it out for more, and she poured him a little from the other growler. This one was light and refreshing, perfect for a hot late summer day.

“Preference?” she said.

“Nah. They’re both great.”

They were better than any tavern ale he’d ever had, to be honest—and he’d had a lot of them. Maggie had real talent as a brewer.

“All right,” he said, finishing the half-cup she’d given him. “Want to eat?”

“Tell me about this magic spaghetti,” she said, eyes dancing. “I have to say, I was surprised when you returned the recipe book. Wasn’t sure you’d know how to cook.”

“Well,” he admitted. “I don’t. Not really. I kind of remember how my mom used to make it. Hers was really good! Or at least, it was when I was five.”

“You’re really selling this well, Dawnshield.”

“Don’t want to set the expectations too high,” he said. “I just did what I remembered her doing. And the parts I couldn’t remember, I just made up. So this food might be terrible.”

“Let me be the judge of that.” She smirked, pouring him another cup of lager. “I’m sure it’s good.”

He grabbed two plates from the cabinet—they were just plain, unglazed clay, but at least he had two—and set them on the kitchen table. Then he brought the pasta pot over.

“How much do you want?” he said, swirling a fork around in the pot until it caught some noodles. “A little? Some? A lot?”

“Some to start. But I’ll take a lot of sauce. I like a sauce-y pasta.”

He set a pile of noodles on her plate and a slightly larger serving on his, then took the pot back to the counter. There was plenty of pasta left over. If this food was good, he’d be eating it for days. The cobbler was still cooling, but he brought his covered bowl of sauce over, and she spooned some—a lot, she hadn’t been kidding about liking sauce-y pasta—over her spaghetti. He did the same, although he used a more reasonable amount of sauce.

“And”—she produced the tin of parmesan from her pocket again—“lots of cheese.”

By the time she finished, her food was coated in a dense layer of parmesan. It was practically more cheese than pasta.

Weird. But he wasn’t here to judge. He took some cheese too.

“Where’d you get this?” he said. “Village Store?”

She scoffed. “No way. Their cheese is terrible. Old Mary makes some. Small batches only. You have to be on her good side to get it.”

“Good to know.” Maybe he could trade some cobbler for cheese.

“One last thing,” Maggie said. “Then we can start.”

She refilled her cup of ale and topped up Cid’s. Then she held her mug high.

“Cheers,” she said finally when he just stared back at her blankly.

“Oh. Oh!” He clinked his mug against hers and took a drink. “Cheers.”

It was the moment of truth now. Maggie swirled some noodles around her fork, took a bite, and chewed thoughtfully, her expression unreadable.

Does she hate it? She doesn’t seem to hate it.

“Well,” she said finally. “Considering you didn’t have a recipe and were working off of forty-year-old memories instead, it’s not bad.”

“But it’s not good?”

She took another bite. “The sauce is good,” she said cautiously. “Especially with the cheese. Tomatoes seem fresh.”

“They were,” he said. “Harvested from the fields this morning. Spices were dry, though. Didn’t have anything else. I got them from the Johnsons.”

“Yeah. Could use some fresh basil.”

“I know,” he admitted. “Next time.”

He’d get that herb garden ready in the spring. Maybe he could start it this winter by growing the young plants inside. He could always transfer them outside when it got warmer.

“The pasta, though….” She trailed off and took another bite, as if she was taking the time to contemplate what to say next.

“What about the pasta?” Cid said. It sounded like the answer wasn’t going to be fully positive, but he wanted to know.

“It’s— did you cook it all the way through?”

“I thought so.”

“It’s a little doughy. I wonder—how thin did you slice the noodles?”

Cid sighed. Right. There had been a reason his mother had made him and Laurie do it. Even she hadn’t been able to cut the pasta thin enough by hand. If he’d thought about it more, he would have realized there was no way he’d be able to do it right now. His hands were strong from his time wielding a sword, but he had a hard time doing delicate work.

“Not thin enough, I guess,” he said, and took a bite of his own pasta. Unfortunately, Maggie was right. The noodles were doughy and glutinous, and they tasted a little uncooked.

Well, he’d still eat it. He was starving. And honestly, he’d probably eat the rest of the pot over the next few days. He’d taken time to make them, and they weren’t that bad. He’d eaten far worse in the Guards’ canteen. But he could see why Maggie wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about them.

“Tell me next time you want to make pasta,” she said. “I’ll send one of the kids to help you get them right. And your sauce is good—really good. Way better than the recipe in my book. I think if you used fresh herbs instead of dry ones, it would go from good to incredible.”

“Incredible,” Cid said thoughtfully. “I like the sound of that.”

He noticed, with some disappointment, that Maggie only finished half of her plate of pasta. He couldn’t blame her—it was pretty doughy. But he’d hoped that the dinner would go a little bit better.

When he brought out the skillet of blueberry cobbler, though, her eyes lit up.

“Oh, wow!” she said. “That smells incredible. You made this?”

“With my own hands. And my own blueberries.”

He scooped two heaping portions of cobbler out of the pan and dropped them onto the plates. Then, hoping this was better than the pasta, he took a hesitant bite.

It was definitely better than the pasta. In fact, it was amazing. Cid had not expected to be a good baker, but to his own surprise, he was. He looked over at Maggie to see if she was having the same reaction.

“Dawnshield,” she said, setting her fork down. “Where’d you get this recipe?”

“Just whipped it together.”

“Well, it’s delicious. One of the best blueberry cobblers I’ve ever tasted.”

“Does it make up for the pasta?” he said.

“More than. And you know what? It’s good enough that I’d like you to judge the cobbler competition at the Harvest Fair.”

Cid blinked. “Huh?”

That was definitely not the response he’d been looking for.

Chapter Ten: Baked Competition

“You don’t seem excited,” Maggie said after a long moment of silence. “It’s fun! Harvest Fair!”

“Okay,” Cid said. “I’ll go to the Harvest Fair. Sure.”

“And judge the competition?”

She helped herself to another large portion of cobbler, and Cid took a look down at the dessert on his own plate. He took a bite. It was pretty good. But for all he knew, that was a fluke. He didn’t know much about cobbler—not enough to judge it, at any rate. Plus, he didn’t want to.

“No,” he said.

“Come on! You’ll have fun! It’ll be easy.”

“Dealing with a lot of people who all want me to say they’re the winner? Doesn’t sound easy to me.”

“They’ll try to butter you up,” Maggie said. “Get you on their side. They might even try to bribe you.”

“Okay.”

“With more baked goods.”

Cid sighed. “Okay.”

He liked baked goods. If he could get some extra dessert out of judging this competition, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

“Okay meaning you’ll do it?”

“I don’t know, Maggie,” he said. “I don’t really want to get involved in village politics.”

“The cobbler competition’s pretty relaxed.” She grinned. “Not like the cake and pie contests. Those get competitive. Daryl Nightgreen always judges those. No one else wants to deal with the hassle.”

“How many entries are we talking about?” Cid said. “Am I going to be swimming in cobbler for the rest of the summer?”

“Five. Maybe six. Ten or fewer, that’s for sure.”

“Okay,” he said, hoping he wasn’t about to regret it.

“Really?” she said. “You’re seriously going to judge the contest?”

“Sure. I’ll judge the contest.”

He served himself another portion of cobbler as a reward for being so agreeable.

“Oh great!” she said. “We’ll see you at the Harvest Fair!”

“We?”

“The rest of the village. We feel really bad about everything, Cid. The Mana Trials and—well, everything. It wasn’t cool. The Magic Knights pushed us to do it, but we should have said no. All of us. And we could have been friendlier when you first showed up here, too. We took the ‘no outsiders’ thing way too far.”

“Yeah,” Cid said. “You all did. But at least you know it.”

If he was going to stay here in Haven, he was going to have to forgive the villagers at some point. He didn’t have to forget about it—maybe still be wary of the biggest offenders, like Daryl Nightgreen—but he couldn’t stay mad about it forever. It wasn’t good for his blood pressure.

“And everyone wants you to be part of this village,” Maggie said. “For real this time. You’ve been a great Town Constable and people want to keep you in the job.”

“And what do you want?” Cid said. “Not all of the other villagers. You specifically.”

She looked back at him blankly.

“Did they send you here?” he said, suddenly feeling paranoid. “As some kind of emissary or something?”

“No,” she said firmly. “They didn’t. The rest of the town and I aren’t always that close. But everyone comes through the tavern, and once they’ve had a few pints of ale, they always want to talk. I hear a lot about what people think, and what they want.”

“Good place to work.”

She shrugged. “It comes with the territory. That’s what happens when you work in a bar.”

“All right.”

“But for what it’s worth,” she said. “I want you to stay. And I want you to judge the competition at the Harvest Fair.”

“Then I will,” Cid said. “But the cobbler had better be good.”

Maggie finished her dessert, stretched, and got to her feet.

“Glad you’re on board,” she said. “And I’ve got to get going. Early morning tomorrow in the brewery. Fresh batch of hops just came in.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then.”

Cid rose and carried the plates back to the sink. He’d have time to wash them tomorrow. Then he re-corked the growlers Maggie had brought and set them on the counter.

“Keep them,” she said. “My treat. When you next come by the tavern, I’ll fill them up for you so that you can take some ale away.”

“Thanks.”

Maggie said her goodbyes, put her cloak back on, and headed out the door. As soon as she was out of sight, Cid put his head in his hands. Why had he agreed to judge this competition? It was the last thing he wanted to do. He kept letting himself be roped into village activities—first his constable shifts, and now this.

But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad—and at least he’d get some free dessert out of it. Dessert made everything better.

He grabbed the half-empty bowl of pasta sauce off the table and dumped the rest of the doughy pasta into it. It was the perfect size to hold all of his leftovers.

Plenty to feed me for the next few days.

Cid swung the door of the icebox open and put the spaghetti inside. Then, finally, he took the last of the plates and mugs over to the sink and wiped down the table. Before he put the growlers away, he poured one more cup of sour ale.

He’d worked hard today. He deserved it.

He swung the door open and walked out onto the porch with his beer. It was a nice night—still warm, and the crickets were chirping in the woods—and he took a deep breath. The air smelled fresh and crisp, and there was an edge to the breeze that suggested fall was coming.

Soon. But not yet.

There were still plenty of warm days ahead of him. And the harvest, too.

Still need to get hands for that.

Maybe he could recruit some people to help at the Harvest Fair. There were plenty of folks who might want to get on the right side of a competition judge.

He drained his cup of beer and headed back inside. There’d be time to deal with harvest hiring later. For now, it was time to get some rest. Tomorrow would be another long day.

He dropped the beer mug off in the sink and went upstairs. His feather bed felt extra soft after spending so much time working and getting dinner ready, and he grinned as he stretched out under the blanket.

That didn’t go too bad. Not perfect. But not too bad.

His spaghetti sauce had been good, and with a few improvements, he thought it might be even better. And while his pasta had just been okay, he knew what he needed to do to improve it for next time. It had been a good day.

And with that in mind, he gently drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, he rose early, wolfed down some leftover spaghetti, and got his farm chores out of the way before noon. Then he threw a saddle on Nightshade—much to the horse’s displeasure—and headed into town. He was early for his constable shift, but he wanted to do a little scouting around Haven to see if he could find any monster tracks. He still suspected that there was a spidren around, even though he hadn’t seen any sign of it in weeks.

Roger the Baker accosted him as soon as he crossed the bridge into town.

“I hear you’re judging the cobbler competition,” he said, eyes bright and eager. “Just wondering if you have any preferences.”

Cid blinked. “Preferences?”

“Blueberry? Peach? I think I have some raspberry jam left over from earlier in the summer.”

“Oh,” Cid said. “Cobbler preferences.”

“Just trying to be sure I make something you’ll like.”

“You’re entering the competition, then.”

Roger looked back at him, incredulous. “Of course I’m entering the competition. I’ll have an entry in the pie and cake contests too. I’m the town baker.”

“Of course.”

“And,” Roger said, looking around to make sure no one was watching before reaching into the pocket of his cloak, “if there’s anything I can do to sweeten things up a little bit….”

Cid crossed his arms. He’d had enough people try to pass him bribes back when he’d been a Guard to know what the baker was playing at.

“I don’t understand,” he said, speaking slowly as if he genuinely didn’t know what Roger was talking about. “Sweeten things up?”

Roger looked uncomfortable. “You know. Make it a little easier.”

“Make it sweeter? Like adding more sugar or something? I don’t like things too sweet.”

“You know,” Roger said, “never mind. See you at the Harvest Fair. I know you’ll like my cobbler the best!”

He walked off quickly, looking a little ashamed, and Cid shook his head. What was wrong with these people? They couldn’t just let their baked goods stand on their own merits? This was no way to run a festival.

He couldn’t go two more paces, though, before he ran into Old Mary. She was carrying a basket of scones, and she casually sidled up to him as soon as she saw him coming.

“You look hungry,” she said. “Do you want a scone?”

“I’m always hungry,” Cid said. “And I do want a scone. What flavor?”

“Mixed berry.”

He took one and bit into it. “It’s good. I like the strawberries.”

Mary looked back at him expectantly.

“But I’m not giving you an edge in the cobbler competition,” he said. “You have to win it fair and square.”

She sighed. “All right. It was worth a try.”

“I believe in real competition,” he said, frowning. “I can’t be bribed.”

“All right, all right,” Mary said. “I get the message. No harm done. Do you want another scone?”

Cid swallowed the last bite of his first one. “Sure. They were good.”

He picked another scone and made his excuses, trying to avoid anywhere too populated. How many villagers were going to try to bribe him today?

As it turned out, the answer was five. He ran into Cory Johnson outside the Village Store, and a pair of farmers he’d only met in passing cornered him as he was crossing the stream. He was hardly able to look for any spidren tracks at all. And it seemed like the villagers were just getting started.

Once his constable shift with Lyle was done, he shouldered his pack and headed to Maggie’s tavern. She quirked an eyebrow at him when he walked through the door.

“It’s the cobbler man,” she said. “Want a beer? I’m doing a blueberry one this week.”

“I’ll take one,” he said, and she slid a pint across the bar toward him. “Why did you tell everyone that I was judging the competition?”

“Because you are judging the competition.”

“But now they’re all trying to bribe me,” Cid said.

“And?”

“And I don’t like it,” he said. “It’s corrupt. I don’t work that way. Tell them to stop. They need to win on their skills, not because they give me the best gift.”

“Just ignore them,” she said. “They’re just trying to see what they can get away with.”

“Well, I can’t be bought. That was true back when I worked in Hearthstone, and it’s true now.”

He took a big gulp of his beer and waited for her to respond.

“I’m sorry I told everyone you were judging at the fair without asking you,” she said. “I was excited about it, but it wasn’t right of me. And feel free to tell the next person who tries to bribe you to buzz off. You don’t have to take their nonsense. And if you tell one, they’ll pass it on to the others that you’re not someone they can mess with.”

“They should have known that to begin with,” Cid said, half-joking, “but it’s all good. I’ll take your advice.”

He took another swig of ale and held his glass out for more. “Now, are you ever going to tell me about that Magic Knights plaque on your wall?”

She grinned. “Sure I will. Not now, though. Later.”

He’d heard that line before.

Chapter Eleven: Answers

The tavern was slow that night, so Maggie joined him for a drink at one of the corner tables once the last of the regulars had left.

“Hey,” Cid said. “I’ll buy you a beer if you’ll answer some of my questions.”

“You’ll buy me one of my own beers?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “Sure! And what questions?”

“Question one: what’s the deal with Wilbur Johnson?”

“Oh boy,” she said. “Definitely going to need a drink for this one.”

“He’s weird, right?” Cid said. “I’ve only ever seen him around town a couple of times. Kind of a recluse. And when I went to the Village Store yesterday, his parents didn’t seem to like it when I mentioned his name.”

“Okay,” Maggie said, pouring herself a beer from one of the taps and sitting down across from him at the table. “Wilbur’s definitely an odd duck. And—I don’t know if you’ve noticed—but Haven’s kind of a strange town—”

“Trust me, I’ve noticed.”

“And we don’t always like outsiders that much,” she finished. “Some valid reasons, some not-valid reasons, we’ve talked about this. Wilbur’s a pretty good mage, but he never signed up for the Magic Knights. Not sure why. The family was always a little disappointed about it. And in recent years, well—”

She trailed off.

“What?” Cid said. “In recent years, what?”

“He’s always written a lot of letters to people outside of Haven. Likes to know what’s happening in the outside world. No problem with that—this place is a little too insular, I’ll be the first one to say that. But some of the people he’s talking to— I don’t know.”

“They’re creepy or something?”

“I don’t know how to describe them,” Maggie said, taking a sip. “They’ve come through town a few times to visit Wilbur. They’ve got a weird energy to them. I can’t tell exactly what their deal is, but I don’t like it.”

“Dark mages, or something?” Cid said.

“I don’t think so. Someone here would be able to tell if they were. But they’re unsavory types for sure.”

“Hm,” Cid said. “I’ll keep an eye on them if they come back.”

“We’re going to get a lot of visitors for the Harvest Fair,” Maggie said. “Lots of outsiders coming through. Happens every year.”

“Might be a good thing,” he said.

“It is. But people will be on edge. Remember not to tell anyone that we’re all battle mages. Not even if they ask.”

Cid grinned. “You’re a battle mage?”

“Of course I am. We all are.”

“Does that have anything to do with the Magic Knights plaque?”

“Maybe,” she said, taking a sip of beer. “Was that your second question?”

“Yep.”

“Pass. For now.”

“Why are you so secretive about this?” Cid said. “Most people would be thrilled to have a personal thanks from the Corps.”

She looked down at the table. “It was a long time ago. Another life, basically. Might be hard to believe, but I didn’t always run a bar.”

“Not hard to believe. Not for me.”

“Here,” she said. “Next time we have a little time, I’ll tell you the whole story. That’s a promise.”

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said. “Don’t assume I’ll forget. But for now—time to go. Got a big day tomorrow.”

“You sure you don’t have any more questions?” She grinned. “I thought I was in for a real interrogation.”

“I do. But I’m tired. Sleep comes first. We’ll get back to the questions later.”

“Fair enough,” she said. “Look forward to it.”

He headed outside and walked back to the creek where he’d left Nightshade. The old horse pricked up his ears when he saw him coming.

“Ready to go home, boy?” Cid said. “Been a long day.”

He gave Nightshade his head on the way home, and the horse trotted toward Oak Tree Farm at an easy pace.

What was Maggie’s deal? Why was she so secretive about her past with the Magic Knights? It didn’t make any sense. When Cid was a lad, he would have killed for any kind of recognition from the Corps, much less an official plaque of thanks. But she didn’t seem to want anyone to know anything about it at all.

He shook his head as Nightshade turned into Oak Tree Lane. He wasn’t going to solve this mystery just by thinking about it. Maggie would have to tell him when the time was right.

He untacked his horse and turned him out in his field, took the saddle and bridle back to the stable to put away, then headed to bed. He was still worried about spidrens in the valley, but it was clear that he wasn’t going to be able to get much scouting done with the Harvest Fair approaching.

Hopefully, nothing tries to attack the town before I manage to deal with the problem. And hopefully, he was just being paranoid and there were no spidrens at all.

He woke early to the sound of someone knocking at the door, and he groaned. Lyle had done this a lot when he’d first moved in, but he thought he’d convinced the boy not to do that anymore. It was annoying and invasive. Why was he back?

When he went downstairs, though, he found Grigory standing on the porch. The lad was carrying a roll of parchment, and he started when Cid opened the door.

“Sorry, sir,” he said. “Was just about to leave the message here and give up.”

“I’m awake,” Cid said. “Thanks. What is this?”

“Miss Maggie sent me. Said it was urgent.”

He handed the parchment off and ran off toward town, taking the porch steps two at a time. Cid opened the message, frowning.

Cid—

The first newcomers are already here for the Harvest Fair. Thought you might want to take a look.

--MM.

It was uncharacteristically terse for Maggie, and Cid frowned. That meant she was worried. He’d hoped to spend the morning finishing up with his new field, but this seemed more important.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow I definitely need to focus on the field.

He didn’t like leaving tasks unfinished, especially when he was so close to completing them, but duty called. And he was curious about what Maggie had said—that Wilbur’s friends had had a ‘weird energy to them’. What did that even mean?

Well, he’d find out. First things first, though, he set out to water his crops and check on the chickens. They clucked at him when he opened the henhouse to give them food, and Pete the rooster glared at him with one beady eye.

“What?” Cid said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Pete puffed up his feathers and started pecking disdainfully at the corn on the chicken coop floor.

“You can still go outside. There’s a chicken run right out there. I built it for you. It’s nice.”

The rooster didn’t respond—of course he didn’t respond, he was a chicken—and Cid sighed. He felt a little bad about keeping the hens penned up like this. But it was for their own safety. A fox would make mincemeat out of them.

He gathered the eggs the chickens had laid overnight and tucked them into his pocket, then went out to check on his fields. Old Mary wasn’t out yet, but her corn was already taller than Cid, and his own crops were growing well too. The Mana-infused soil on the farm was responsible for that. Things looked good, so after doing a little weeding and frying up some eggs for breakfast, he headed into town.

Nightshade looked up expectantly as he passed his field, but Cid waved him off.

“Day off today,” he said. “Enjoy it. I’ll be in Haven for a while, I think.”

The horse snorted and returned to his grass.

It was a fine late summer day, and Cid whistled as he walked, trying to enjoy the calm while it lasted. He suspected that he’d have a lot to deal with as soon as he arrived in Haven.

Sure enough, Lyle ran up to him as soon as he crossed the bridge.

“There you are,” he said. “Did you get Maggie’s message?”

“Sure did.”

“They’re here. Follow me. And remember, we don’t tell anyone we’re battle mages here. Don’t mention the Magic Knights or anything!”

“I got the memo the first time,” Cid grumbled. “And I agreed to it the first time too. No Magic Knight talk. Got it.”

The newcomers were standing on the village green drinking cups of hot cider and talking with Daryl Nightgreen. They were wearing brightly colored traveling cloaks and were covered in dust from the road, but otherwise, they seemed normal. Nothing unusual or suspicious about them at all.

Daryl, on the other hand… Cid had avoided him since the Mana Trials incident. Lyle was one thing—he was a kid—but the Village Elder was old enough to know better. When he got close enough, he saw Daryl glance at him and pointedly look away.

He’s embarrassed. Well, he should be. But Cid couldn’t stay away from Daryl forever. Not in a town this size.

“Cid!”

To his relief, Maggie was hurrying toward them. Maybe she could handle this interaction.

“What’s going on?” he whispered when she caught up. “They seem fine to me.”

“They claim they’re here for the Harvest Fair,” she said. “And they probably are. But I know Wilbur invited at least one of them. Just keep an eye on them, is all. Let me know what you think.”

“Hey, big guy!” said one of the visitors, a bearded man in a lime green cape. “I see you two talking over there. What’s all the hullaballoo?”

“I’m Timothy,” said a thin lad in a scarlet cloak. “This here’s Tom of Ashburn. And the two others are Robin and Mayhew.”

The other two men, one clad in violet, one in sapphire blue, gave him a nod.

“Now we’re met,” said the one Timothy had called Robin, “What’s your name? You live here in town?”

“That’s Cid Dawnshield,” Daryl said quickly. “He’s new here. A former Guard, from Hearthstone. Owns Oak Tree Farm, up on the hill. It’s a nice property.”

He smiled expectantly at Cid, as if hoping he’d approve of his introduction.

“How long have you been here, Cid Dawnshield?” Tom of Ashburn said.

“Few months. Just getting things started.”

“And do you like Haven?”

Daryl held up a mug. “Cider?”

“Sure,” Cid said. “I like cider. And Haven’s a nice place. No issues.”

Maggie, Lyle, and Daryl Nightgreen all shot him a look, but didn’t say anything. The visitors nodded.

“Good, good,” Timothy said. “We’re excited for the Harvest Fair. We’ve been on a bit of a thing for the last few years. Trying to get to all the Harvest Fairs in the kingdom.”

“It’ll take a few years yet, but we’re slowly doing it,” Robin said. “We’ll see how yours is.”

“I’m sure it’s great,” Tom of Ashburn said. “Don’t be rude.”

Cid took a long drink of cider. “Visiting all the Harvest Fairs in the kingdom. Huh.”

“We know it’s unusual,” Timothy said quickly. “But rewarding!”

“Which one’s your favorite?” Cid said.

The four men looked back at him blankly.

“Your favorite fair,” he clarified. “Since you’ve seen so many.”

“Oh,” Robin said. “Oh! Cold Spring.”

“Great cakes,” Mayhew said. “Little fall cakes, they had. Red and yellow frosting on them, just like autumn leaves.”

Daryl Nightgreen cleared his throat loudly. “And I’m sure what you’ll see here in Haven will put Cold Spring to shame! Now, if you’ll just come with me, I’ll show you the mill, get you to the inn—it’s a little small, but I think you’ll like it…”

His voice trailed off as he and Lyle led the men away. Maggie waited until they were out of earshot, then turned to Cid.

“What do you think?” she hissed. “Weird?”

“Definitely weird,” he said. “Maybe they’re on the up and up. But I doubt it. I’ll definitely be keeping my eye on them.”

Chapter Twelve: A Hard Truth

“Okay,” Cid said as they walked away from the green. “Next question. What’s the deal with Daryl?”

“What do you mean?”

“Weird authoritarian Village Elder guy? Come on. He messed up and now he won’t even talk to me.”

“You avoid him too,” she said.

“For valid reasons!”

“Right, right. Just saying. It’s not all on him.”

“So what’s his deal?” Cid said.

She sighed. “Daryl’s not a bad guy, deep down. He’s just— he wasn’t a great Magic Knight, from what I hear. I think he’s told you that story. He came back to the village and found fulfillment here. It’s a nice tale. But there are good things and bad things about moving back home.”

“I guess,” Cid said.

“He’s been a good Village Elder. He really has. Just a little strict sometimes. But you should see some of the other Elders we’ve had. Total numbskulls. At least now the town is relatively functional.”

“Functional’s one way of putting it,” Cid scoffed.

She turned on him, eyes flashing. “Look, mister. You have no idea what it’s like growing up here. There’s a reason we’re wary of outsiders. The Magic Knight Corps recruits here, true. But a lot of other groups try to come through and persuade people to work for them—and not all of them are good people. Before Daryl, we had a lot of kids leave town chasing some bright-eyed cult leader type and never come back. Every spring. We usually got a letter in the mail years later telling us they’d died on some damn fool campaign. That all stopped when Daryl took over. So maybe learn a little bit more about the town you live in before you run around judging everyone in it.”

Cid swallowed hard. “I didn’t know—"

“No,” she said. “You didn’t. I’ve put up with a lot from you because I felt bad about the Mana Trials. That wasn’t a good thing, and I’m sorry about it. And I know Haven’s a little weird. It’s not perfect. But it’s my home, and there are reasons we do things the way we do. Hard reasons.”

“Okay,” Cid said. “I hear that.”

“Daryl feels really bad about what happened,” she went on. “And he knows he didn’t handle it well. It’s up to you whether you forgive him or not.”

He nodded. “Right. Why do you think he was being so friendly with the weirdos just now?”

“Haven has a lot of town pride,” she sighed. “I’m sure he couldn’t resist the chance to show them that our Harvest Fair was better than the others. And he’s trying to learn the right lessons from what happened with you.”

“He might have learned the wrong lessons,” Cid said darkly. “And now he’s too friendly. Not sure what they’re up to, but they’re definitely up to something.”

“What do you think it is?” Maggie said.

“What do you think?” he said. “You’re the one who’s from here.”

She shrugged. “Maybe they’re trying to recruit powerful mages for some stupid cause. That’s pretty typical. Or they hate the Magic Knights or something.”

“Or something.”

In the distance, Daryl Nightgreen was showing them the village mill. Was Maggie right? Was the old man just trying to be nicer to outsiders? Or was he part of whatever was going on?

Only time would tell. He said his goodbyes and headed back toward Oak Tree Farm, glad for once that he had come on foot rather than taking Nightshade. He had a lot to think about, and the walking time would do him good.

Was he being unfair to Daryl? Maggie had said that he’d have to forgive him at some point, that he couldn’t hold a grudge forever. But was that even true? He didn’t have to hate the old man, but he didn’t have to be his friend. He was allowed to keep his distance. And Daryl hadn’t really made any overtures to him at all—not directly, at any rate. He hadn’t apologized to Cid at all. Being forgiving was one thing, but being a pushover was something entirely different. And Cid had never been a pushover. Not in Hearthstone, and not here.

It was still light when he got home, and on a whim, Cid went into the makeshift mushroom cellar he’d made in the small room under his basement stairs. He’d found a few logs covered with mushrooms in the woods earlier in the summer and had had Nightshade drag them home. One of the villagers had checked them to confirm that they were edible—the last thing he wanted was to die horribly of mushroom poisoning. He’d dropped the logs onto an old table and buried them in homemade fertilizer he’d made from dirt and chicken droppings. A small window high on the wall provided what he’d hoped would be enough light.

It had taken a little trial and error, but his efforts had eventually born fruit. There were a few large mushrooms growing on one of the logs, surrounded by a host of smaller fungi. He harvested the big ones and left the rest to grow, dragging the log a little closer to the window in case that made a difference. Then he headed back upstairs and washed them off.

A nice change from eggs and potatoes. Eggs and mushrooms this time.

He thought he could fry them up nicely. If he could get both logs sprouting, these might be a nice source of protein through the winter that didn’t require him to slaughter his chickens or buy too much dried meat from the market. He’d eaten enough jerky for one lifetime in his Guard years.

He built a fire, then tossed the mushrooms into the skillet with a little bit of oil and some of the spices he’d bought from the Johnsons the day before. They smelled delicious as he cooked, and his stomach growled. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Too long, that was for sure. And it had been even longer since he’d eaten breakfast for dinner like this.

He wolfed down his food once it was ready, then cast a guilty look over at his still-unstarted memoir sitting on his desk. Need to get going with that.

Well, there was no time like the present. He sat down at the table, smoothed out the parchment, and picked up his quill. How to begin? What would interest people?

I was a young man when I first traveled to Hearthstone, he wrote, hardly more than a boy—

Someone knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” he said, a little relieved at the interruption. Now he could put this off another day.

“Lyle. Got something for you.”

He put his quill down, hurriedly swept his dishes into the sink, and went out into the hallway. The boy was waiting for him on the porch, wearing a hat several sizes too big for him.

“Nice hat,” Cid said.

“Thanks,” Lyle said. “I just got it. Grandpa says I’ll grow into it.”

“Your head doesn’t really grow after a certain age—”

“I know. I’m just wearing it to make him happy. I figure if I put it on for a few days and he sees me in it, I can hide it somewhere and tell him I lost it.”

“That’s lying,” Cid said, crossing his arms. “I thought you weren’t lying anymore.”

“It’s a white lie,” Lyle protested. “And do you want me to get stuck wearing this hat forever? Anyways, I’ve got a letter for you. Maggie told me to just bring it to you directly.”

“Been a while since you’ve come to the farm,” Cid said, taking the envelope Lyle gave him.

The boy shrugged. “You didn’t seem to want me around. After—”

“Right. Well, I do want you around. Come over for dinner sometime soon. I can make spaghetti.”

“I like spaghetti,” Lyle said.

“Well,” Cid admitted. “I’m still learning to make spaghetti. But next time I make it, I think it’ll turn out better.”

“Sounds good. See ya, Cid.” The lad re-adjusted his hat more firmly on his head and strode off toward town.

Cid watched him go. Had Lyle grown since the last time he’d seen him? He seemed older, somehow. More purposeful. Soon he’d be ready to go out into the world on his own.

Wonder if he’ll be staying around town much longer.

A little time away from Haven might be good for the lad, wherever he went. This place was too tight-knit and insular for a lad on the edge of manhood. Cid had needed to get away from his hometown when he’d been the boy’s age—had needed to go to Hearthstone to forge his own path. Lyle might be the same.

He looked down at the letter in his hand. It was from Laurie. Typical. She wrote back as soon as she got my note—before she forgot.

He went back inside to his desk and lit a candle to read by, then ripped the parchment envelope open.

Brother dear,

Pleased to hear that you’re doing well. I’d always hoped you’d settle down somewhere nice. A man can’t stay in the Guards forever. Glad to hear you’ve made some friends. And it sounds like the property is appropriate for a man your age. Small enough for you to handle on your own. Not everyone needs a manor house. It’s too much for a bachelor to maintain.

Cid scowled. Was that an insult? Sometimes he couldn’t tell with Laurie.

Now that you’re retired, we’d love to have you up at Riddlesden this winter if you can make the trip. I can send directions, or maybe young Pieter can come down and fetch you in the covered carriage if the roads are good. We’ll show you the farms, and you can meet the children. They’ve heard so much about their Uncle Cid over the years. They’d be so excited to see you in person.

More importantly, though, I’d love to see where you’re living and make sure you’re all right. I’m sure you’ve figured things out by now—but I’ve been running an estate for a long time, and I might be able to offer some advice. No pressure, of course.

Your loving sister, Laurie.

Cid grinned. No pressure? Yeah, right. Laurie was curious, and she definitely wanted to come by and see what he’d been doing. When she did, she’d be sure to critique everything she saw. Maybe he could have her come by in the spring when things were a little more settled. And maybe he could arrange for her to stay at the village inn, so he’d have some alone time while she was in town.

He should take her up on the invitation to visit the manor, though. Laurie could be annoying, but she also ran one of the largest estates in this part of the country, and by all accounts, she did it well. He could learn something from her expertise—and maybe, if he timed his visit right, he could get a nice holiday feast out of the trip as well. He’d have to find something nice for her from the village as a gift.

Cid quickly scrawled a response suggesting that he come up for the winter solstice—and that she come by Oak Tree Farm in the spring if she could—and stuffed the parchment into an envelope. He could mail it from the tavern the next day. Then, with one last guilty look at his barely started memoir, he got up from the desk and headed upstairs to bed.

Tomorrow. I’ll work on it tomorrow.

If he got around to it.

Chapter Thirteen: Fields of Red

He rose early next morning—and definitely did not get started on his memoir. Instead, he headed outside to finish prepping his new tomato field for next year.

It was a brisk, gray day, and a few ominous storm clouds on the horizon promised rain, but Cid didn’t mind. He wasn’t here to have fun. He was here to work, and cool weather meant he could work harder. Plus, if it rained, he wouldn’t have to water his crops that day.

After two rounds of Earth One, he was finally done. The field was ready for the next planting season, and it looked beautiful. Rows of rich, dark earth rolled away from him, toward the stream, and with a little imagination, he could picture his tomato plants growing happily here.

More spaghetti sauce.

Maybe he could refine his recipe and make it in bulk. He could put it in jars and sell it at the farmers’ market.

Maybe.

Or maybe he’d just eat it all himself.

The chickens were doing well in their coop, so he headed toward Nightshade’s field, glancing at the sky as he walked up the hill. It was getting darker, and he could see rain falling on the hills in the distance. He needed to bring his horse inside so that he didn’t get soaked.

Nightshade pinned his ears when he saw him coming as if he knew he was going to have to go back to the stable.

“Easy,” Cid said. “Easy, boy. It’s not so bad.”

The horse had seemed to like his stall well enough when he’d first arrived. Cid had made sure it was a big one, with plenty of room to move around and lots of soft straw as a cushion, but Nightshade had gotten used to spending his days outside munching grass. After all the years he’d spent cooped up in the city, it must have come as a welcome surprise. But now he didn’t want to go back inside.

He grumbled and shifted his feet when Cid opened the gate, but didn’t run. Cid was able to catch him easily and lead him back down the hill and into the stable.

“Trust me,” he said as he latched the stall door. “You don’t want to stay out there today. I remember how much you hate getting wet.”

Nightshade snorted haughtily, and Cid sighed.

“Fine. Here’s a hay net.”

He hung the bag of hay from the side of the stall, and the old horse got to work eating it. Nightshade did hate getting wet, though. He remembered how miserable his mount had been every time they’d gone out on long patrol in the rain. He’d done the right thing bringing him in.

Once he was satisfied that the animals were settled and fed, he grabbed a thick slice of bread and butter to go, and headed toward town, half-jogging to try to get ahead of the rain. The sky was very dark now, and the wind was whistling through the trees.

Hope I can make it to Haven before it hits.

He wasn’t so lucky. Just as he reached the main bridge into town, the heavens opened up above him, and it started pouring rain.

“Waughhh!!” he bellowed, throwing his hood up and sprinting toward the nearest building. He and his horse had at least one thing in common: they both hated getting wet.

The street was deserted—apparently, the Havenites were smarter than he was and had gone inside before the storm had started—and he thought better of banging on a random door looking for shelter from the rain. He might end up stuck with someone he didn’t like until the sky cleared. Instead, he made his way toward Maggie’s tavern as fast as he could.

When he got there, the door was locked.

“Maggie!” he bellowed, banging on the door as hard as he could. “Maggie! Let me in!”

He was soaked to the skin and freezing. Was she even home?

“Maggie!” he shouted louder, and to his relief, the door opened.

“Wow,” she said. “What happened to you?”

“Rain,” he said tersely. “It’s raining out. Didn’t you notice?”

“Come in,” she said. “Bar’s closed, but I’m just cleaning up around here. I can give you a towel if you want.”

“Please,” Cid said. Rain was dripping down his face and into his eyes, and his boots were full of water.

She stepped aside, and he followed her into the tavern.

“Stand by the door,” she said. “Let’s keep the dripping contained.”

He obeyed and she vanished into the back room. She’d been telling the truth about cleaning; the floor was shiny with mop water, and the entire room smelled like soap.

“If you’re mopping,” he said when she emerged with a soft, green bath towel, “why do I have to stay by the door? Isn’t the whole floor wet?”

“Easy, partner,” she said. “Different types of water. One comes from a bucket. One falls from the sky.”

“Totally different. Uh huh.”

He took the towel from her and rubbed his hair, then tried to dry off as best he could. She watched him skeptically.

“You need a change of clothes,” she said.

The way she said it, it wasn’t a question.

“Do you have anything that would fit me?” he said. “Just in your back room?”

“People leave things here all the time. Take a look back there and see if you can find something. In the big wardrobe.”

She pointed, and he went into the back room where he’d found her recipe cards months before. It was still full of dry goods, brewing supplies, spare parts, and broken furniture, just like every tavern storeroom he’d ever seen. There was something comforting about the familiar sight. Haven was unusual in some ways, but in others, it was much like any other small town.

He found the wardrobe she’d mentioned against the far wall, and opened its big wooden doors. Just as she’d said, there was a large pile of clothing inside. It was a hodgepodge of items, and most of it was too small for him, but he was able to find a few things in his size. He stripped, toweled off again, and slipped on a lurid red shirt and a pair of faded green pants.

Too colorful. I look like the weird outsiders from yesterday.

It wasn’t his style, but at least it was dry. Maggie looked him over appraisingly when he emerged back into the tavern.

“You look good,” she said finally. “I like the shirt.”

“I look like a clown.”

“Red suits you.”

He shrugged. “Maybe. At least I’m not soaking wet.”

“Want some food?” she said. “I’ve got some pork chops here. And I can hang up your clothes to dry.”

Cid grinned. A pair of pork chops would hit the spot. “Sounds great.”

He sat at the counter and tried to wring the rest of the water out of his hair while Maggie heated up the food. Soon the entire bar smelled like frying meat.

“So that plaque,” he said.

“Still want to know about that?”

“You promised to tell me. I didn’t forget.”

“Ughhh,” she groaned. “It was a long time ago. I don’t really talk about that part of my life much anymore.”

“So you said. Why not start now?”

“Because it’s embarrassing.”

“Having the Magic Knights in your debt is definitely not embarrassing,” he said. “Trust me. I’d kill to have them owe me a favor.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll tell you the story. It was when I was a young woman—”

“You’re still young,” Cid said.

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean. When I was actually young. I was really into the Magic Knights back then. Was dead set on signing up when I got old enough. You know how this town is, Cid—everyone loves the Corps, everyone wants to join, everyone watches the Knights run around on their big horses every time they come through town. And I was a powerful mage, or so people said. I was working toward the Mana Trials. Trained every day.”

“You’re still a powerful mage, too,” Cid said. “That power doesn’t go away.”

She waved him off. “Not like I was. You need to practice to keep your skills sharp. I don’t train that much anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I’ve got enough to do here running a bar.” She shrugged. “I don’t have a lot of time these days. And I’m not likely to use it around here.”

“You might—”

“Anyways,” she said firmly. “One day—I must have been twenty-two or twenty-three—the Knights come through town tracking a dark mage. It’s a young group, must have been fresh out of training, and they’re a little bit out of their depth. Clearly one of their first missions together—if not the very first one. I ran into their leader, a kid named Cyprian, at the farmers’ market.”

“At the farmers’ market?!”

“He clearly had no idea where to start looking for a dark mage. Was trying every avenue he could think of, even if it didn’t really make any sense. He wasn’t a Havenite—we train our kids better than that. Some noble’s son from down south. In those days we did a lot of our own defense and scouting. Cyprian heard me talking about some wolf tracks I’d seen and asked if I could help them out. I agreed.”

“Naturally,” Cid said.

“And when he came by my house and saw me training, he really wanted me to come along. I was doing fireballs that day. It was pretty cool, I guess.” She grinned to herself at the memory.

“They gave me a horse for the mission—the nicest horse I’d ever ridden,” she continued. “And—well—Cyprian was in charge on paper. But they were following me. I was the one tracking the dark mage. I could feel his magical signature pulling me forward. He wasn’t being that careful, honestly. I don’t know how they missed it.”

“Maybe you were more powerful than they were,” Cid said.

She laughed. “I doubt it. They were just young. Didn’t know what they were doing. It was— I don’t know. Riding on that big horse, at the head of a column of Magic Knights, that was the best I’ve ever felt. Like I knew exactly what I was doing. I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I get it,” Cid said.

“Anyway, the guy was hiding in a cave up in the hills. He’d stored a lot of dark magical gear in there, too. Not sure exactly what he was planning, but I’m sure it was nothing good. As soon as he saw us coming, he came out to meet us. He knew who we were. I guess it was pretty obvious. And it was clear that he wasn’t going to go without a fight.”

“Wow,” Cid said quietly.

“You can imagine how it all went down, I guess,” she said. “It was crazy. I’d never been in a battle like that before. And—well—these guys were green, but they knew how to fight. I learned a lot just by watching them. But I fully joined in. I was hurling fireballs like a crazy person. It was a thrill seeing what I could do. And in the end, I was the one who got the dark mage!”

“You did?!”

“Yeah. Threw a firebolt right at his head. But I let the Magic Knights tell everyone they were the ones who took him out.”

“Why?!” Cid said. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t know why,” she said. “Like I said, I was young. I didn’t want to brag about it. I felt like I was a nobody compared to them. So I let them have the credit.”

“And you never signed up for the Magic Knights?”

“No. I never did. I meant to. But life got in the way, I guess. Every time I meant to join, something happened. First my mom got sick. Then she died. Then the old tavern owner retired, and they needed someone to run this place for a little while. It paid well. I got used to it. I kept meaning to leave, but every year, I put it off. And eventually—”

“Wow,” Cid said. He wasn’t really sure what to say. This tale was more depressing than he’d expected it to be.

“They sent me the plaque, though. The Magic Knights. It showed up a few weeks after our battle. I framed it and put it on my wall, and I guess it’s been there ever since.”

Cid looked at her. Her golden hair gleamed in the candlelight.

“I guess it wasn’t that exciting of a story,” she said, looking sheepish. “I tried to warn you.”

He wasn’t sure what prompted him to do it exactly, but acting on a sudden impulse, he leaned over and kissed her. And to his surprise, she kissed him back.

After a moment, he pulled away. She stared at him, shocked.

Stupid. Why’d you do that?!

“Uh,” he said.

“Uh,” Maggie said.

Then, without warning, Lyle burst through the door.

Chapter Fourteen: Back Up

“Lyle,” Cid said, gritting his teeth, “what are you doing here?”

“I saw you come in when it started raining,” the boy panted. “Those weird guys are snooping around. I think they’re trying to dig up some dirt on what’s going on with the town.”

“Oh,” Cid said. Do I really have to deal with this right now?

“We should go check it out,” Maggie said, hopping off her barstool and straightening her dress. “See what they’re doing.”

“Okay,” he said, trying not to be disappointed. “Sure. That sounds good.”

They headed outside, and he was relieved to see that at least the rain had let up. The sun was already emerging through the clouds again, and mist was rising off the hills around them.

“Storms don’t tend to get too bad around here,” Maggie said. “Unless things get really crazy. It’s the Mana Cavern’s influence, I think.”

“That’s good,” Cid said. He was still a little distracted.

The strangers were sitting on Roger the Baker’s front porch, once again dressed in over-the-top capes and cloaks. It looked like they’d exchanged clothing, though. The man who’d once been in scarlet was now in emerald green, and the one who’d worn violet was now in blue.

Why did they do that? Are they trying to confuse us?

“Cid Dawnshield!” Roger the Baker said, looking relieved to see him. “How are you doing?”

“Uh. Good?”

“What brings you to town today? How are things going at Oak Tree Farm?”

Cid gave Maggie a look. Roger was usually friendly, but not quite this friendly. He was acting strange.

“We were just talking to your friend Roger,” Tom of Ashburn said, getting to his feet. “He told us a little more about your farm. About your past with the Guards.”

“Oh,” Cid said. “What did he tell you?”

Roger flashed him an apologetic look. “Mostly just what they already knew,” he said. “That you worked in Hearthstone. That you came here this year, bought Oak Tree Farm and settled in.”

“Must be nice,” Robin said. “Big change of pace from what you’re used to, I’m sure. A nice, quiet retirement.”

Cid felt his shoulders tensing up. He didn’t like this group at all.

“It’s quiet enough,” he said cautiously. “Lot of work to be done around the farm, though.”

“And why Haven?” Timothy said. “Is there something that made you choose this town? Aside from its natural beauty, of course!”

The four all laughed, but Roger, Maggie, Cid, and Lyle stayed silent.

“Land writ,” Cid said. “The kingdom gives all Guards a plot of land when we retire, if we want it. The only catch is that we have to go where there’s land available. We don’t always get to choose where we go. Most of us don’t take it. No one else in my retirement year did. They all wanted to go somewhere with warm weather and pretty girls.”

“And you chose a farmer’s life?” Robin said. “It’s a hard way to make a living.”

“I like hard work. And I like being useful. I’d last about five minutes on a beach before I got bored.”

“I can respect that,” Tom of Ashburn said. “And is there any reason in particular you chose Haven?”

“Like I said. Land writ. I had to choose a plot of land that was available.”

“No other reason?”

“None that I can think of.”

“And you like it here?” Timothy said. “No surprises?”

Maggie gave him a nervous look, but Cid crossed his arms. “Plenty of surprises. It’s my first time trying my hand at farm work. I don’t know what I’m doing. But nothing bad.”

“That’s good to hear,” Timothy said, standing up. “I’m glad you like it here. Cute little town. We’re all looking forward to the Harvest Fair.”

Robin nodded. “Looking forward to those little cider doughnuts.”

“We’ve got plenty of those,” Roger the Baker said. “I make them special for the fair. And there’ll be baking competitions, too. I think you’ll enjoy them.”

“We look forward to it.”

The men stood up and made their goodbyes, then walked away down the street together. Roger watched them go, only turning back to Cid when all four were out of sight.

“Those guys are so weird!” he hissed. “They’ve been creeping around town all day asking questions. The miller even caught them in his storeroom going through the flour barrels.”

Lyle shook his head. “I don’t know. None of the questions they asked just now were bad, necessarily. Maybe they’re decent people and they’re actually here for the Harvest Fair. Just a little awkward, maybe.”

“Lyle, did you grow up here or not?” Maggie snapped. “How many times have you seen people come through asking a few too many questions? How often has that ever turned out well?”

“It’s gone bad a couple of times,” Lyle said quietly. “But sometimes it’s been okay. You’re always saying Haven is too insular. But it’s never going to get better if we’re paranoid about anyone new in town.”

It was an unexpectedly mature comment for the boy to make, and Cid was a little taken aback. Lyle’s grown in more ways than one.

“I hear what you’re saying,” Cid said finally. “And it’s wise. I think there’s a lot that could be changed around here, that’s for certain. But these guys are genuinely weird. I’m not sure what their game is, but they’re clearly up to something.”

“They didn’t even like the berry cake I gave them,” Roger said. “And that was one of the better cakes I’ve made.”

“What do we do?” Lyle said. “We can’t punish them just for asking questions.”

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Cid said. “See if things develop.”

“Okay,” Maggie said.

“And we’ll be especially careful on the day of the Harvest Fair,” Cid said. “Since it seems like that’s what they’re here for. If they do anything—whatever they’re planning—they’ll probably do it by then.”

“Speaking of the fair,” Roger said. “I’ve got some samples for you—”

“No,” Cid said. “Can’t try anything before the competition.”

“They’re really good—”

“I’m sure they are. But it would give you an unfair advantage. If I’m going to be a judge, I want to do it right. That means a level playing field—for everyone.”

“Fine, fine,” Roger sighed. “It was worth a try.”

“Another try,” Cid said. “Remember, you tried to bribe me earlier.”

The baker shrugged. “Just trying to do business.”

Cid was growing weary of talking about the cobbler competition, so he made his excuses and started back toward Oak Tree Farm. Now that the rain had stopped, he might be able to put Nightshade back in his field for the night. That would make his old horse happy.

As much outside time as I can give him. He’s earned that much.

As he passed the mill, though, something caught his eye: a flash of brightly colored fabric disappearing into the woods. It was the exact shade of indigo that Tom of Ashburn had been wearing earlier.

He froze and looked around. There was no one else around. He was alone on the street, and it was getting dark.

They’re definitely up to something. Why else would they be running away into the forest at twilight?

He wasn’t wearing his constable’s uniform, but at least he’d started wearing his sword again after his search for Pete the rooster. His hand drifted toward the hilt now, and he looked around again. No one around meant no one would know where he was if he got into trouble. If these men were up to no good, he might have to fight alone.

Well, it’s been long enough.

He glanced around one more time, just to make sure that Lyle wasn’t following him, and followed the strange men into the forest. It had been too long since he’d been in a real fight. The Mana Trials didn’t count. They had been a fake, unnecessary battle. Cid didn’t go in for that sort of thing.

The sun hadn’t fully set yet, but the forest was already dark. He had to squint to see the men ahead of him, and the only reason he could see them at all was because of their ridiculously colorful capes.

Not a good choice of clothing if they’re trying to hide.

Then again, he was still wearing the bright red shirt he’d found in Maggie’s storeroom, so he couldn’t really judge. He’d have to be careful, though. His usual attire made it a lot easier to blend in unnoticed. He stood out like a sore thumb in this shirt, and if any of the men turned around, they’d have no problem spotting him.

Luckily, they were moving quickly and didn’t seem to want to stop. Cid could feel his old Guards training kicking in as he followed them through the trees, keeping them just near enough to be visible. He didn’t want to get too close and risk being noticed. Just as he’d done back in Hearthstone, he tried to keep solid objects between himself and his quarry. There, he’d used buildings; here, he used trees. And he walked carefully, trying to keep from making too much noise. It was harder here in the woods than it had been in the city—dead twigs and crunchy leaves littered the forest floor around him—but he found himself enjoying the challenge.

The strangers weren’t being particularly careful, though. They were making a lot of noise and hadn’t looked back once to see if anyone was on their tail. Cid found himself getting almost annoyed with how easy it was to follow them.

Come on. It’s my first chase in almost a year. Be more of a challenge.

As if he’d read Cid’s thoughts, Tom of Ashburn suddenly spun around.

“Did you hear that, lads?” he said.

“What?” Robin said.

“Something behind us.”

Cid froze. Maybe this group wasn’t as foolish as he’d thought.

“Nothing behind us,” Robin said. “Those villagers are probably off singing songs around a campfire or something.”

Timothy chuckled, and Cid felt his shoulders tense. He didn’t always love the Havenites, but he didn’t like these weirdos making fun of them either. What were they up to?

“I’m not sure. Did anyone else hear anything?”

“Nothing,” Timothy said. “Tom, you’re being paranoid. Let’s go.”

But Tom was moving closer. Cid tried to make himself as small as possible, but he knew the man was going to see him soon, and then there’d likely be a battle. He’d have to take them on all at once. Hopefully, they weren’t good fighters.

Wait. I have something new now. Magic.

He cast Air One, and a flurry of leaves flew between him and the men. Tom of Ashburn peered into the darkness but turned away, apparently satisfied.

“You’re right,” he said. “Nothing there. Let’s move on. We’ve still got ground to cover before eight.”

The four made their way deeper into the woods, with Tom leading the way—and Cid bringing up the rear.

Chapter Fifteen: Follow Them

Cid hissed to himself as he almost tripped over a rotten log. It felt like he’d been walking for hours. The sun had fully set by now, and it was very dark here under the shadow of the trees. He wished he could carry a torch without being seen by the four men ahead of him. Maybe there was some spell he could use in the future that would mask a light. He made a mental note to investigate further when he had the time.

Where are these guys going?

They didn’t seem to have any problems navigating, and he hadn’t seen them trip once. He trusted Maggie, and she’d said she hadn’t seen any magical signatures on them. They weren’t mages—or if they were, they weren’t mages that anyone in the Corps would recognize. But they definitely had some kind of power. Something was guiding them. He just wasn’t sure what it was.

It was a weird setup, and he found himself puzzling over it as they pushed deeper into the forest. Four men show up out of nowhere in strange clothing, pretending that they’re there to visit a harvest festival. While they’re in town, they start asking questions, snooping around, pushing just a little too hard.

They must not know that everyone here is suspicious of outsiders.

Their clumsy tactics would probably have gone unnoticed in a normal village where folks were more inclined to be trusting. He didn’t like to admit it, but Haven’s standoffishness had worked in its favor this time.

This time. Most of the time, it’s stupid and ridiculous. He wasn’t willing to give the villagers that much of a win.

The men pushed through a stand of bushes ahead of them, and he sighed. It was going to be hard to follow them here without being detected. Bushes made noise. Working as quickly and quietly as possible, he bent back a few of the branches until he’d made a rough path through the thicket. They’d see what he’d done if they took the same route back to Haven, but hopefully, he’d be long gone by that point—if all went well.

It took him a little time to work, and the men were almost out of sight by the time he’d finished.

Damn.

He moved as fast as he dared, praying he wouldn’t trip in the darkness, until he had them well in tracking range again. But something had changed.

Is it getting brighter?

It was far too early for it to be sunrise—they hadn’t walked that far—but warm light filtered through the trees and flickered on the men’s faces.

“Finally,” Tom of Ashburn said, audibly relieved. “I thought we might have taken a wrong turn back there at the knotted tree.”

“A wrong turn?” Timothy snapped. “Were you going to tell us? Or just let us wander around forever until we got eaten by wolves?”

“I wanted to make sure we were actually lost before I freaked everyone out about it. And look—we’re here. No harm done.”

“We could have been out here all night!”

“But we weren’t,” Tom said. “Look. Those are Hammersmith’s torches right there.”

“We could have been!”

“Easy,” Mayhew, the fourth man, said. He stepped forward until he stood in between the two. “Timothy, Tom’s right. All turned out well in the end. But Tom, Timothy’s right. You should have told us when you knew something was up. What’s our code?”

The men all looked down at their feet.

“Come on,” Mayhew said, exposing his teeth in a lopsided grin. “What’s our code?”

“Full transparency among allies,” Tom muttered. “You’re right. I broke the code. Should have told you guys.”

“There we go,” Mayhew said, still grinning as he looked around at the rest of the group. “All sorted and patched up. We’ll all do better next time. But for now, Hammersmith’s waiting.”

Cid frowned as the men walked toward the flickering light, still unsure of what he’d just seen.

Huh. ‘Full transparency among allies.’ I might have to steal that.

He wouldn’t tell anyone where the phrase had come from, though. There were some things he preferred to keep to himself.

The trees thinned until they were in a broad clearing ringed by large torches. A small fire was burning in the center of the circle, and a hooded man was crouched near it, stoking the flames.

This looks like trouble.

Cid stayed back in the bushes at the edge of the forest, as far from the light as possible. The brush was thick enough here that he was well out of sight—at least he hoped he was. It was hard to tell what the men could see from the clearing.

They weren’t looking at the woods, though. They were focused on the man at the center of the circle.

“Hammersmith!” Tom of Ashburn said, his tone a little too jolly. “Light-keeper! Good to see you again.”

Hammersmith didn’t respond, just added another log to the fire and poked it skeptically.

“We’re here!” Tom tried again. “Everything’s placed and ready!”

This time, Hammersmith grunted an acknowledgement but didn’t say anything else. Tom looked back at his comrades helplessly.

“Hammersmith!” Mayhew said sharply. “We’re here. Knock it off.”

The hooded man sighed and stood up. “Welcome,” he said listlessly. “Glad you’re here. I’ve been trying to get the fire going. As you can see—not that big right now.”

“It’s okay,” Tom said.

“It’s not. It should be a bonfire. Protocol says it should be a bonfire. The incense won’t burn properly this way.”

The other men seemed not to know how to respond.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Tom said.

“It’s not fine. But anyways. Welcome, children of the light. You say you’ve accomplished your tasks?”

“Yes,” Timothy said, looking relieved that things were back on track. “We’ve placed the summon stones around the village. You think this will work?”

“I know it will work,” Hammersmith said firmly. “I’ve done it before. Haven has the largest Mana Cavern I’ve ever encountered. The power from the crystals under the town should be enough to form a portal with the shadow world once the stones are activated.”

Cid frowned. Shadow world? This guy’s a necromancer?

Hammersmith didn’t look like any necromancer he’d ever seen. They were usually, well, taller. And a little more menacing. This guy couldn’t even build a magical fire properly.

And the guys in capes are his followers?

That would explain why they were so strange. Too much interaction with the Undead tended to make people a little weird. And it also explained why Maggie hadn’t been able to see any magic on them. Necromancers weren’t like normal dark mages. They had a special magical signature that could be hard to detect if you didn’t know what to look for.

“Good,” Tom of Ashburn said, crouching down next to Hammersmith to stoke the fire a little more. “And you already assigned monsters to each summon stone?”

“Yes,” the necromancer said, a little testily. “They were already set up when I gave them to you. Once they get the signal, they’ll engage and transport their targets from the shadow world to ours. If all goes well, the monsters will go after the villagers, not us. They’ll destroy everything they see until I either send them back or their hunger is sated.”

“And the Mana Cavern will be ours!” Timothy shouted.

“Shut up,” Tom hissed. “We’re not that far from town. Do you want everyone to hear you?”

“I wasn’t that loud.”

“Hopefully, this works,” Mayhew said. “After last time—”

“Last time was a one-off,” Hammersmith said quickly. “And it wasn’t a total waste. We learned a lot. That’s not nothing.”

“The people in Green Briar almost chopped my arm off,” Robin said. “It was a total disaster. The summon stones didn’t work—”

“And they’ll work this time. That’s what’s important. I modified some of my spellwork to make sure that we won’t repeat the same mistakes. And when we get the Mana Cavern—”

“—if we get the Mana Cavern—”

“—when we get the Mana Cavern, that’ll make things easier. Those crystals will boost my power. They’ll make it easier for me to cast. That will let us start making inroads into other towns, other parts of the country. We’ve had a few rough years, but we’re turning a corner now.”

“A few rough years?” Tom said. “That’s an understatement. The Order almost died out.”

“But it didn’t,” Hammersmith said. “Thanks to you. You four are the true believers. True members of the Order of the Dying Light. Everyone who left never really had faith to begin with. They only followed us while times were good. But the gods knew we needed a test. They knew we had pretenders in our midst, people who needed to be weeded out. People who were just going through the motions of the faith but who had treachery in their hearts. The last few years have shown us who really believed in our ways: you four. And they’ve given us a new foundation that we can use to spread our faith far and wide.”

“That’s good,” Tom said, although he still sounded a little skeptical.

“And,” Hammersmith went on, “more good news. I’ve been in touch with some powerful necromancers—more powerful than me—who can help us out. Provide guidance. Shepherd us through these next few years of growth.”

“Who are they?” Mayhew said.

“I don’t want to give it away yet. I’m not sure they’re fully in. I’ll let you know as soon as they sign on for real.”

“Full transparency,” Tom muttered, but he let it go.

Cid sighed. Hammersmith was one of the less impressive necromancers he’d encountered—not that he’d seen that many in Hearthstone. That particular kind of dark magic usually fell under the jurisdiction of the Magic Knights. They were better equipped to handle it than the Guards were.

“We have a surprise for you too,” Robin said eagerly. “Remember how you asked us to see if anyone from the area might be interested in coming with us?”

“I do.”

“We found someone—someone who’s tired of the village ways. Who’s fed up with all the secrets and hidden plans. Someone who’s turned his back on his old life and wants to open a door to a new one. And he’s right behind us.”

Cid froze. Wait a minute—

The five men all turned to look in his direction just as Wilbur Johnson crashed his way out of the forest to join them.

“Hey,” he said as if nothing unusual was happening at all, and Cid fought back an urge to run out and hit him.

“This is him,” Robin said.

“Welcome,” Hammersmith said. “You wish to join us?”

“I do,” Wilbur said. “I’m tired of this place. I’m tired of all these people. All of us here grew up together. We’ve known each other all our lives. I know everything about them—and that’s way, way too much. I want to go where you’re going. And once I’m gone, I’ll never look back.”

The five men looked at each other uncomfortably.

“You do know what’s going to happen here, right?” Tom said. “What’s going to happen to the village when we activate the stones? It might not be pretty.”

Wilbur nodded. “If it gets me out of here, that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

Cid scowled. Wow. That’s big of you.

“Glad you’re with us,” Hammersmith said. “We could actually use your help since you know the town better than we do. We’ve got the stones all ready to go, but we need to find a time to activate them.”

“At the Harvest Fair,” Wilbur said without hesitation. “Everyone will be there for the baking competitions. We should do it at the end—when the judge for the last contest announces a winner.”

“What’s the last one?” Tom said.

Wilbur grinned. “Cobbler.”

Chapter Sixteen: Cobbler Obligations

The cobbler competition?!

Cid leaned in closer, hoping he’d misheard Wilbur Johnson. Of all the contests the men could pick as the trigger for their evil plan, why did they have to pick his?

Of course, that means I’m obligated to try to stop it.

He’d have to try either way, no matter what. It was the right thing to do. But the fact that it was his competition that they were trying to hijack made it even more important that they not succeed. It would be humiliating if the village was destroyed and it was partly his fault.

He had to involve the others if he could. It wasn’t right to leave the villagers in the dark. But—well—he knew who he’d have to tell first, and he didn’t want to do it.

Daryl Nightgreen.

Maybe I can go out into the clearing and let Wilbur and those weirdos kill me instead.

It was a nice thought. But he had to get back to Haven before they realized he’d been watching them. He listened a little bit longer to see if they’d reveal anything else about what they were planning, but they were just talking about their travels and Wilbur’s hopes for the future.

“Will you take me south?” Wilbur said. “Once we’re done here? I want to see the Azure Sea.”

Hammersmith looked down at his feet. “Maybe. If we’re going that way.”

“I’m joining your Order,” Wilbur said, looking peeved. “Don’t I get to go where you guys go?”

“Sure. But we don’t really go to nice places like that. People in the Azure Sea don’t really want to convert. They’ve got it good enough as it is without changing things up too much. We need to go where people are desperate, where they’ll try anything if it might give them a shot at a better life.”

“Frozen north,” Mayhew said tersely.

“Or bogs,” Robin said. “Lots of bogs.”

“We got good converts last bog we went to,” Tom said. “Told them the Order could keep their feet dry. Awful things happen when a man can’t dry his feet.”

The others shuddered at the memory.

“Oh,” Wilbur said, looking disappointed. “Okay. Well, I’m still coming with you. And maybe when you get more followers, we can go someplace really nice.”

“Right,” Hammersmith said without enthusiasm. “Let’s hope so.”

Cid sighed. He was tired of listening to this group prattle on.

Time to make an exit.

He backed slowly into the trees, keeping the men in his line of sight until a stand of trees shielded him from view. Then he turned toward the village, taking care to avoid any crunchy pinecones or dry twigs that might make noise and give him away. He periodically looked back to see if anyone was following him, but no one was. The men were probably too busy debating their next destination to notice his presence.

Amateurs.

He’d spent his life dealing with professional criminals. These guys might scare a group of bog-dwelling villagers, but they wouldn’t last six months in the slums of Hearthstone. He shouldn’t be proud of that. Crime didn’t pay. But part of him, a small part, respected his former adversaries.

When he emerged from the forest, he broke into a run, sprinting across dark fields and leaping over Haven Creek in a single bound. He ended up not at Daryl Nightgreen’s house, but at Maggie’s. As usual.

“Maggie!” he hissed, trying to knock quietly. “Maggie!”

A window opened on the second story, and she leaned out, her hair a rat’s nest.

“Are you drunk?” she said.

“No. What? No. Why?”

“Because you’re banging on my door after midnight for no reason is why.”

“Let me in,” he said. “It’s important. I’ll explain once I get inside.”

“Fine. Wait a second.”

The window closed, and she was downstairs and opening the door a few moments later. She’d tied her hair back in a rough braid on the way down.

“Okay,” he said once the front door was firmly shut behind him. “I followed those guys into the forest—”

“You followed them?! Did they see you?”

“They were being really suspicious. And no, they didn’t see me. At least, I don’t think so.”

He told her the whole story: about the Order of the Dying Light and the necromancer Hammersmith, their plan to trigger the summon stones at the Harvest Fair, and their sinister scheme to expand their cult across the kingdom. Her face darkened when she heard of Wilbur’s involvement.

“I knew it,” she said. “I knew something was up with him. He’s been avoiding me since those guys came into town.”

“It is pretty crazy,” Cid said. “Even the cult was surprised by it. He’s willing to totally destroy the town—take the risk that people he knows will die, even—just so he can go see the world.”

“He could do that anyway. He can leave any time he wants. No one’s stopping him—last of all me.”

“So what do we do?” Cid said, knowing what her answer would be.

“We have to tell Daryl.”

“No.”

“Cid, he’s the Village Elder. This is his business. We have to tell him. He may have some insights.”

“He’s no Guard,” he growled. “I’ve dealt with worse than these guys before. I can handle it myself if need be.”

“We can’t do that. Like it or not, we need to get the Elder’s opinion. That’s how it works.”

Cid sagged onto a bar stool and crossed his arms. “Ughhhhhhhh. Fine. We’ll go talk to Daryl. But we should do it tonight. If they’re going to make their moves at the Harvest Fair, we don’t have long to wait.”

“Agreed. Give me five and we’ll go.”

She returned wearing a long, knitted sweater that fell to her knees.

“It’s cold,” she said in response to his look.

“Did I say anything?”

“You didn’t have to.”

They made their way across the street to the Nightgreen house, staying low just in case the men from the Order were watching. Lyle opened the door before they even had a chance to knock.

“I heard someone arriving in town about ten minutes ago,” he explained. “Wasn’t sure what was happening, so I looked out to see who it was. When I saw you coming, I knew it was important. You wouldn’t be stopping here so late if it wasn’t.”

“You’re right about that,” Cid said. “Is your grandfather up?”

“He is. We made tea.”

They went into the candlelit living room, and Maggie drew the curtains so that no one could see them talking. Daryl was sitting on the sofa, clad in a purple dressing gown. He must have just woken up; his shock of white hair was standing on end, and he looked disoriented.

He’s old.

It was a silly thing to think—of course Daryl was old, he’d been old since Cid had arrived here—but he looked particularly frail now, half-dwarfed by the couch cushions. Lyle went to the kitchen and brought him a mug, and the old man poured tea out from the kettle with a shaking hand.

“What’s this all about, lad?” he said once everyone had been served. “What brings you here past midnight?”

“Bad news,” Cid said. “Bad news indeed. Haven’s in trouble.”

“This town’s always in trouble,” Daryl said, looking exhausted. “That’s why we have to keep our secrets here. We’re used to it.”

“No,” Cid said, irritated. “That’s just paranoia. I’m talking about an actual threat. Those guys in the capes, the ones who say they’re here for the Harvest Fair, are trying to mount an attack on the village. They’re in a weird cult led by a necromancer—I don’t really understand that part—and they’ve planted summon stones around town already. They’re going to launch their attack at the festival. When I announce the winner of the cobbler competition, they’ll trigger it.”

The old man looked back at him blankly. “That’s their plan?”

“They want access to the Mana Caverns. They think the power there will allow them to expand their reach enough that they can become really powerful. And Wilbur Johnson’s involved! He wants to blow up the town so that he can get out of here, or something.”

“That Wilbur,” Daryl said. “He was always trouble, that one. I don’t understand why he doesn’t just leave if that’s what he wants. No one’s stopping him.”

Maggie nodded. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“Well,” the old man said, setting his mug down on the table. “This sounds serious. Been a while since Haven’s faced a threat quite like this. Let’s call your parents in here, lad. See what they have to say.”

They were silent for a moment. Then:

“My parents?” Cid said.

“No,” Daryl said. “Lyle—” His face fell. “Oh.”

“It’s all right,” Lyle said quickly, stepping between Cid and his grandfather. “It’s hard being old, right, Grandpa?”

“Sorry, lad,” Daryl said. “Forgot what year it was for a moment. All discombobulated. It’s the waking up in the middle of the night that does it. You don’t know where you are.”

“Right,” Cid said, stomach dropping. Had Daryl really forgotten that Lyle’s parents were dead? He must just be disoriented—as he’d said. Cid could certainly relate. There were times, back in the Guards, when he’d woken up suddenly in a strange place and had a hard time remembering where he was and what he was doing there.

That was while I was half-asleep, though. Once I woke up fully, I knew where I was. And I always knew the year.

“Let’s get back to the plan,” Lyle said. “More tea, anyone?”

“We should try to find the stones,” Maggie said. “Cid, do you know what a summon stone looks like?”

“I do. But—”

“Then let’s go out first thing tomorrow and see what we can find. Your constable route will provide the perfect excuse. It takes you all over town. I’ll come with you. I’ll tell everyone I’m following you because— because—”

“Because you have a crush on him!” Lyle said triumphantly.

Maggie froze, and Cid looked anywhere but at her.

“Let’s make a better cover story,” Daryl said gently. “We can say she’s training as assistant constable in case you join the Guards, lad. I’ve seen those spidren tracks around same as you have.”

“Good one,” Maggie said.

“We’ll have to keep it secret,” Daryl said. “Just so no one in the village accidentally gives us away.”

“Shouldn’t we tell them?” Cid said. “Rather than hiding things from people? Don’t you think they’d rather know what they’re up against and have the chance to help us fight?”

“It’s a risk,” Maggie said. “What do you think?”

“If we can get the other villagers involved, it might make our job easier.”

They both looked at Daryl, and the old man sighed.

“I hear your point,” he said. “But we don’t want to scare the necromancer off. We want to catch him and bring him to justice.”

“Might not be so bad if he got scared off,” Maggie muttered. “Would be someone else’s problem then.”

“And then he’ll move on to some other village,” Cid said. “We need to stop him and his cult now before they get any bigger.”

She sighed. “I knew you’d say that.”

“We start tomorrow,” Daryl said. “We’ll look for the stones. And we’ll find them.”

“Can I come?” Lyle said.

Cid looked at the boy. Was he taller now? He wasn’t a child anymore.

“All right,” he said. “You can come.”

He and Maggie said their goodnights and headed out to the porch.

“What happened with Daryl just now?” he said as they walked toward the tavern.

“What do you mean?”

“The thing about Lyle’s parents. Did he really just forget that?”

She shook her head. “He’s an old man. Old men forget things.”

But he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong—very wrong—with Daryl Nightgreen.

Chapter Seventeen: Crisp Rain

The rain from earlier was long gone, and the air was crisp and clear as he walked home. Normally, he would be whistling a tune on a night like this, but the day’s events had put him in a somber mood.

How had Daryl forgotten that Lyle’s parents were dead, even for a moment? And why were the others so unfazed by it? Had he done wrong in involving the old man in this plan? What if he forgot something important at a critical time? He’d seen men’s memories fail before, and it was never a pleasant sight. Hopefully, it was just a minor slip.

He’d just woken up after all. But he’d have to keep an eye on it just the same.

He checked in on Nightshade before going to bed. The horse had settled in well, and he was munching hay quietly in a back corner of his stall.

“Not so bad, is it?” Cid said, throwing an extra few flakes of hay into his manger just for good measure. “You’ll be warm here all winter.”

Nightshade raised his head and snorted in response, then turned back to his food.

Good enough.

Cid went back inside, washed his face—he was too tired for a full bath tonight—and was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He’d hoped for a full night’s rest, but his dreams were troubling. Images of Undead villagers and burning cottages flashed through his head until dawn, and he woke the next morning feeling as if he’d hardly slept at all.

Time to go find some summon stones.

He rolled out of bed with a groan, washed up, and headed downstairs. After a quick meal of leftover cobbler, he checked the chickens, looked over his crops, and led Nightshade back to his field. The old horse gave him a look as he opened the gate, then took off at a full gallop toward the far end of the pasture.

“Have fun, buddy,” Cid said, watching enviously as Nightshade rolled in the lush grass. A day off would be nice. But for now, he had work to do.

He went back into the house, changed out of his farm clothes and into his constable’s uniform, and headed into town. Maggie and Lyle were waiting for him at the bridge as usual. He was pleased to see that the boy was carrying his sword.

“I know what you’re going to say,” Lyle said as soon as he arrived.

“What am I going to say?”

“About Grandpa last night. He was just tired. That’s it.”

Cid gave the boy a look. “He forgot—"

“I know what he forgot,” Lyle said quickly. “But like I said. We woke him up in the middle of the night. He hadn’t even had any tea yet. He was just out of it.”

“And how long has he been ‘out of it’ for?” he said. “Does he forget other things, too?”

The boy sighed. “He— well— yes. The other day, we went out on his rounds just like usual, visiting houses, talking to the shops. The same thing he’s done twice a week since becoming Village Elder. Halfway through, he forgot where we were going, who we’d already seen, what we were doing. He was so disoriented that we had to turn around and go home.”

“That’s not good,” Cid said.

“But he’s had a lot on his mind!” Lyle said. “It’s not easy being Village Elder! And he’s worried about me leaving Haven! That’s stressful. Grandpa’s fine!”

The lad looked back and forth from Cid to Maggie, clearly near tears.

“It’s all right, Lyle,” Maggie said, putting a comforting hand on the boy’s shoulder. “He’ll be all right. Let’s go look for the summon stones now.”

“He is all right,” Lyle said. “He is.”

“Um,” Cid said, feeling awkward. “So. Let me tell you what a summon stone looks like.”

He grabbed a stick from the side of the road and started sketching in the dirt.

“It’s usually a rock around this size. Smaller, and it can’t store enough power to break the dimensional barrier. Larger, and it’s too big to hide. They’re often an unusual color—not something totally unnatural, but something that stands out. And they always have this character carved into their face, somewhere prominent.”

He drew a rough approximation of the rune, shivering a little as he did so. This was dark magic. And even though it wasn’t real, even though he was just scribbling in the dirt, he didn’t like being anywhere near it. When he was done, Lyle and Maggie moved in for a closer look.

“What does it mean?” the boy said.

“It’s in one of the old languages,” Cid said. “It means ‘break’, or so I’ve heard. As in, ‘break the boundaries between dimensions’ so that something nasty can come into our world.”

“How do you know all this?” Maggie asked.

“Believe it or not, we saw our fair share of these things in Hearthstone. One comes up for sale on the black market every couple of years, and of course people in the Lower City can’t resist the chance to try it out. Cities are dense. A lot of bodies buried there over the years. I’ve fought off more Undead than I can count.”

And Bran always had a lot to say about it whenever we dug one of these stones up.

It was thanks to Bran that he knew the rune for ‘break’. And Bran had told him how the summon stones usually worked, too. The Magic Knights all learned about that sort of thing in training. Guards weren’t expected or encouraged to know about it.

“Where do you think they’ll be?” Lyle said.

Cid looked down at the drawing he’d made. “They said they were scattered around Haven. Where might be a good place to hide a stone this size?”

They thought about it for a moment.

“The mill,” Maggie said.

“Roger’s bakery,” Lyle said. “He’s always got those sacks of flour in the back. It would be easy to sneak something in there.”

Maggie nodded. “I saw them poking around in there earlier. I wouldn’t be surprised if the bakery’s got one in it.”

“All right,” Cid said. “The mill, the bakery, where else?”

“Did they say how many there were?” Lyle said. “Would help to know how many we’re looking for.”

Cid winced. Part of him had hoped they wouldn’t clock that until he was able to do a little more reconnaissance, find out an answer. The boy made a good point.

“No,” he admitted. “I didn’t catch that. But we can find out. Let’s keep an eye on the cult in the next few days, see if we can do a little spying. We’ll need that information.”

“Only a week to the Harvest Fair,” Maggie said. “We’d better get moving.”

“We’ll do the first stop together,” Cid said. “I’ll show you some search techniques. Then we can split up. We’ll work faster that way.”

When they arrived at the bakery, Roger himself greeted them at the door.

“Cid Dawnshield,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“Just a visit. Can I come inside?”

“Just a visit, eh?” Roger said with a sly grin. “Here about the competition, are you? I knew you’d come around.”

“Um,” Cid said. He was about to say no when an idea struck him. He could use this as a distraction while Maggie and Lyle looked for summon stones in the back room.

“Yes,” he said. “I am, actually. Still not used to Haven’s traditions. You know how it is.”

Roger laughed. “I do know! These things can be hard, but I’m glad you’re settling in. One moment. I’ll bring out some samples for you.”

Cid waited until he was safely in the back room, then turned to Lyle and Maggie.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re on your own. I’ll keep him out here. Check everything. Try not to make too much noise. Remember: you’re looking for a stone about this big, weird color, weird rune on the front. It’s large enough that there will probably only be a few places it can be. Under the bags of flour’s a good place to start.”

Maggie nodded just as Roger re-emerged with three large plates of blueberry cobbler balanced on one arm.

“Now, try all three,” he said, carefully making his way over to them. “Flavor profile’s a little different for each of them. One’s sweeter than the others. You can tell me what you like, maybe give me a little direction before the contest.”

“Isn’t this cheating?” Lyle said, and Maggie quickly hushed him

“There a bathroom in here?” she said loudly. “Maybe in the back room, or—?”

“Yeah,” Roger said, eyes still fixed on his cobbler. “Back in there. Small door painted blue. You can’t miss it.”

They vanished into the other room to look for the summon stones, leaving Cid alone with Roger—and his cobbler. The baker looked at him expectantly.

“Um,” Cid said. “Do you have a fork?”

Roger looked mortified. “Of course I do! Hold one, one moment—”

For a moment, Cid was worried he’d go back into the storage room and find Maggie and Lyle mid-search, but he just rummaged around in the pockets of his apron until he found some silverware.

“Is that clean?” Cid said.

“Of course. Just washed it today.”

He took the fork from Roger’s hand—a bit reluctantly—and dug into the first slice of cobbler. It was good. Very good.

“Like the berries,” he said. “Good texture. It’s a little—”

“Too sweet?” Roger said, looking anxious. “I put a lot of sugar in that one.”

Cid pondered as he chewed. “A little, if I’m being honest.”

“Try the second. I dialed back on the sweetness there. Thought I’d let the berries stand out more.”

He did as Roger asked. The second sample was much tarter than the first—but not unpleasantly so. The crust was crunchier, too. Not too chewy.

“I like it,” he said. “Never realized two blueberry cobblers could taste so different from each other.”

“I’m good at what I do,” Roger said. “Wait until you have the third one.”

He took a bite. “Oh. Wow.”

It was without a doubt the best piece of cobbler he’d ever eaten. Not too sweet, not too sour, with fresh berries and a perfectly crunchy crust. He ate the whole piece in three bites.

“You like it?” Roger said.

“No. I hated it.”

“You want another piece?”

He almost said yes, but then he saw Maggie and Lyle sneaking back into the main room. Maggie was clearly hiding something under her cloak, and her eyes were bright with triumph.

“I’ll save it for the Fair,” he said. “Still have my rounds to do today. I can’t get too full of cobbler. But good work, Roger. Really. Good work.”

The baker beamed. “Come back any time. I’ll make you any cobbler you want.”

“Just until the Harvest Fair contest,” Cid guessed.

“Just until the contest. I can’t give too much product away. Still running a business here.”

Cid laughed. He genuinely liked Roger, even though he was trying to game the cobbler contest. The man was good at his job. He could respect that.

He stood in front of Maggie as they made their way out the door, trying to hide the fact that she was carrying what was likely a summon stone under her coat. Once they were safely around the corner and out of sight, she pulled it out and held it up to the light.

“Is this one?” she said. “The rune’s a little different from the one you drew.”

He looked. The stone was a pale pink, about the size of a loaf of bread. The character on the front was clumsily written, as if drawn by a child, but it was unmistakably the right one. They’d found the first summon stone.

Chapter Eighteen: Old Purpose

“Okay,” Maggie said. “So, what do we do with it?”

“Disable it,” Cid said, taking the stone from her and stashing it in his bag. “But I’m not sure how to do that. I have to write to Bran.”

Hopefully, he’ll be in a place where he can write back.

Bran wasn’t always able to respond when he was out on campaign, especially when he was in active combat. But he usually delegated to someone who could if the question was urgent enough.

“I’ll write him a letter tonight,” Cid said, “and I’ll bring it by the tavern tomorrow.”

“Post rider comes at noon, usually,” Maggie said. “Every other day. Tomorrow’s a mail day.”

“How long does it take to get a letter to the Southern Lands?” Lyle said, trying to sneak another look at the summon stone in Cid’s pack.

“Depends on travel conditions. Usually around a week, plus a few days if they have trouble finding Bran.”

“And then another week for a response?” Maggie said, looking doubtful. “That’s too long.”

“Bran has other ways of communicating. If I tell him it’s urgent, he’ll use them.”

Some of those ‘other ways of communicating’ could be pretty damn terrifying, too. Cid would never forget the sight of Bran’s face emerging from a still pool of water.

“We’ll have to store the stone somewhere until then,” he said. “We don’t want to keep them all together. Their power accumulates, I think. So having a pile of them in one place risks having them trigger accidentally.”

“Maybe we can just put them in the woods?” Maggie said. “I don’t want one in the tavern. Come to think of it, let’s search the tavern to make sure they didn’t hide one there. These things creep me out.”

Lyle nodded. “I’ll check Grandpa’s house too.”

“Mill first, then tavern?” Cid said. “We could both use a beer, I think. Not you, Lyle. Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” the boy said. “Beer is gross anyway.”

“And we need to figure out how many stones there are,” Cid said. “We can brainstorm a plan.”

“Maybe we can assign Lyle to them somehow,” Maggie suggested. “Like a little guide to Haven. He’s the grandson of the Elder. It’s logical. And he can pretend to be really, really dumb so they’re more likely to talk openly.”

They both looked at Lyle, and the boy shrugged. “Sure. I can pretend to be dumb.”

With their plan settled, they headed toward the mill. Cid made a mental note to give Lyle some tips on spying and reconnaissance before he started following the cult members around. The boy might be good at it. He had an honest-looking face, and he’d certainly fooled Cid before.

The mill’s water wheel was turning quickly when they arrived, and they found the miller inside hard at work tending the millstone. Every so often, he threw a bucket of grain onto the stone to be ground into flour.

“Everyone’s baking right now,” he said when he saw them, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a crumpled rag. “Testing recipes for the competitions. I can’t keep flour in stock. Practically runs out the door.”

Right on cue, Old Mary walked in with an empty sack.

“How much you want?” the miller said. “Same as last time?”

“Double,” she said. “I’ve got three pies to make tonight. Oh. Hi, Cid.”

“Hi.”

“Heard you tried Roger’s cobbler.”

He groaned. This town! Why was everyone always up in everyone else’s business?

“He wouldn’t let me leave until I tasted it,” he lied. “I had things to do. I had no other choice.”

“I’ll bring some pie by your house tomorrow,” she said. “You can tell me what you think.”

“I don’t—”

“I’ll bring the pie,” she said firmly, in a tone that suggested there would be no further discussion.

“All right,” Cid said. “Thanks, Mary. Looking forward to it.”

He heard something moving behind him, and tilted his head slightly, just enough that he could see what was happening out of the corners of his eyes. Maggie and Lyle were searching the mill as quietly as they could, rifling through empty bags and looking inside barrels. The miller was too busy working the millstone to notice, and Old Mary was distracted talking to Cid. Part of him was a little jealous—looking for the summon stones was the fun job, after all—but he squashed that feeling down. What was important was that the stones were found at all. It didn’t matter who actually did the finding.

“So,” he said, casting around for something that might interest Mary. “What kinds of pies are you making?”

“Would be nice to surprise you, I think,” she said. “It’s always fun not knowing what you’re going to get, isn’t it? My grandson likes to make me guess what he’s going to bring. He’s ten, he is. A little younger than Lyle. And he’s brilliant—or at least, I think so. Everyone thinks their own grandchildren are smart, though, don’t they?”

“Ah. And, um, does your grandson bake a lot? How’s your family?”

To his relief, she launched into a lengthy tale about the ongoing feud between two sets of cousins that seemed to center on ownership of a cow pasture, and he was able to feign interest by nodding at the appropriate times and keeping a polite expression on his face. It was a good distraction, and he decided to remember it for the future. Everyone loved complaining about their family.

After what felt like hours, Maggie put a hand on his arm.

“Are you talking about the McClarens and the Kemples?” she said to Mary.

The old woman nodded. “I sure am.”

“That whole thing is ridiculous. You’ll have to fill me in later at the tavern over some ale.”

“I think I need to go back to the house,” Lyle said, believably wide-eyed and innocent. “Grandpa usually needs help in the garden around this time every day.”

“Oh,” Cid said. “That so? We’d better go, then.”

He gave Maggie a sharp look, trying to determine if she had found a summon stone or not, but she kept her face carefully blank.

“I’ll see you soon,” Mary said. “You’ll try my pie. Give me tips.”

It didn’t sound optional. Cid nodded and the three beat a hasty retreat.

“Got another one,” Lyle hissed as soon as they got out the door. “This one was in the pile of spare sacks the miller keeps in that back room. It was the last place we would have thought to check.”

“How did they even get in there?” Maggie said. “He’s always around.”

“And always working,” Cid pointed out. “He missed the two of you sneaking back there.”

“Yeah, but I thought this town was careful. I thought we were on guard.”

“What this town is is paranoid,” Cid said. “You’re almost too alert. If you treat everything as a threat—whether it actually is or isn’t—you’ll start to miss actual dangers.”

“Fair enough,” she said, looking thoughtful. “Fair enough.”

“We need to find someplace to store these things,” Lyle said. “We can’t just carry them around forever.”

“Not the tavern,” Maggie said quickly. “I don’t want them there.”

“And I don’t want them on Oak Tree Farm, either,” Cid said. The stones creeped him out a little.

Lyle frowned. “Can we put them in the woods? Cover them with leaves or hide them in a bush or something so that they’re hard to find?”

They both looked at Maggie.

“Yeah,” she said. “I think I know a spot.”

Her ‘spot’ ended up being a narrow ravine a short walk into the woods. There was a small, rocky hollow in the ground hidden beneath a stand of blackberry bushes, and they stashed both summon stones there. Cid made sure they were far enough apart so that they wouldn’t accumulate power on their own.

“Okay,” he said, covering them with dirt and leaves until they were fully hidden from sight. “That’s that. Tavern?”

Maggie nodded. “Let’s look for any stones in there first. I really want to get them out if there are. Then I’ll pour you an ale and we can make a plan. I think I’ve got some shepherd’s pie in the icebox too.”

Lyle grinned. “My favorite.”

Once they got back to the bar, they immediately shut and locked the door behind them and drew the curtains. Then they started ransacking the entire place. They checked everywhere: under the bar, in the back room, in the wood piles behind the building. Maggie even went upstairs to search her apartment—just in case. Cid found, to his surprise, that he was enjoying himself as they looked. After spending the last two searches being the distraction that allowed Maggie and Lyle to operate undetected, it was nice to be one of the people on the ground. It reminded him of the Guards.

Finally, after looking everywhere they could think of, they gathered around the bar.

“I think we’re good,” Lyle said. “Is there anywhere else we could look?”

Maggie shook her head. “I don’t think so. We’ve searched everywhere.”

“And not a summon stone in sight,” Cid grinned. “I knew they wouldn’t mess with you, Maggie. They steered clear. Wise choice.”

“It’s a relief,” she said. “That’s what it is. Here, I’ll pour you a porter and start heating up the shepherd’s pie. Then we should probably open the tavern. Otherwise, people will get suspicious.”

Cid watched her as she moved back behind the bar. She seemed rattled somehow. Not as quietly practical as she always was. What was bothering her? Was it the summon stones? The potential threat to Haven? Wilbur Johnson’s betrayal? Or was it whatever was going on with Daryl Nightgreen?

At a nod from her, he unlocked the front door. He hardly had time to sit down at his favorite corner table, though, before the Order of the Dying light—minus Hammersmith—walked in.

Maggie froze behind the counter when she saw him, and he saw Lyle do the same.

No. This won’t do. We can’t let them know something’s up.

“Lyle!” he boomed, forcing himself to sound jolly. “Come over here! We’ll play a round of checkers.”

The boy gave him a baffled look.

“Checkers!” Cid said. “You really think you can beat me, boy? Come on. I’ll show you what a game really looks like.”

Comprehension dawned on Lyle’s face, and he scampered over to join him. Maggie brought a checkers board out to them—luckily Cid had played checkers here before and knew she had it—and they settled down to play. Cid kept a wary eye on the strangers, but they gathered around a table on the far side of the room, ordered a round of ales and a platter of roast chicken, and talked quietly among themselves.

“You’ll be in charge of gathering information from now on,” Cid whispered, setting the pieces up on the board. “I want you to go over there—later in the night once they’ve had a chance to loosen up a little—and introduce yourself. Volunteer to show them around. If you can get the chance to ask some leading questions without them knowing what you’re up to, go ahead. But don’t give the game away. Sometimes, it’s best to just wait and listen, see if they’ll say anything useful without you prompting it.”

“Got it,” Lyle said. “What if they don’t want me to follow them around.”

“That’s where Maggie and I come in,” Cid said. “We’ll push them toward it. Make them feel bad for not accepting. Make them feel like it makes them stand out to refuse the offer. That’s the last thing they want right now.”

“All right,” Lyle said, casting an anxious glance over at the Order’s table. “If you think this plan will work.”

“Don’t worry, lad,” Cid said firmly. “It will. I’ve seen it work before.”

Chapter Nineteen: Round and Round

It took three rounds of checkers—and two helpings each of shepherd’s pie—but the bar finally started to fill up around dinner time. Maggie kept the ale flowing freely—particularly to the newcomers’ table—and the room soon was loud with shouted conversations.

Cid drank slowly and watched the room. Loud is good. That means it’s easier not to be overheard.

The Order of the Dying Light kept to themselves at their back table until they’d finished their meal of porkchops and roasted apples. Then they all got up at once and joined the crowd.

“Hey,” Cid said, nudging Lyle. “Now’s your chance. See?”

The boy looked at the cloaked men, face pale. “You really think I can do this? Be a—what do you call it—a spy?”

“I think you’ve got a better shot than either of us,” Cid said. “They don’t trust me, and they’re wise not to. And I don’t think they trust Maggie either. But you’re a boy. They have no reason to be suspicious.”

“They know I’m the grandson of the Village Elder,” Lyle pointed out. “Isn’t that enough for them to be wary?”

“A Village Elder who’s been nothing but welcoming to them. They think they’ve got Daryl good and fooled. They’ll assume you’re cut from the same cloth, I think.”

Let’s hope.

“Speaking of,” Cid said. “Where is Daryl tonight?”

Lyle scowled. “What do you mean?”

“He doesn’t normally miss a fun night out at Maggie’s. Half the town is here. But he’s not. Where is he?”

“He’s tired,” Lyle said. “From running this town.”

Cid gave him a look.

“I know you don’t believe me,” the boy said. “And I know you think there’s something up with Grandpa. You’ve made that clear. So, fine. Don’t believe me. That’s on you, not on me. I know the truth.”

“Fair enough,” Cid said. It was time to change the subject. “Here, you ready? I can give you a distraction if you want.”

Roger the Baker provided the perfect idea as soon as he saw them stand up.

“Cid Dawnshield!” he said. “Man of a thousand stories. Let’s hear one now!”

Cid shuffled his feet, trying to look deliberately sheepish, but some of the other villagers joined Roger in calling for a tale.

“You really want one?” he said. “The life of a Guard isn’t as interesting as you think, you know. I’m going to run out of interesting stories before long.”

Roger laughed. “I doubt that’s true.”

“Story! Story!” the villagers chorused, and to Cid’s surprise the newcomers joined the chant; he saw Lyle vanish into the crowd out of the corner of his eye. “Story! Story!”

“All right, all right,” he said, settling into a comfortable chair a little closer to the bar.

Maggie brought him a pint, and he took a big sip, trying to figure out how to start.

“I’ve told you a lot about the poor folk of Hearthstone,” he said. “Men like me. City Guards, criminals, people living in the Lower City. But there was plenty of money in town, too. Plenty of rich people in Hearthstone—and not just in the Upper City either. Kids liked to come down to the edge of the Lower City when they were old enough to be out of school. They thought it was cool. Never went too far down—just enough to get a taste of what it was like. Never saw the really dangerous parts.”

“Sounds about right!” said Cory Johnson, raising a glass. “See that type in every city.”

“They’d never stay long either,” Cid went on. “Just a couple of years, while they were young. When they were old enough to marry, they moved back to the Upper City, stayed in one of the family mansions, raised their kids up there. And, well, when those kids were old enough to leave home, they’d come down our way and the whole cycle would begin again.”

He took a sip. He didn’t dislike the rich kids of Hearthstone, not really. They were just living the lives they knew. It wasn’t their fault they hadn’t grown up working, like he had. They sure could be annoying, though.

“There are plenty of black markets in Hearthstone, too,” Cid said. “As you know. You can buy just about anything there—whether it’s something that should be sold, or not. Charms, potions, even live animals… well, I imagine you get the picture. Well, one day, back when I was new to the Guards, some rich kids picked up a trio of Cerberus pups for cheap at one of those markets.”

“They did not,” Roger gasped.

“They sure did. Thought they were cute. And they were cute. I saw them for sale sometimes. Someone in the city must have been breeding them. But I always stayed away from them—because those things don’t stay cute for long.”

“They grow quick,” said a bearded man sitting close to the bar. “I saw them a few times, back when I was in the Magic Knights. The Wildmen used to fight with Cerberus beasts by their side. Sometimes, you’d see the pups grow into full-grown dogs over the course of one campaign.”

“Aye,” Cid said. “That’s right. Well, when we first got the reports, none of us took them seriously. Not one but three Cerberus’ in a single apartment? It seemed ridiculous. We assumed that some of the Lower City folk were just telling tall tales, having a bit of fun at our expense. They liked to do that sometimes. I guess they thought it was funny to trick us. So we laughed it off. But the result was that we didn’t do anything about the problem until it was too late to stop it.”

“Damn,” Roger said, looking horrified.

Cid took another sip of his ale.

“Not claiming it was my finest moment as Guard,” he said. “In my defense, I was pretty young. New to the force. And the others seemed to be going along with it.”

“So what happened next?” Maggie interjected.

“We kept hearing things about these puppies in the apartment, and we kept saying we’d get to it soon. Next week, or after the next patrol, or… well, there was always something more important. And meanwhile, there were three Cerberus dogs in the Lower City, and they were growing. One day—if I’m remembering it right, I wasn’t even on duty that day, it was my day off—I was in the training yard when three of the older guards ran up to me. They looked terrified. And these were tough guys, too. Working in Hearthstone, you see a lot. These guys didn’t scare easy. And they start talking about a house that had collapsed just an hour ago on the edge of the Upper City.”

“It collapsed?!” Roger said. “Oh, man. They must have been big by then.”

“Correct,” Cid said. “But we’ll get to that in a minute.”

He took a sip of beer to stall for time and quickly looked around the room for Lyle. The boy was stationed on a tall stool near the bar—right next to the Order of the Dying Light. They seemed to accept him, or at least tolerate his presence.

Good lad. Hopefully, he can get them to feel comfortable with him there.

Curiosity satisfied, he put his glass down and went on.

“At first, I wasn’t exactly certain what they were talking about. A house that had collapsed? That’s not really a thing for the Guards. But they kept talking, giving me more details, and slowly, I started to realize what they meant. They kept saying ‘monsters’, ‘monsters’, over and over again, that it was a group of monsters that had knocked the thing down, and my mind kept turning to those Cerberus puppies. How long had we ignored the reports? And how big were they by now?”

“Probably pretty damn big,” Roger laughed.

“I rallied my group of Guards, and we all sprinted toward the neighborhood as fast as we could. We heard the Cerberus’ before we saw them. This was probably the first time they’d been outside since those rich kids had brought them home—and they were obviously thrilled about it. They were playing and barking just like regular dogs do. The only issue was that they were about thirty feet high and right in the middle of one of the densest cities in the kingdom.”

“Total destruction,” Maggie said.

“Total destruction,” Cid agreed. “I was glad those guys had come to find me when they did. The pups had taken out a few more buildings and destroyed half the spring market, but we were able to stop them before things got too bad. It was funny, though. They were ugly, they were dangerous, but they were also kind of cute. Even while they were knocking the roof off my favorite tavern, I could see why those kids had bought them. And I didn’t want to kill them. It would probably have been the safest thing way to handle it, but I just couldn’t do it.”

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a bleeding heart, Cid Dawnshield,” the miller said.

“It wasn’t their fault they were the way they were,” he said. “They didn’t ask to be born. They were just puppies. They were doing what came naturally to them. So I rallied the troops to see if we could find a way to capture them. The rich kids were standing around looking horrified. The city people were screaming. And the dogs were just running around, thrilled to be out in the air.”

“So how did you catch them?” Maggie said.

“Like I said, dogs. And like any dogs, Cerberus’ love food. We bought a few links of sausage and a side of beef from the local butcher, and they were following us home. One of them ended up with the Guards, actually, in our mobile canine unit. Been there for years. He’s still there, as far as I know. Another went off with the Magic Knights. Nothing more intimidating than a full-grown Cerberus.”

“What about the third?” Maggie said.

Cid’s smile faded a little. “I don’t know, actually. He was with the Guards, just like his brother. But he ran off one day, and we never saw him again. Hope he’s still out there, running free like a Cerberus should be.”

That’s definitely what happened. He’s totally okay, nothing bad happened, and he’s living a happy life.

The alternative was too depressing to contemplate right now.

“But!” Cid said, brightening. “I learned a valuable lesson that day, and I never forgot it. Take people’s reports seriously, unless you have a reason not to. Otherwise, you might end up with a bigger problem than you bargained for.”

The tavern applauded, and Maggie brought a fresh pint over.

“Good story,” she hissed. “I think it’s time to check in on Lyle. Sound good?”

He nodded. “Let’s see if we can meet up behind the tavern in five.”

The villagers were distracted enough by food and ale that he could make a quick exit without being noticed. Once outside, he took a breath of the cool air—it was stifling inside the tavern—and leaned against the wood pile to take stock. He hadn’t thought about those Cerberus pups in years. Hopefully, they were doing okay.

“It didn’t work,” Lyle said despondently as soon as the door was safely shut behind him.

Maggie trailed after him, one eye on the tavern window just in case.

“They didn’t say anything useful.”

“That’s spying for you,” Cid said. “Keep following them around. They seemed to accept you among them. That’s a start.”

“I need to go back inside soon,” Maggie said. “In case anyone wants anything. What are out next steps?”

“I’ll write to Bran tonight,” Cid said. “Lyle, you stay with the Order. And let’s reconvene in the morning. I’ve got an idea.”

Chapter Twenty: Blueberry Pie

When he got back to Oak Tree Farm that night, there was a package waiting for him on the front porch. A basket covered with a checkered cloth turned out to contain a fresh blueberry pie, still warm from the oven. Old Mary must have left the tavern early to bring it to him.

There was something else, too. Next to the pie, she’d left what looked like a bolt of folded fabric tied up with a ribbon, and he teased it open curiously.

“Wow,” he said when he saw what it was.

She’d left him a horse blanket for Nightshade. It wasn’t new—he could see the signs of wear on the front and back straps—but it was quilted and looked warm enough that his horse could spend some time outside this winter. It was stylish, too, with a neat green plaid print.

This is too much.

Logically, he knew he shouldn’t keep it. It was a large gift, and it came dangerously close to being a bribe. But he also didn’t want to return it. Nightshade would love it. He’d love being able to run around and roll in the snow.

Has he ever even done that before? He wouldn’t have had the chance to while he was in the Hearthstone stables.

Cid sighed. He’d keep the blanket, but he’d have to be sure to thank Mary next time he saw her. And he’d have to be clear that it didn’t mean she’d get an edge in the cobbler contest.

The pie, though…

He took both pie and blanket inside and cut himself a slice. It was good—easily as good as Roger the Baker’s had been. Simple, but homey. He ate it quickly, then cut a second and put the rest in the icebox. The blanket he took downstairs to the basement for safekeeping. It was still too warm for Nightshade to wear it.

He brought the new slice of pie to his desk, then unfolded a new piece of parchment. It was time to ask for help.

Hey Bran,

Hope you’re doing okay on campaign and not getting into too much trouble. Known you long enough to know you’re probably causing some trouble, but fingers crossed it’s something you can get yourself out of. You’re the best Battle Mage in the Corps. We both know that.

He quickly laid out the problem they were facing with the Order, trying to be as efficient as possible so as not to waste parchment. If he ran out, he’d need to wait until a peddler came through town again.

So you see the issue. We know we’re looking for summon stones, but we have no idea how many. We’ve got someone working on it, trying to get in with the group, but I’m wondering if you have any tips. If there’s any spell you know, either something you can do from where you are or something I can do with what limited magic I have, we’d appreciate it.

He paused for a moment, put his pen down, and took a big bite of pie. Then he froze. They had someone working on this who was a far better mage than he was. He’d forgotten for a moment because she never, never talked about it.

Maggie, the tavern keeper here, has magic of her own. I haven’t seen her work, but I think she’s pretty powerful. Don’t know exactly what she can do, but if you give us some tips, she might be able to work something big.

Let me know next time you’re coming through town. I’ll buy you a drink.

Cid

He read over what he’d written to make sure he didn’t sound like too much of an idiot. Then he copied it out. When he was done, he had two identical letters. He’d send one the regular way by post from Maggie’s tavern. As for the other—well, there was an experiment he wanted to do.

He headed to bed once again hoping for a full night’s rest, but once again, he was haunted by dreams of necromancers, summon stones, and eldritch monsters lurking in the dark. He woke exhausted and feeling as if he’d hardly slept at all.

We need to finish this mission. Once we’re done, I’ll sleep for a week.

Zombie-like, he stumbled his way through his morning chores, then took the two letters to the tavern. Maggie was open for breakfast, and she tossed an egg on the griddle as soon as she saw him.

“You look terrible,” she said.

“Thanks. I feel worse.”

“Long night?”

“I was up writing some letters,” he said. “I think Bran will help us out once he gets them. But there’s something I want to try.”

“Okay,” she said, putting some bread on to toast. “Sorry. I should have asked you. Egg sandwich okay?”

“Nothing better.” He grinned.

“Bacon?”

“Always. Anyways, I’ve got these.” He slid the folded pieces of parchment across the counter. “Two letters,” he said. “One goes through the mail.”

“Done,” she said, taking one. “Post boy should be here in a little bit.”

“Great. But that takes a week. So I want to see if we can send the second another way.”

“What way?” she said cautiously.

“A magic way.”

She plated his egg sandwich in one easy motion and shook her head. “Oh, no.”

“What?” he said. “Come on. Let’s try it. I’ve got magic. You’ve got—well, way more magic. Let’s just try it.”

She looked skeptical.

“What’s the harm?” he said. “If it doesn’t work, we’ve always got a letter going to Bran the normal way. The slow way. And if it does work, we get a solution faster.”

“Okay,” she said, a little reluctantly. “What are you thinking?”

He grinned. “You’re the mage.”

“Your idea,” she said. “Not mine. But sure. Let me think. It’s been a while since I did anything like this. Sending a letter quickly… maybe some kind of Air spell?”

“We could try it,” Cid said. “I’ve got Air One.”

“I’ve got more than Air One.” She grinned. “But this is good. That’ll be helpful.”

She set the letter meant for regular post aside and Cid wolfed down his breakfast sandwich. Then they went outside behind the tavern, next to the wood piles.

“All right,” she said, brain clearly working. “Like I said. Been a long time. But I think if we hold hands, and I hold the letter, I should be able to pull some of your power to increase the strength of my casting.”

Cid swallowed hard. “Okay.”

He took her hand, trying to ignore the way his heart beat faster in his chest as he did. They hadn’t talked about the kiss in the tavern the other day. Were they just going to pretend it never happened?

“Great,” she said, oblivious. “Let’s do it.”

Cid took a deep breath to settle himself and reached into his store of power to cast Air One, and he felt Maggie do the same. After spending the last few days not doing magic, it felt good to cast a spell again. How had he lived all his life not doing this? It seemed crazy to him now.

“Yes!” Maggie crowed. “It’s working!”

He could feel the wind rising, and he poured more power into the spell, feeling almost giddy. They were outside on a beautiful morning, he was holding Maggie’s hand, and he was working magic! Who could have imagined that he’d wind up here?

When the wind reached its peak, she turned to him.

“Picture Bran!” she shouted, fighting to be heard over the gale. “Hold a clear image of him in your head! Keep it in your mind until the letter’s out of sight!”

He did so, imagining his friend mid-campaign, galloping across the desert on his great warhorse. What would he be doing at this moment? What time was it where he was? Maybe he wouldn’t be fighting right now at all. Maybe he’d be asleep.

Maggie threw the letter into the air with one graceful gesture, and he watched it fly upwards into the clouds. Just as she’d asked, he pictured Bran riding into battle until the parchment had vanished into the distance. Then he turned to her.

“We did it,” he said. “How long do you think it’ll take for it to reach the Southern Lands?”

“Depends,” she frowned. “I poured a lot of power into that spell. If I’m still as strong as I used to be, it should reach him in a couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours? That’s great!”

“But I’m not sure if I’m still at full strength,” she said quickly. “It’s been a long time. The letter might never reach him at all.”

“I think you’re still pretty strong,” Cid said softly. She was flushed from the effort of casting the spell, and her hair was windblown. “It’ll get there.”

She’s so beautiful.

Before he could do anything, though, Lyle burst through the door. Again.

“What are you doing here?” Cid said, teeth gritted. Why did the boy always have to show up at the worst possible time?

“I found another one.”

For a moment, Cid had no idea what Lyle was talking about. Then, “Oh. Where was it?”

“In the woods, right at the edge of town. I was out on patrol—”

“Without me?” Cid said. “I’m the constable here, not you.”

“I figured you were a little busy, so I went out by myself. And I found this!”

He held up a green stone, smaller than the others, with the same rough character carved into its surface. If the necromancer Hammersmith was the one who’d made all these stones, he had terrible handwriting.

“Three down,” Maggie said. “Some to go.”

“Bran will cast something once he knows what we’re up to,” Cid said. “He’ll help us figure out how many there actually are. And, Lyle, keep up the good work with your spying. They may yet drop some information that could be useful.”

“I’ll join them after we stash this stone,” the boy said. “I think I know how I can draw them out.”

“Do you think they’re going to notice that we’re moving their stones?” Maggie said. “We’re not being that subtle about it.”

“Good question.” Cid couldn’t tell how smart the men of Order of the Dying Light were, but he hoped they were as incompetent as they seemed.

“They haven’t said anything,” he said finally. “But I trust that, if they do realize what’s going on, we’ll be able to deal with it.”

“We should tell Daryl what we’ve found,” she said.

He nodded. “Let’s wait until we hear back from Bran. We can give him a full update then.”

They stored the stone Lyle had found with the others, then parted ways. Maggie went back to the tavern to prep for lunch, Lyle to follow the Order around, and Cid to return to Oak Tree Farm to keep tending his crops ahead of the harvest season.

“Fair’s in less than a week,” Maggie said anxiously as they said their goodbyes. “We need to find the rest of the stones by then, or—”

“We’ll find them,” Cid said. “I’m not worried.”

He was worried about the fall harvest, though. The festival was its kickoff event, the town’s last moment of fun before the hard work of bringing the crops in. He still didn’t know how he was going to manage the harvest on Oak Tree Farm. He knew he couldn’t do it alone, but he didn’t have any hired hands either. He’d have to ask for help from the villagers—and who did he even trust to be on his property for hours at a time?

A problem for another day.

But that day would come soon.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even see it coming, and he jumped about three feet when a voice suddenly boomed from the stream next to him.

“Hey, Dawnshield! Got your letter.”

Chapter Twenty-One: A Visit From A Friend

“Waughh!” Cid shouted. “Bran, you have to stop doing that.”

His friend was speaking to him from the stream, his face made of water. Two black river rocks made up his eyes.

“You said you wanted an answer quickly,” Bran said. “I’m still in the desert. This is the fastest way. Plus, it’s fun to see you jump.”

“You got the letter that fast?” Cid said.

“Yep. You must be working with a pretty powerful mage. It flew straight to me while I was riding from Leo to Karthik. Stuck to my horse’s neck and wouldn’t budge until I picked it up.”

Cid grinned. “Maggie’s even more powerful than she thinks she is.”

“Oh, it’s Maggie, is it?” the watery face said. “I thought you might get along. She’s a little firecracker that one.”

“Weird.” Cid frowned. “Don’t call her a firecracker.”

“Sure. Anyways, summon stones, necromancers, cults, what’s going on around Haven? Seems like it’s more exciting than I remember it being.”

“Yeah, I was surprised too. They want access to the Mana Caverns.”

“Guess it makes sense,” Bran said. “People are always trying to get to the Caverns. Usually the Village Elder stops them before they get too close though.”

Cid sighed. “Yeah. About that.”

“How’s Daryl doing?”

“Not great,” Cid said. “I think he’s losing his biscuits a little. But no one in town will admit it. They just keep insisting that everything’s fine.”

“Yeah,” Bran said. “That sounds like Haven. And hey, I want to apologize again for all that nonsense we put you through. Just so you know, I didn’t endorse it. There’ve been some hard conversations at the Corps about that, you can count on it.”

“Thanks,” he said stiffly. This was the last thing he wanted to talk about.

“And one other thing—I’d hoped this town would be a little quieter. I know how much you wanted a nice retirement. A farm. Chickens. The whole drill. I don’t really get why anyone would want that, but it’s your choice and I respect it. That’s why I wrote you the letter of recommendation. But from what I’m hearing, it sounds like your life here hasn’t been very quiet, and I feel partly responsible for that.”

“It’s all right.” Cid grinned. “Honestly, I’m kind of enjoying it. Not the Mana Trials—that part I’m still mad about—but this little detective business with the summon stones is almost fun. You don’t have to feel bad about that.”

“Good,” Bran said, just as one of his stone eyes dropped to the bottom of the creek. “Glad that’s settled. Hold on, let me fix my eye and we’ll talk summon stones.”

His face vanished into the swirling water for a moment. Then it reformed—with a different stone in place of the first one.

“I lost the old one,” Bran explained. “Couldn’t find it on the riverbed. Does this still look okay?”

“They’re different colors. This one’s brown.”

“That’s okay, I’m not vain. You know, as soon as I read your letter, I stopped my horse and performed a working for you right there in the sand. In the middle of the desert. Not many people who can get that kind of express service, Dawnshield.”

“I’m flattered,” Cid said. “What did you find?”

“Sooooo,” Bran said. “Six summon stones.”

“Only six?”

“Only six.”

“And we’ve found three,” Cid said. “That’s not so bad.”

“Look at you,” said the face in the river. “Just like old times back in Hearthstone.”

“Let’s not go that far. You have a sense of where the others are?”

“Couldn’t do that from the desert. I didn’t have my full kit with me. Just the emergency one. I’ll do a better working later today once I get into Karthik and appear to you then. If you don’t like water, can you be by a fire about an hour after sunset?”

Cid sighed. “You can’t just send a letter like we did?”

“This is way more fun. Trust me, you’ll love the fire trick.”

“I’ve seen the fire trick. I didn’t like it then, and I probably won’t like it now.”

Bran looked confused. “When did you see the fire trick?”

“The big job with the dragon. Winter, uh, forget what year it was—”

“Oh, right, right,” Bran said. “Well, you’ll get to see it again. I’ve spruced the spell up since the last time you saw it.”

“Great,” Cid said without enthusiasm. “I can’t wait.”

“See you soon. Hour after sunset. Don’t forget.”

“I’ll make a fire.”

It was too hot for a fire, but Bran didn’t really take those things into consideration. For him, it was more important for a spell to be impressive than it was for it to be convenient.

His friend’s face vanished in a splash of water, and the stones that had made up his eyes dropped back to the riverbed with a thud. Cid watched the stream flow for a moment, thinking.

Six summon stones. Only six? That wasn’t bad at all. They had six days to the Harvest Fair and only three stones left to find. And if Bran was able to give them some guidance later that day, they had a good chance of accomplishing their goal with time to spare.

He headed back to Oak Tree Farm in good spirits, whistling for the first time in days. Hopefully, their meeting around the fire later that day went well and he’d finally be able to get some sleep that night.

We’ll need to give Daryl an update.

And they’d need to confront whatever was going on with the old man soon as well. If he really was losing his grip, he couldn’t lead the village anymore. And he didn’t seem like the type to willingly give up what power he had.

Cid tried to shake thoughts of Bran, Daryl, and the summon stones from his head as he spent the rest of the day working on the farm. It was all important, but he needed a break from worrying about the cult for at least a few hours. At least his friend had agreed to help. That was a weight off his mind.

It was a pleasant afternoon, but the time went by more quickly than he might have hoped. After what felt like only an hour, the sun was already setting. With a sigh, he put his rake away in the shed and saddled Nightshade. He had a fireplace in the farmhouse that he could use to talk to Bran, but it didn’t seem fair to leave Maggie out of that conversation.

I need to go for a ride once this is over. A real ride.

It was strange to realize that he hadn’t left Haven in months. Cid had to get out of here for a little bit. He could take Nightshade up into the hills and camp for a few days. Or—even better—south to the great plains. There, his old horse could run as fast as he wanted.

He ran plenty fast now on his way into Haven, although the trip still felt too short. Cid dismounted next to the stream, as usual, and made his way toward the tavern. Before he could go inside, though, he ran into the last person he wanted to see: Tom of Ashburn.

Even separated from the rest of the cult, he still had a weird energy to him. Cid tried to dodge back behind the nearest building before Tom could notice him, but it was too late.

“It’s the farmer,” Tom said, sounding too excited to see him. “The man from Hearthstone!”

“Hi, Tom,” Cid said. “I’m going to go to the tavern now—”

“Wait, wait, buddy. Do you have a moment to talk?”

“I really have to get to the tavern—”

“It’ll only take a second,” Tom said. “We haven’t had much of a chance to talk yet. Haven’t seen you around town at all, actually. We’ve been wondering about you.”

“We?” Cid said.

“My friends and I. We’ve been talking about you—whether you’re happy or not. Being the lone outsider in town can’t be easy. How’ve you been liking Haven?”

He frowned. “Didn’t you ask me this before?”

“People’s answers change,” Tom said with an unctuous smile. “I wonder if yours has.”

“I like Haven fine,” Cid said. “Don’t worry yourself on my account.”

“You know, there’s someone else who feels like an outsider here. You might have met him. Wilbur Johnson?”

“I’ve met him,” he said. “Don’t feel any connection with him.”

“Really? I thought you two might be able to relate to each other. You’re kind of in the same position, right? A town where everyone knows each other? Where neither of you really fit in? He even told us that he wanted to leave with us when we moved on to our next festival. That’s how out of place he feels in town. Can you imagine—the very town he grew up in? Why do you think that might be?”

Cid fought down the urge to pop Tom of Ashburn right in the nose. Much as he wanted to do it, that would be immature and unproductive. But it felt like the guy was going out of his way to piss him off.

“You thought wrong,” he said. “I know Wilbur. But we’re really nothing alike. I like it here.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Tom smiled. “You know, we see a lot of small towns. And we run across it every now and then: a place gets so insular that it’s almost hostile to anyone who doesn’t know its customs. I was worried that might be the case here. Glad to hear it’s not.”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and Cid shivered. He’d thought these guys were just weird when he’d first met them, but there was something downright sinister about Tom of Ashburn.

“Well,” he said. “I hope you find what you’re looking for here at the fair. I really have to go now, though. Got to—”

“Yes, yes, the tavern. I heard you. Hey, we’ll be around through the fair, if you ever change your mind about Haven. You’re always welcome to join us.”

“Thanks,” Cid said.

“And if you see something strange, something that doesn’t belong here, something that looks like we might have brought it in and dropped it, forgotten it somewhere—you’ll let us know, will you?”

Absolutely not, you creep!

“Definitely will,” Cid said.

“Glad to hear it. I’ll see you around town, Cid Dawnshield.”

Cid entered the tavern feeling like he needed to wash his hands after the conversation he’d just had.

If they’re trying to be subtle about the cult thing, they’re doing a terrible job of it. Any reasonable person would be creeped out talking to that guy.

Well, all the more reason to foil his plans. The sun had set while he had been in transit, and it was time to talk to Bran again.

“Maggie,” he hissed when he entered the tavern. “Do you have a room upstairs with a fireplace in it?”

“My apartment,” she said, looking confused. “Why? Is this about your mage friend?”

“He already got the letter you sent. Said you were pretty powerful. It reached him in only an hour or so.”

Maggie blushed. “You helped send it. It wasn’t all me.”

“Let’s be realistic,” he said. “It was mostly you. I don’t have anywhere near that kind of power.”

“And he wants to talk to us through a fireplace?”

“Sure does. But we need somewhere private.”

“No problem,” she said, sliding an old-fashioned key ring across the bar. “You go up and get the fire started. I’ll join you in a second once I get this cobbler out of the oven.”

He groaned. “You too?”

“Worth entering the contest, right? Don’t worry. I’m not going to try to bribe you.”

“I’d take a taste of that cobbler, just the same,” he said hopefully.

She snapped a towel at him. “Nope! You’ll have to wait for the contest.”

He walked out cursing Maggie’s integrity. A slice of cobbler would have hit the spot right about now.

Chapter Twenty-Two: Spartan Furnishing

Maggie’s apartment was sparser than he’d expected it to be—clean, with minimal furniture. She had a soft armchair next to the fireplace, at least, with a warm-looking blanket draped over the back. Clearly, she spent a lot of time in that spot.

There was a small rack of wood in a corner of the room, and he built the fire while he waited for Maggie to finish up downstairs. By the time she arrived, he had a nice blaze going.

“Bit warm for a fire,” she grimaced. “This is really the way Bran wanted to talk?”

Cid shrugged. “He did water earlier. Now he’s doing fire. He might want to catch all the elements one at a time.”

“Weird.”

“That’s Bran.”

Right on cue, Bran’s face appeared in the flames. His eyebrows were made of pieces of burning bark, and two glowing coals formed his eyes.

“Hey,” he said. “Hey, Maggie. Nice spell today.”

“Thanks,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I’m a little out of practice.”

“Couldn’t tell. You did great. Anyways, so I got to town and was able to do the spells you asked for. And I’ve got good news and bad news.”

“Uh oh,” Cid said. “Good news first.”

“I was able to find two of the three remaining summon stones,” Bran said. “One’s under the bridge, close to the water. And one—I hate to say it, Cid—one’s on Oak Tree Farm in the back pasture. Kind of near where you keep your horse.”

“Seriously?!” Cid said. “When did they even get over there. I haven’t seen them around at all.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time in town,” Maggie pointed out.

“Still. I should have noticed.”

“I’m just glad there weren’t any in the tavern,” she said.

“Well,” Bran said, clearing his throat. Smoke billowed into the room. “Don’t speak too fast. I wasn’t able to find the third one. Wherever they’ve put it, it’s well hidden. And it’s got some kind of magical protection on it.”

“Why didn’t the others have magical protection?” Cid said.

“Maybe they only had one charm? I don’t know. You can tell me when you find it.”

“If we find it,” Maggie said darkly.

“We’ll find it,” Cid said. “Let’s handle the two we know about first. You and I can go to the bridge together, and I’ll go back home and clear out the one on my farm. Then tomorrow we can go to Daryl and give him a full report on what we know and what we’ve found.”

“We have no idea where the last one is,” she said. “And there’s only six days until the fair.”

“I’ve been in worse spots. And six days is a long time. A lot can change between now and then.”

The flames whooshed up suddenly until they filled the entire fireplace, and both Cid and Maggie leapt back from the heat.

“Damn,” Bran said. “City’s under attack again. I’ve got to go. Dawnshield, you’ll be fine. These necromancers seem like real numbskulls if you ask me.”

“Thanks,” Cid said as his friend disappeared into a cloud of smoke. “Maggie, want to go to the bridge?”

“Which bridge?”

“I think I know the one.”

Haven had several bridges—Lyle had a name for each of them—but only one had a good place to put a summon stone. It was the one that the boy called ‘The Bridge of Death’ and most people called ‘The Iron Bridge’—a delicate-looking metal structure that spanned the widest part of Haven Stream. It was a good place to fish from, Cid had heard—not that he’d ever tried. A series of intersecting beams and girders at the base of the structure would make a good hiding spot.

They walked out into the darkness together, leaving the crowded tavern behind.

“They’ll be fine for a little bit,” Maggie said, nodding at a rowdy table of bearded miners. “As long as we can make this quick.”

“If we find it, I can put the stone with the others,” Cid said, “so that you can get back to work.”

“Sure,” she said, sounding a bit distracted. “I wonder what spell Bran used to locate these two.”

“I don’t know. Do you want me to ask him?”

“I wonder if I could work it, is all. To try to find the last one.”

“Might be worth a shot,” Cid said. “He seemed pretty impressed with your skills.”

She shrugged. “I might try. No promises.”

They reached the Iron Bridge, and it loomed above them in the moonlight. By day, it was clean and elegant, a sign that even Haven could produce something modern-looking. By night, though, it was skeletal and ominous.

“We’ll have to climb,” Cid said. “If it’s here, it’ll be at the top of the arch.”

Maggie nodded. “I’ll do it. I’m smaller than you are. Easier for me to get up there.”

He didn’t argue—after all, if it got him out of climbing a spooky bridge in the middle of the night, he’d go along with it. But it was hard not to be anxious as he watched her swing hand over hand up the metal columns toward the top of the arch, looking more like a monkey than a woman.

“Don’t fall,” he said. He could barely see her in the darkness.

She laughed. “I won’t fall. I grew up out here, Cid. Been climbing trees since I was little. This isn’t that different.”

“Still.”

“Lyle’s climbed this bridge before,” she said, wrapping one arm around a girder and looking down at him. “We could have brought him out here.”

“It’s better without Lyle,” he said firmly. “At least for now.”

The boy had barged into enough things lately. He was growing and improving, true. But Cid could still use a little bit of a break.

“Hey!” Maggie said, looking up toward the top of the arch. “I think I see something.”

She started climbing again, faster this time, and Cid had to fight back a wave of anxiety. She wasn’t going to fall, he told himself. She was good at this. He should trust her. But he still felt anxious until she landed safely on the ground, summon stone in hand. It was a small one this time.

“Four down,” she crowed. “Two to go.”

“That’s two thirds done,” he said.

“I wonder why they hide them in such random places. The bridge? The mill?”

Cid shrugged. “Probably just trying to mess with us. That’s what necromancers like to do.”

He was guessing. He really had no idea what necromancers liked to do.

“Do you think that guy’s still hiding in his cave?” she said. “We haven’t seen anyone but the four others.”

“He might be. Seemed to like it there. But I have a feeling we’ll see him again before this business is through.”

After all, Hammersmith was the only one of the group who seemed able to do any actual magic—unless you counted Wilbur. Cid took the stone from her and put it in his pack.

“I’ve got it from here,” he said. “You go back to the tavern.”

She looked genuinely grateful. “Thanks. That took longer than I thought it would. People are going to be annoyed about it, I bet.”

“Whatever.” He grinned. “If they live here, they’re probably jerks anyways.”

“Probably. It’s kind of the Haven way.”

Maggie turned to go, and Cid swallowed hard.

“Wait,” he said.

She froze.

“Um. Do you really think everything’s okay with Daryl Nightgreen?”

“Okay,” she said, rolling her eyes, “that was not what I expected you to say right now.”

“I’m serious! It’s important! If he’s, well, losing it, that’s something we need to know. This is a big challenge for the town. If he can’t lead us through it, we might not make it.”

“Look,” she said slowly. “I’ve known Daryl a long time. Since I was a kid. He’s always been around—and he’s led Haven through some really hard times. I know you don’t like him, but he’s a decent man. And I really want him to be okay. We all do.”

“And if he’s not?”

She sighed. “Then he’s not. And that will become clear with time—sooner rather than later. If that’s the case, we’ll need another Village Elder. We’ll hold an election. It’s happened before. But either way, we’ll deal with it when the time comes.”

“Well, don’t look at me,” Cid said. “I don’t want to be Village Elder.”

“You won’t be. You’re not eligible. It’s only for people who grew up here.”

“Oh.” He didn’t want to be Village Elder, but it was also pretty annoying that he wasn’t even allowed to be. Stupid Haven and its stupid ways.

“All right,” Maggie said. “I’m out. See you tomorrow, Cid Dawnshield.”

She flashed a grin at him over her shoulder before she vanished into the darkness, leaving Cid alone with the summon stone. He watched her go for a moment before turning away.

Time to go pick up Nightshade.

His horse was still browsing happily by the riverbank when he found him, and he snorted angrily when Cid picked up the reins.

“One more thing to do before we can go home,” he said. “That’s it.”

He led his horse away from town and tethered him to a tree at the edge of the woods. Then, hoping no one ran across Nightshade tied up in the middle of nowhere, he headed into the forest to drop off the stone.

Four down, two to go.

And thanks to Bran, he knew where one of the two was. Hopefully, Maggie could work some magic that would let them find the last one. She was more powerful than she knew, and at least she was starting to realize it. The tale she’d told him—the one about her adventure with the Magic Knights, about getting trapped in Haven and never joining the Corps—had been troubling. He liked the tavern, but he hoped it wasn’t her entire future.

He checked the other stones when he got to the ravine, but luckily none of them had been disturbed. Tom and the others seemed not to know what he, Maggie, and Lyle were up to. This cult really isn’t very good at being a cult, are they?

Maybe that explained why there were only five of them.

Cid dropped the summon stone from the bridge into the ravine, then left the forest, walked Nightshade back to the farm and turned him out in his field. He didn’t particularly want to look for the last stone right now, but the idea of having it on his farm all night creeped him out. How long had he spent not knowing it was there at all?

Bran had said it was near the back pasture. That wasn’t far. He could do a quick check and then return in the morning if he couldn’t find it by dark.

As he searched through the tall grass, he tried to think if he’d seen the cult on his property at any point in the last few days. He’d been spending too much time in town by far and not enough time on the farm.

Would be great if there was someone who could stay around during the day. Just when I’m not around.

Before he could think on that further, though, his boot suddenly met hard rock and he hissed with pain. “Gah!”

It was the summon stone, buried in the grass next to the pasture fence. It was the largest of the five—too big for him to carry to the ravine right now. He settled for pulling up the grass around it so that it would be easier to find by daylight.

He’d dig up the stone in the morning. For now, it was time to sleep.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Up in the Morning

Cid headed back out to the field as soon as he was awake and fed, not wanting to leave the summon stone on his property a moment longer than he had to. It was still where he had left it the night before, half-buried in the tall grass. He hoisted it up onto his shoulder with difficulty—it was even heavier than it looked—and staggering a little under the weight, he carried it into the woods.

Hopefully, the last one isn’t bigger than this one is. If it is, I won’t be able to lift it.

When he got to the ravine, he threw it in with the others, enjoying the sight of it bouncing on the rocks before finally coming to rest on the bottom. And stay there.

His mood soured as he thought of the conversation he was likely going to have later that day. They needed to update Daryl on their progress, and he wanted to make a case for informing the rest of the village what they were up to. He was tired of all the caginess, all the lies, all the secrets.

Full transparency.

And as Town Constable—and hopefully, the savior of the town—he just might have the power to make that happen.

He spent the rest of the morning doing chores around the farm, putting off that day’s trip into Haven as long as he could. It was nice to be back here, tending his crops in the late summer sun. He checked in with the hens, and was pleased to see that they were happy in their chicken yard now. They seemed to have forgotten that they’d once had the run of the farm, and they clucked a greeting when they saw him approaching with a sack of grain.

I guess chickens aren’t that smart.

He scattered corn for them, then shaded his eyes and looked up at the sky. It was a beautiful morning—warm and sunny, with fat fluffy clouds drifting slowly above his head. He wanted nothing more than to work on the farm all day. He could do some repairs on the toolshed, maybe, or start prepping the extra stalls in the stable in case he was able to buy some cows that winter. But he couldn’t. Duty called.

With a sigh, he gathered up the eggs from the henhouse, walked inside, and set them on the kitchen counter. Maybe he could try making an omelet that night. Breakfast for dinner. His mother had done it occasionally for the family when he was growing up—only as a special treat. He’d always loved it. It made an ordinary meal feel festive and special.

He changed into his constable’s uniform and headed into town, enjoying the feeling of the sun on his face as he walked down the road. Maggie and Lyle were waiting for him on the bridge as usual.

“Grandpa wants an update,” Lyle said before Cid even had the chance to speak. “He wants us to tell him what we’ve been up to and what we’ve found.”

“I know,” Cid said, trying to keep his tone polite. He didn’t want to antagonize the boy. “That’s why I’m here. We can go talk to him now.”

Lyle looked chastened. “Right. Okay, good. He’s waiting for us.”

“Any developments?” Maggie said.

“I found the fifth stone. It’s in the same place as the others.”

“Only one more, then. I want to try to work that spell Bran did—the one that found the other two. I was doing a little research last night, and I think I can do it.”

Cid grinned. “Excellent. It’s at least worth a try.”

They made their way to the Nightgreen house. The old man was already sitting on the porch wearing a formal, dark green tunic. He seemed even frailer than he had the last time they’d met, and his hair was wild and looked unbrushed. A cane leaned against his chair, at the ready in case he needed it.

“Greetings, all,” Daryl rasped. “And a beautiful morning it is, too.”

He doesn’t sound so good.

“Should we go inside?” Cid said, moving toward the door, but Daryl waved him off.

“No, no. The porch should be fine. There’s no one out yet anyways. Everyone’s still working the fields—or baking for the festival competitions.”

Cid looked from the old man to the cane at his side. Was he being fully honest with them? Maybe he’s having a hard time moving around. That’s why he doesn’t want to go inside. He doesn’t want us to see him try to walk.

It was a dark thought, and he shook it away. If Daryl Nightgreen was really as weak as that, they’d have to do something about it soon. If he got much worse, he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his duties as Elder.

But Cid didn’t want to get ahead of himself. He was making assumptions. Assumptions were never good.

“So where do things stand?” Daryl said. “Have you all found anything?”

“Five summon stones,” Cid said. “We’ve gathered them up and put them in one location. Some we found on our own; some Bran helped with. And he told us there were only six in total, too. We just need to find one more.”

“And I might have a way to find it,” Maggie finished triumphantly. “With five days left until the fair.”

“Hm,” Daryl said, rubbing his eyes. “A lot can happen in five days. We can’t relax yet. But you’ve done well, all of you. We’ll need to deactivate the stones—you know how to do that?”

They shook their heads.

“It’s all right, I’ll teach you. Been a while since I’ve done a working like that. It’ll feel good to get back to it.”

What if he can’t do it? What if he doesn’t have the power?

Cid shook his head to clear out the thought, and tried not to look too closely at Daryl’s rheumy eyes. The man looked old. He looked really old. But that didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t lead anymore.

“We’re doing well,” Daryl said, staring them down. “I think we’re going to win this one.”

Uh-oh. He can tell I’m worried.

“That’s good,” Cid said.

“And don’t worry. Any of you. We’ve faced much worse than this here in Haven—and we always prevailed. This will be the same. We won’t let these men win.”

Cid crossed his arms. “Didn’t you welcome them here with open arms just a few days ago?”

“I did,” Daryl said. “And, lad, I made a mistake. I’ll be the first one to say it. I was trying to be more open, after—well, after. But I should have been more cautious, knowing what power this town holds. That I wasn’t is on me. My error. And a grave one.”

“Right,” he said. “Well—”

He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Cid,” Maggie said, coming to his rescue. “Let’s meet up later tonight? I can close the bar early.”

He blinked. “Um. Why?”

“Because I want to try the spell I found. I think it’ll work. I have a good feeling about this one, I really do.”

“All right. I’ll meet you at the bar.”

Daryl grabbed his arm as they turned to go. “A moment, lad. With you alone, if we can.”

He looked at the others. Lyle shrugged.

“Okay,” Cid said reluctantly. “We can talk.”

The old man waited a moment, just until Maggie and Lyle were out of earshot. Then he sighed, sagging down into his chair like a rag doll. He looked exhausted.

“Look,” he said. “You’re a smart man. I know you’ve noticed.”

“Uh,” Cid said, not wanting to give the wrong answer. “Noticed what?”

“I’m old, lad. Older these days than I thought it was possible to be. And—well—I’m not what I was. Everyone can see it. I know you have.”

He decided not to lie.

“Yes,” he said. “I have. And I noticed your slip the other day, too. With Lyle’s—”

“With his parents, yes. And trust me, lad, I felt awful about that. I know the boy’s clocked it as well.”

“He defends you,” Cid said. “No matter what I say. Know that.”

“Aye, he’s loyal,” Daryl said, gazing out at the street as if it was the last time he’d see it. “To a fault, almost. But the truth is, a man knows his time. And I think that this might be the last challenge I face with the town.”

“You mean—”

“I’m dying, lad. I’ve lived a long life, and I’m grateful for it. I’ve made some mistakes, too—nothing too bad, I hope. Nothing unrecoverable. And I wanted to be sure you knew, before—well, before whatever happens, happens—that one of those mistakes was how we all treated you.”

Cid exhaled slowly. He hadn’t been expecting this. “So you—”

“I’m apologizing, lad. As much as I can, that is. And if you’ll accept it.”

He took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding. “I didn’t appreciate what you did. I moved here in good faith, and you betrayed my trust.”

“I know, lad,” Daryl said.

“I thought about leaving after the Mana Trials,” Cid admitted. “I wasn’t sure if I wanted to live in a town that would treat me that way. It wasn’t right. You all seemed so welcoming at the start—and it was all a lie.”

“It wasn’t a lie,” the old man insisted. “We wanted you here. We were proud to have someone from outside in Haven—someone who could do magic, no less. Even though he wasn’t one of us, wasn’t with the Corps. We should have been honest with you about who we were. That’s for certain. It’s not the Haven way, but it’s long past time to change that. And we should have stood up to the Corps once we knew what they were asking. That’s my fault. The way they wanted us to manipulate you was wrong, lad. And that’s really all I can say about it.”

Cid sighed. He would never fully trust Daryl—although if what the old man said was true, it might not matter soon anyways. But he seemed truly sorry about the way he’d acted.

“I was trying to fix my mistakes when I welcomed this strange cult here,” Daryl admitted. “I see now that I was misguided. I shouldn’t have trusted them. But I stand by the intention. We should all be more open in these parts. I’ll tell my successor as Village Elder—whoever they are—that they need to start opening doors.”

“It’s all right,” Cid said slowly. “I understand what you mean—it can be hard, making a change.”

It had been hard for him, too, giving up his old life. You got used to certain things. And Daryl was older than he was, more set in his ways.

“I decided to stay,” he said, “because I really do like it here, in spite of everything that’s happened. I mean that. Haven has its issues, but so does Hearthstone. So does any town.”

“Aye,” Daryl said, “I believe that.”

“And you all seem really sorry. I don’t understand some of the choices you all made, but in the end, it’s no harm done, right? As long as it never happens again.”

“It won’t,” the old man said, looking relieved. “I can promise that.”

To be honest, he didn’t fully forgive Daryl. Some things just weren’t salvageable. But if he really was dying, it seemed unfair to hold it over his head. Better to let him go in peace, thinking things were restored to rights.

“Right,” he said. “Glad we had that talk.”

“Me too. Good it was sorted, before— well.”

“Yep,” Cid said, looking up at the darkening sky. “Before.”

Chapter Twenty-Four: Big Day of no Guarantees

Cid left the Nightgreen house and went on patrol, circling the village to kill time until his appointment with Maggie later that night. He didn’t run into anything suspicious—not even the Order of the Dying Light—but he did encounter Old Mary and a group of children setting up a brightly-colored tent on the village green by torchlight. She trotted his way when she saw him coming, and the look in her eyes suggested that she wasn’t just coming over to chat.

“Hi, Mary,” he said warily. “What’s going on?”

“Just setting up for the fair,” she said, gesturing at the tent. “Time to start getting ready. It’s going to be a big day!”

“Right.” He waited for her to reveal what she really wanted to talk about.

“So,” she said finally. “Did you get my pie?”

Uh huh. “Yeah. I got your pie.”

“And what do you think?” she said, bright-eyed with excitement.

“I liked it.”

“And…?”

“And it’s not enough to guarantee you a win in the cobbler competition! Come on! You all need to stop doing this!”

Old Mary seemed unworried. “You know us, here in Haven. No stone left unturned.”

“Well, you’ve been turning this particular stone too much. Give it up. Thanks for the blanket, though.”

“You liked it?” She beamed. “I hope it’ll keep that big horse of yours warm.”

“It will. I’ll put it on him as soon as it gets cold enough.”

“You like our tent?” she said.

The group of village children was still struggling to get it up. They’d raised one side, but the second sagged almost to the ground as they desperately hauled on the ropes.

“Nice colors,” he said.

It was a brilliant blue printed with big white clouds, and from where he stood, it looked like the underside was a night sky filled with twinkling stars. It would be fun to dance under that tent.

Maybe Maggie—

“Wait until you see the rest of them,” Old Mary said, eyes twinkling. “We’ll be putting them up all week. Picture it: tents in every color of the rainbow. Red, yellow, indigo. And the best part is, we’re all mages. We enchant them once we’re done raising them. That tent there, for example, we’ll make the clouds move, and the inside will be lit by real moonlight. It’s a sight to behold.”

It was one of the longest speeches he’d ever heard her make.

“It sounds like it,” he said. “I can’t wait to see it. Um, do they need help?”

The other side of the tent—the one the kids had managed to raise—was drooping now, and it looked like the whole thing was in danger of collapsing. Mary watched them struggle for a moment.

“Yeah, looks like it,” she said. “Would you mind?”

“Sure.”

He still had about an hour until he was due to meet Maggie. There was plenty of time to give them hand. She led him over to the kids—who looked relieved to see him—and grabbed one end of the nearest rope.

Heave ho.

He slowly pulled on the rope, hand over hand, and the tent went up. The kids watching looked awestruck.

“Wow!” said one, a red-headed moppet with two missing teeth. “You’re strong, mister!”

“I do a lot of farm work,” Cid said. “Here. Tie this off.”

They did, knotting the rope tightly around an iron stake they’d hammered into the ground, and he moved to the other side of the field to raise the second half of the tent. Once again, it went up easily—even though the children had all been struggling mightily—and they looked impressed.

“We’ll have to have you back to do the other tents,” Old Mary said, clapping her hands with glee. “Tomorrow?”

“Maybe. Why did you give this job to a bunch of kids, anyways? They’re clearly not strong enough to do this.”

She shrugged. “Everyone else’s prepping for the fair. Making pies, practicing music, prepping things for sale. You know how it goes.”

“I guess.”

“Or they’re busy on their farms,” she said. “We’re still a farming town, you know. And the harvest is coming.”

Cid shivered. He didn’t want to think about the harvest. He wasn’t ready for it. “Well, I’m off.”

“Where to?” she said, leaning in eagerly.

“I’m meeting Maggie. We’re doing fair prep. Getting ready for the competition.”

No one looked convinced by this story.

“Are you now?” Mary said, giving him a knowing look. “Getting ready for the competition, is it?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what we’re doing.”

“I bet they’re KISSING,” said the red-headed child. “ALL THE TIME.”

“Okay,” Cid said. “That’s uncalled for. I’m leaving now.”

He didn’t stick around to hear what else they had to say, just marched angrily toward the tavern.

Stupid villagers. Stupid Haven. Stupid assumptions.

He and Maggie had work to do—important work. They needed to work a crucial spell. If it worked, they’d find the last summon stone and save the town. So the kids could think what they wanted. Their thoughts on the matter were irrelevant.

“Hey,” Maggie said when he came through the door. “Okay, good. I’m just clearing up, tavern’s closed. We’re ready to do this for real.”

“What are we doing?” Cid said.

Maggie pointed to the floor on the far side of the room. She’d made a small circle with chalk and lined it with candles. It already looked different from any spell he’d ever seen Bran do.

“Where’d you get this?” he said. “The spell?”

“A book in the town library, why?”

“I just—” He didn’t want to say the rest. He really wanted this to succeed—both for the town, and for Maggie’s confidence. But he had his doubts.

We’ve seen weirder, though, me and Bran.

How many enchanted scrolls had they encountered back in Hearthstone? How many tablets engraved with signs of evil? This wacky spell of Maggie’s just might work. And so, biting back his skepticism, he followed her instructions to the letter.

“Take a candle,” she said, holding one out to him. “Light it from one of the others. No, one of the ones outside the ring. Good.”

“Okay,” Cid said, doing as she asked. “Then what?”

“You stand in the circle, and I’ll stand outside it and cast.”

“Are you sure we shouldn’t ask Bran for help?” he said. “He might be able to—”

“Let’s try this first,” she said quickly. “I want to do it on my own if I can. Okay, ready?”

“Ready.”

She clapped her hands together and called her magic forward. His skin prickled as the roomed filled with power, and the air smelled like lightning.

Damn.

He’d felt this before when Bran was casting a major working. Never at any other time—and his friend was one of the most powerful mages in the Corps. Maggie had skills. She was even stronger than he’d given her credit for.

“Aughhhh!” she shouted, pressing her palms together. “Come on, you stupid thing! Do something!”

“It’s not—”

“Let me try it! It’s going to work!”

“Okay,” Cid said, gritting his teeth and planting his feet in the center of the circle. “Okay. Yeah. It’ll work.”

She tried harder. He could see the effort in her face, and he could feel it in the magical wind whipping through his hair. But it wasn’t enough. Just as he’d feared, this spell was a dud.

“Dammit!” she shouted, collapsing to the floor in a heap. The power in the room vanished instantly.

“Hey,” he said, gently setting the candle on the ground. “It’s okay. We’ll find another spell—”

“I really thought that one was going to work. I was all excited, like an idiot. A new spell—a kind I’d never even seen before—I thought I could get it to do something.”

Cid swallowed, unsure what to say. “Maybe we can try a new spell? Something a little more normal?”

“Sure,” she said, looking down. If he didn’t know Maggie, know how tough she was, he’d have guessed she was about to cry. “Yeah, we can try something else. Tomorrow. Let’s get back to it tomorrow. I’m out of power for tonight.”

Why is she so upset about this weird spell?

It didn’t make sense. It was just something she’d found in the library. Why did she care so much?

“Bright and early tomorrow,” he said, trying to sound encouraging. “It’ll work for sure.”

“Right.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

She looked up at him, blue eyes almost glowing in the torchlight. He swallowed hard.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “You don’t have to worry about me. Seriously.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He wasn’t really sure if there was anything else to be said after that, so after a moment’s silence, he made his excuses and headed out. A thought struck him as he crossed the bridge out of town. Should I have stayed?

But it was too late to turn around now. He’d see her in the morning—and they’d both be fresh to attempt a new spell. That was what mattered.

But the spell they tried the next day—which Maggie had found in another book—didn’t work either. Neither did the next one, or the one after that. Worse, Bran wasn’t answering their messages.

“This happens sometimes,” Cid said. “He’s on campaign, not on vacation. He’s probably in the middle of a battle or using some kind of cloaking device that won’t let us reach him. Either that or he’s out of our range somehow.”

“I’m giving it all I’ve got,” Maggie said. “Range shouldn’t be an issue. It wasn’t last time.”

Cid shrugged. He wasn’t well-versed enough in magic to know how these things worked. All he knew was how Bran usually operated, and this wasn’t entirely out of character for him. The man was busy saving the kingdom. Haven was just a small village. It probably hardly registered on his list of concerns.

Bad timing, though.

They could really have used the help. Over the next few days, the three of them settled into a routine. In the morning, Cid and Maggie tried every spell they could think of, aided by Maggie’s research in the library. In the afternoons, Lyle joined him for their constable’s rounds, and they took the opportunity to look for the last summon stone manually, without magic.

“I’ve been following those guys around,” the boy said, “pretending to be the village idiot, basically. They totally believe it. They’ve started talking about that guy Hammersmith right in front of me.”

“That’s great,” Cid said, pulling the lid off a barrel and looking inside. “They didn’t happen to mention where their summon stones were hidden, did they?”

“Um. Not yet.”

“Worth a shot.”

Old Mary and the children kept working diligently to set up the fairgrounds—joined by whatever villagers could make themselves available—and the village green was soon crowded with brightly colored tents in every shade of the rainbow, just as she’d promised. He’d helped to set a few of them up when there was no one else around to lend a hand. None of them were enchanted yet, but she’d promised to give him a front row seat to the spellcasting on fair morning.

“But I’m not making you the winner in exchange,” he said in response to her expectant look. “Not unless your cobbler’s actually the best.”

“It will be,” she said, grinning toothily. “It will be.”

“Okay. Weird, but okay.”

Adding to his stress, Wilbur Johnson seemed to have noticed they were up to something, although he didn’t seem to know exactly what. He’d started tailing them whenever he saw them, walking thirty feet behind Cid and Lyle with a deliberately blank expression. He was bad at it and easy enough to lose, but it was still worrying. What was he telling Hammersmith?

And so the rest of the week before the festival passed without much progress. By fair morning, they hadn’t found the summon stone—and they still had no idea where it was.

Chapter Twenty-Five: Morning Bless

The morning of the fair dawned cool and clear, and for a moment—one blissful moment—Cid forgot what day it was. Then he realized: this was it. The Harvest Fair was that day, and they were out of time.

He dressed as quickly as he could, then saddled Nightshade and headed into town at a brisk canter. He didn’t want to go too quickly—didn’t want to let on that something was wrong—but maybe, if he was able to get to Haven with time to spare, they’d be able to do one last search. There had to be somewhere they hadn’t checked yet. There just had to be.

We never told the townspeople what was going on.

The thought ate at him as he rode. What happened to ‘full transparency’? Had he been sucked into the village’s secretive ways? Was he just as bad as Daryl Nightgreen?

No.

He’d have to think more about that later, when he had more time to mull it over. For now, he had a summon stone to find.

Daryl, Maggie, and Lyle were waiting on the bridge for him when he arrived into town. The old man was leaning heavily on his cane, and his face was pale.

“I did it, lad,” he said weakly. “I deactivated the stones you had in the woods. They’re just rocks now. Nothing uncanny about them at all.”

“Did they notice?” Cid said.

Lyle shook his head. “I’ve been with them all this time. I don’t think so. They’ve just been moving forward, business as usual.”

“We don’t know that,” Maggie said. “You still haven’t met the necromancer. None of us have even seen him, except for Cid. For all we know, they could be one step ahead of us. Maybe they’re just biding their time, letting us think that everything’s all right, waiting for their time to strike and reveal their real plan.”

They all looked at Cid, and he shrugged. “Maybe. But if that’s the case, there’s not much we can do about it, is there? Let’s keep going until we get any evidence that that’s what’s happening. Anything at all.”

“I’m just saying,” Maggie protested. “They’re a little too oblivious. Isn’t it a little convenient that they seem to have no idea what’s going on at all?”

“I think they’re a pretty ineffective cult,” Cid said. “At least based on what I’ve seen of their tactics, and what they said in the woods. So it’s not that crazy.”

And the important thing is that Daryl’s been able to deactivate the stones. That’s what really matters. Even if they think they can get around us.

“Wilbur seems to have figured out that something’s up,” Lyle pointed out. “Even if he’s not sure what. We’ll have to keep an eye out for him, and keep him out of our way.”

Cid nodded. “In the meantime, let’s split up. Scour the village. Look everywhere. Woods, pastures, every farm, check the river. Everywhere. I’ll start with the grove right behind the mill.”

Maggie froze. “You can’t come with us, Cid.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re judging the cobbler competition,” she said. “You have to be at the fair opening with the other judges. It’s a tradition. People will notice if you’re not there.”

“Not this damn competition again!” he snapped. “You’re the one who roped me into doing it.”

“And you agreed.”

“But— but— summon stones! Necromancers!”

“Right. It’s a big threat. We can’t draw attention to what we’re doing. If people get suspicious, they’ll come looking for us. Especially you—they’ll think you’re cheating them, or that you’ve given in and accepted a bribe or something. You’ve seen how much people care about these competitions. That’s why the judges always have to be at the high table right at the start of the fair, in plain sight, and they have to stay there the whole time.”

“Okay,” Cid said, “but that’s—”

“Trust me,” Maggie said. “I’ve lived here all my life. They’ll notice. Leave the stone-finding to Lyle and me. We’ve still got a few hours. I think we can do it.”

Cid was about to respond when Daryl intervened, standing up a little straighter as he did.

“She’s right, lad,” he said. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s the truth. We can’t draw too much attention. Go to the judges’ table. Keep an eye on the cult from there if you can. We’ll handle the search.”

A loud bugle, coming from the direction of the village green, put an end to their conversation.

“It’s starting,” Lyle said. “That means they’re enchanting the tents. It’s the official fair opening.”

And Old Mary offered me a front row seat. She’ll be looking out for me.

“Great,” Cid said without enthusiasm. “I’ll go that way, then.”

“We’ll give you a sign when we’ve found it,” Maggie said. “As soon as we’re sure it’s the real thing.”

“What sign?”

“We’ll figure it out. You’ll know it when you see it.”

He left the others behind and led Nightshade to the hitching post at the edge of the fairgrounds. There were several strange horses already there, and a group of women he’d never seen before had set up a morning picnic right in front of the largest tent.

“Tourists,” a voice croaked behind him, too close for comfort.

“Hi, Mary,” Cid said, tying his old horse as close to the hay bag as he could.

She cleared her throat loudly, and when she spoke again, it was in her normal voice. “Sorry. Been a little run down lately. Look. Tourists are already here. Used to be that they didn’t show up until lunchtime.”

Old Mary gave the group of picnickers a dark look, but they didn’t notice her.

“Isn’t that the point of this festival?” Cid said. “To bring in people from out of town? Get them to buy things?”

“The point of the festival is to celebrate the harvest. Everything else is secondary.”

He blinked. “Okay.”

“Here. I’ve saved you the best spot at the judges’ table. Not at the head, but right next to it. You can watch us work from there.”

He sat down in the seat she indicated. It was a simple high-backed chair with a red cushion on it, identical to all the other chairs at the table. Each cushion was a different color, and all the colors were bright and bold. The table itself was made of rough-hewn wood stained a dark walnut color. It had clearly been used for years of festivals in the past and would be used for many more.

“Took a while to haul that thing out of storage,” Mary said. “You comfortable?”

“I mean….”

The cushion wasn’t that thick. Part of him wished he’d just brought his armchair from home.

“It’s good for you,” Mary said. “You’ll get used to it. Oh, look! We’re about to start!”

She clapped her hands in glee and sat down in one of the empty chairs next to him. The picnickers seemed to have noticed whatever she had as well, because they erupted into cheers and raised their wine glasses high.

“What?” Cid said. “Where?”

“Look.”

He looked. A parade of villagers was coming around the corner, wearing bright clothes that rivaled the cult’s for gaudiness. Most of them were carrying staffs, and they all looked ecstatic. Tom of Ashburn and his friends brought up the rear, talking loudly amongst themselves.

“Oh,” Mary said. “This is great. Isn’t this great?”

“It’s great,” Cid said. “They all seem happy to be here.”

“Harvest Fair comes but once a year, and it’s always a special time!”

The group assembled in front of the first and largest tent—the one with the fluffy clouds—and stood stock still. They seemed to be waiting for a signal, and Cid scanned the crowd for familiar faces. There was Roger the Baker standing at the rear, there was the miller down in front, there was the whole Johnson family—except for Wilbur. He looked harder, hoping he’d just missed something.

Nope. Wilbur Johnson was nowhere to be found. That’s not a good sign.

Maybe he was just running late, but that seemed like too much to hope for. It was more likely that he was up to something. After all, he’d been following them around all week. Cid got up from his seat, trying to see if he could sneak away, but Old Mary grabbed his arm.

“What are you doing?” she hissed. “You’re going to miss the best part!”

“Bathroom. Gotta go.”

“No, no, no. Just wait for the first spell at least. You’ll love it!”

He looked down at Old Mary. She looked up at him.

“Fine,” he said, sitting down again. “I’ll wait. Can this thing happen soon, though?”

“Looks like they’re just about to get started. There’s Daryl Nightgreen coming up the walk now.”

Sure enough, the old man was limping toward them as fast as he could hobble, clutching onto his cane with a gnarled hand. He caught Cid’s eye when he got close enough and shook his head subtly—just a small gesture, nothing that anyone else would notice, but Cid knew what he meant. They hadn’t found the last summon stone yet.

“Greetings,” he said when he reached the assembled crowd. “Sorry I’m late.”

Without saying anything else, he took up a position at the head of the group, and the other villagers gathered around him, looking like they’d all done this working a million times before. Then they started to cast, moving their arms in unison as they did the spell together.

The air around the village green filled with power and the crowd was soon surrounded by purple light. Cid watched them gather their magic together and weave it into a single glowing rope made of many smaller strands. Once the rope was long enough to circle the villagers twice, Daryl pointed at the big tent, and they sent the spell that way.

It was one of the most beautiful castings he’d ever seen. The magic rope wound its way into the front opening of the tent and out the back, weaving itself into the cloth fabric. After a few minutes, as if responding to some invisible sign, the villagers clapped their hands together and the light vanished.

“Look!” Mary shouted. “It worked! They’re moving!”

She spoke the truth. The clouds painted on the tent now scooted across the fabric, mimicking the sky above, and he could see stars twinkling on the inside. Daryl Nightgreen hobbled over to it to inspect the working, and the villagers cheered when he turned back toward them with a bright smile.

“First one down!” he said. “On to the next. I’ll leave you to it. You know the way.”

The others moved on to the second tent in the line and Daryl approached the judges’ table. Cid watched him come, stomach sinking. The old man’s smile had faded once the others could no longer see him, and he looked miserable.

“Mary,” Daryl said once he got to them. “Competitions will be starting soon. Do you want to prepare your pie?”

“It’s all ready. I got up early this morning to—”

“Always good to do one last check, isn’t it?” he said, tone flat. “Just in case. Want to be as ready as possible, right?”

She seemed to catch his meaning. “Right. I’ll go…do that, then.”

Once she was safely out of earshot, Daryl sagged into the seat next to Cid.

“They’re looking as hard as they can,” he said. “Maggie wants to try one more finding spell. She says she made it up herself.”

“She made it up?” Cid said.

“I know. We just—"

But the other judges were already coming over to the table, and Daryl put on a fake, too-happy smile to greet them. Cid looked down at the table and tried to summon the energy to talk to the others, but it was hard to fight the feeling that they were going to lose this battle—and that when he picked the winning cobbler in a few hours, he’d destroy Haven in the process.

Chapter Twenty-Six: What About Roger

He tried to sneak away, but the other judges were already upon them.

“Cid Dawnshield!” Roger the Baker said, face already ruddy from the sun. “I see you came early to watch us set up.”

“Aye,” Daryl said. “He did, but—”

“Isn’t it magical? Look at that.”

He pointed to a small, red tent next to the sky-printed one. It had blue chickens on the bottom. As Cid watched, a group of villagers enchanted the fabric so that the birds ran around their painted ‘farmyard’. They reminded him of his own hens, and for a moment, he wished he was back on Oak Tree Farm, away from all this. Leave Maggie, Daryl, and Lyle to deal with the threat to the town alone.

But he couldn’t do that. He was needed here.

“Aren’t you in some of the competitions, Roger?” he said. “Are you allowed to be a judge?”

“I judge the ones I’m not in,” the baker said with a wink. “They need all the judges they can get. No one wants to do it, really, so we’re always looking. As I’m sure you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Cid said, remembering Maggie’s bait and switch after their spaghetti dinner. “I know.”

Roger clapped him on the back. “Well, we’re happy to see you here on such a fine summer day. Aren’t we, lads?”

“Aye!” the other judges chorused, and Cid found himself grinning in spite of himself. They weren’t all bad here in Haven. Not all of them, anyways.

Daryl looked over at them, his face wan and drawn, and Cid knew what he was thinking. They hadn’t heard anything from Maggie or Lyle. They hadn’t found the final stone yet.

They will, though. They will.

And Wilbur was missing—not that he’d had the opportunity to bring it up to Daryl. Maybe he could write something down, slip it under the table for the old man to read. It would be easier for him to get away from the judges’ table than it would be for Cid. The Village Elder was supposed to make the rounds of the fair, visiting each market stall and attraction in turn. It was important that people saw him out and about making an entrance in village life.

Since it seemed unlikely that he’d get away from the other judges any time soon, Cid settled in to watch the rest of the setup. Every tent got a spell: there was one printed with galloping horses, one with a snowy forest at night, one with a roughly drawn dragon that must have been painted by a child. On the far side of the green was Cid’s favorite. The tent had a flock of starlings on it that, once the spell was cast, flew around the fabric in widening spirals.

“Great, isn’t it?” Roger said knowingly, handing him a mug of tea. “My favorite time of the year.”

“I can see why,” Cid said. He took a sip. It was good—honey lemon with a bracing hint of ginger to it. Perfect for a long morning of…waiting.

He watched until the tents were done, and the more mundane business of setting up food and shop stalls had begun. Even Roger had started to look bored at that point, so he figured he could safely sneak away.

“Bathroom,” he said, standing up, and Roger nodded.

“Right you are. It’s on the far side, behind the dragon. Isn’t that a trip?”

“Yeah. Whose kid painted that?”

“Little Portia Miller,” Roger said with a sappy grin. “She’s got a future, doesn’t she? Could be an artist in Hearthstone, even.”

Cid wasn’t so sure about that, but he let it slide and headed toward the dragon tent, planning to start a circuit of the fairgrounds as soon as he was out of sight of the judges’ table. But Wilbur Johnson found him first.

“Hey,” Wilbur said. He was leaning against one of the tent poles and chewing on a blade of grass. “Been meaning to talk to you.”

“You’ve been following me.”

Wilbur shrugged. His arms were pale and scrawny, and his tunic was covered in grass stains—as if he’d been sleeping out in the forest.

Maybe he has.

“You’ve been following me,” he said, sounding a bit like a petulant child. “In the woods.”

“Have I?” Cid said cautiously. Wilbur might just be trying to get him to give away what he knew.

“I figured it out. Saw you crashing around in the bushes one night.”

“Oh, that,” Cid said. “My rooster was missing. Went looking for him.”

“In the middle of the night?”

He shrugged. “I looked all day, too. But I couldn’t find him. Was worried he’d get eaten by a fox, so I kept looking. Why were you in the woods?”

Wilbur looked uncomfortable. “I was gathering mushrooms. My parents love mushrooms. They’re hoping I can grow some for them in our basement.”

The boy’s a bad liar—and a traitor to boot.

“You want to leave Haven?” Cid said, deciding to change the subject. “Get out of town? You can go for it, you know. No need for any weirdness. No one would stop you. They might even be excited for you, want to hear about your adventures later.”

Wilbur gave him a blank look, opened his mouth to speak—and then Old Mary came careening around the corner.

“Wilbur Johnson,” she said, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes were downcast, and he’d lost the confidence he’d had while he was talking to Cid. “It’s a fair— I’m—”

“Well, scat. No one wants your type of trouble here today. You can quote me on that.”

Wilbur slunk away into toward the forest, looking chastened, and Cid watched him go.

That was kind of mean.

Old Mary laid a protective hand on his shoulder. “Was he bothering you, Cid? Sorry about—"

“Why’d you do that?” he said.

“Do what?” she said, looking confused.

“Drive him away from the fair. Everyone else is here.”

“No one wants Wilbur Johnson here,” she said. “We don’t like him. He’s rude, and—”

“Maybe he’s rude because everyone treats him terribly!”

She sighed loudly. “Look, I’m not here to debate with you about this. It is what it is, okay? Also, what are you doing away from the judges’ table? You’re supposed to be there all day.”

“Bathroom,” Cid said gruffly. “But I’m heading back now.”

He turned his back on Mary and weaved his way back through the fairgrounds, feeling tenser than he’d like to be on a summer morning. Her interaction with Wilbur Johnson had unsettled him. It wasn’t right that Wilbur was collaborating with necromancers to destroy the town—Cid could never endorse that. But if this was how the villagers acted with him, part of him couldn’t blame the boy for wanting to make a clean break with Haven.

He needs to get out of here. See the world.

Wilbur wouldn’t be a good fit for the Guards or the Corps. Didn’t have the right personality. But if he was as strong a mage as the rest of the people here, he could always find a job somewhere else. Maybe he could even travel, become a wandering magician of sorts. Stranger things had happened, and the boy could make good money doing it.

There was breakfast ready at the judges’ table when he arrived, and he settled in for the duration. The fair got more and more lively as the day wore on, and there was plenty to see even if he wasn’t allowed to wander the grounds. Each stall keeper came by to offer their wares, and he picked up a few packets of seeds—flowers this time, for a fun winter project—a growler of ale from a tavern the next town over, and a bolt of cloth that might make a nice cloak. The air was full of laughter and merriment, and riders kept arriving from all directions throughout the day, here to sell, peddle, buy, or just have fun.

By mid-morning, the shows were well underway. There were acrobats and a fire-eater, sword swallowers and a man on stilts in a brightly colored costume.

“Where did they come from?” Cid said, watching a woman in a red tunic perform a complicated jumping routine.

“Traveling shows.” Roger shrugged. “They’re all over this part of the country around this time of year. Go from fair to fair, village to village. Surprised you haven’t seen them.”

“Spent most of my life in the city once I joined the Guards. Never traveled much.”

He’d never thought of that as a bad thing. He’d been proud to be a Hearthstone man, through and through. The city had been more exciting than his small hometown by far—so exciting that he hadn’t really wondered what else was out there. But maybe he’d missed out.

“There are magic demonstrations over behind the bird tent, if you can sneak away,” Roger said brightly. “Combat and such. They make things out of other things. It’s pretty cool.”

“I thought we weren’t supposed to leave this table.”

The baker winked. “There are rules, and there are rules.”

Okay.

Old Mary seemed to be watching him, though, so he stayed put. He didn’t want to deal with Haven’s mysterious rules right now, and it was easier to watch for whatever signal Maggie and Lyle sent from the table. Plus, it looked like lunch was coming.

In the afternoon, the judges were all summoned one by one to the competition grounds. Roger went first.

“Cakes,” he said, rubbing his hands together with glee. “I love cakes.”

“Have fun,” Cid said, trying to quell his growing anxiety. Where were Maggie and Lyle? What were they doing? And for that matter, where was Daryl?

We’re going to fail.

And as the day wore on and the number of people at the judges’ table dwindled, he grew more and more sure of it. The cult’s plan was going to work—partly.

At least Daryl deactivated the other stones. Only one of them will actually make a dimensional portal.

Uncanny beasts were coming to Haven whether they liked it or not, and they’d come as soon as Cid declared a winner in the cobbler contest. They’d just have to fight back as best they could when the time came.

Finally, he was the last one left, and the boy who’d summoned the others came for him too.

“Is it really time?” he said. “Do I have to go?”

The boy looked at him like he had two heads. “Um. Yeah. Don’t you want some cobbler?”

“Sure,” Cid sighed. “Let’s go.”

He glanced at the sky one last time before following the boy—just in case—but nothing happened. They still hadn’t found it.

Most of the town was assembled around the competition table, and they roared with glee when they saw Cid coming.

“All right!” Roger said, raising a stein of ale high. “Cobbler time!”

The table was groaning under the weight of the cobblers assembled on it: most of them blueberry, although a few rebels had tried for a raspberry or a peach. The boy led Cid to a throne-like chair at the head of the table. A plate was already set out for him, with a gleaming golden knife and fork next to it.

“Oh boy,” he said. “I feel like a king.”

“You are a king,” the boy said. “The king of the cobbler. Just until the judging is done. Which one do you want first?”

“Mine!” Roger bellowed. “He wants mine! Over there at the far corner.”

Cid sighed. “Sure. I want that one.’

The boy cut him a narrow slice, set it on his plate, and then stepped back to watch. Cid picked up his fork. It was time for the judging to start.

Chapter Twenty-Seven: A Lemon Touch

The villagers gathered closely around him—almost too close—as he took the first bite of Roger’s cobbler. He chewed thoughtfully, allowing himself to fully savor the taste.

“Well?” Roger said after a few moments. “How is it?”

“It’s good. I like the touch of lemon you put in it. But I’m not sure if it’s the best one.”

The baker frowned. “What do you mean?! It’s clearly the best—”

“Lay off him,” Daryl Nightgreen said. “He hasn’t even tasted the others yet. How’s he supposed to know which one is the best yet?”

“It’s clearly mine,” Roger grumbled. “I’m the professional here.”

But he sat down with the others and didn’t object when Cid gestured for the boy to cut him a slice of the next cobbler. He scanned the crowd, but no one took credit for this one. Then, before he took a bite, he scanned the sky as well, looking for Maggie and Lyle’s sign.

Nothing.

Trying not to let his worry show on his face, he took a bite.

Roger was going to be disappointed: this one was better than his. It tasted like someone had mixed boysenberries in with the blueberries and added a dash of brown sugar to mellow the flavor a little bit. He ate a few more bites, trying to chew slowly to buy Maggie some more time.

“Mmm,” he said. “Is there any more of this one?”

The boy shook his head and cut him a piece of a third cobbler, this one raspberry flavored. “No. You’ll be too full to try the rest.”

“I’m the judge here,” Cid protested. “Don’t I get a say in how much I eat?”

“The rules are the rules.”

He sighed and took a bite of the new cobbler. “Pretty good too. Like the raspberries. Gives it a tarter flavor than the others.”

He kept tasting as the afternoon went on and the sun sank lower in the sky, anxiously watching for a sign that the others had found the last stone. He could see the stress on Daryl’s face as he got closer to the final cobbler at the end of the table. Still nothing.

This is a disaster.

Finally, it was time. The boy cut a generous slice of the last dessert and plopped it on his plate.

“Here you go,” he said. “Eat up and make your choice.”

“Pushy.”

“You’ve taken twice as long as any of us!” Roger bellowed. He’d had another pint of ale while he was waiting and looked a little unsteady on his feet. “Declare a winner already!”

Cid took a bite. “This is good.”

He looked at the sky. He looked at Daryl. The old man shook his head helplessly.

“This is good,” he said again, “but I’m going to need to try the first one again.”

The crowd murmured, sounding irritated, but the boy obediently cut another slice. Cid took a bite.

“It’s delicious,” he said. “This one’s definitely up there. But I’m going to have to try number five again.”

Now the villagers sounded downright angry. Cid ignored them, keeping his eyes fixed on the sky as the boy plated another slice for him. He took a bite.

“Okay. One and five are up there. Can I get another piece of number eight and one of number two? This is it. I swear!”

How long can I draw this out?

At some point, he’d have to declare a winner whether he liked it or not. He couldn’t keep this game going forever. But he’d be damned if he didn’t try his hardest to give them the time they needed.

“You know the winner, Dawnshield!” Roger bellowed as Cid took a leisurely bite of cobbler number eight. “Just tell us who it is already!”

“Just trying to do my due diligence,” Cid said, prepping his fork for another bite. “Don’t you want to be sure the best one wins?”

“At this point, I just want this competition to be done so that I can go have a turkey leg.”

“I’m sure we can get someone to bring you one,” Cid said. “There are plenty of kids around.”

A small girl in pigtails ran off, presumably to get Roger a turkey leg, and Cid pulled the next plate closer to him.

Another bite. You can do it.

Truth be told, he was getting sick of cobbler. It was good in small doses, but he’d had more than enough sugar for the day—some of them were almost cloyingly sweet—and he was ready to wash it all down with a pint of good, bitter ale.

Come on, Maggie. Find the thing.

And then—praise the gods—it happened, just as he was about to dig into cobbler number two. A shower of red sparks appeared in the sky not too far from where they stood now. He and Daryl locked eyes, and then the old man made a hasty exit, presumably to deactivate the stone Maggie and Lyle had just found. Cid just needed to buy a few more minutes.

“Mmmm,” he said, closing his eyes and pretending to savor the cobbler he was eating. “Delicious.”

Number two really was the best of the lot—flavorful without being too sweet, lemony without being too tart, with fresh berries and a crunchy graham cracker crust. It was the only one of the lot he could see himself still wanting to eat after eating thirty pounds of cobbler in one afternoon. Other than that, he never wanted to see a dessert again.

He gave Daryl what he hoped was a reasonable amount of time to deactivate the stone, then pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. Tom of Ashburn and the other cult members had appeared at some point, standing in the back of the crowd, and he made eye contact with them as he declared the winner.

“It’s…Number Two!” he said, holding the plate high. “Number Two, everyone. Number Two!”

Roger’s face darkened momentarily, but brightened again when the pigtailed girl handed him his turkey leg.

“Ah well,” he said. “No harm done. I’ll be taking the rest of that cobbler, though. Don’t think you can keep it.”

“No more cobbler,” Cid groaned. “Please. Take the rest of it. Take it all.”

Suddenly, a loud shriek pierced the air behind him, and he whirled around to see a wall of dark green smoke billowing toward the fairgrounds. The cult members had vanished.

What the—?!

Apparently, they hadn’t managed to de-activate the stone in time. He drew his sword and looked around for Daryl Nightgreen, ready to do battle with whatever was coming—be it a demon, or something worse.

“Behind me!” he shouted to the boy who’d brought him the cobblers. “Stay back.”

A flash of blonde hair caught his eye.

Maggie.

She was running his way at top speed.

“Cid Dawnshield!” she shouted. “Over here!”

“But I—”

“Over here. Quick! I’ve got something to tell you.”

He took one last helpless look at the villagers, then jogged her way. At least they were all Magic Knights or Knight Affiliates. They could probably take care of themselves, come to think of it.

When he got close to her, she grabbed him and pulled him behind the dragon tent.

“It’s a smoke bomb,” she said.

“What?”

“It’s a smoke bomb. We deactivated the stone. I threw a smoke bomb to make the cult think their plan had worked. Nothing’s coming. Green looks kind of evil, though, don’t you think?”

He looked around at the shrieking villagers and almost laughed. “Nothing’s coming, huh?”

“Nope.”

“I really believed it was real. Where was the stone?”

She beamed. “Bottom of the river. Took us hours to find it. I kept trying my spell—it worked in the end, but I needed to purify the water in the bowl first. Dumb mistake.”

Water…in the bowl?

He made a mental note to ask her what exactly her spell had looked like once things had calmed down a little bit. He’d never heard of a spell that used a bowl of purified water before. Not even Bran knew about that kind of thing.

“Lyle took it back to the ravine with the others,” she went on. “He’s burying all of them now. Hopefully, they won’t give us any more trouble. Now we just need to find the necromancers.”

He glanced over her shoulder—and froze.

“I don’t think we need to find them,” he said.

She frowned. “Cid, what are you talking about? Of course we need to find them. We—”

“No. I mean, I think they’re the ones who’ve found us. And they’re coming this way.”

Tom of Ashburn was coming toward them, face contorted with fury—and he wasn’t alone, either. His friends with the capes were following him, as was Hammersmith, along with a posse of other necromancers and dark wizards Cid had never seen before.

“Wait,” he said to Maggie. “Who are they? Did you know there were more of them?”

She shrugged. “You’re the one who followed them into the woods.”

“I know. And there was only the little group we already knew about. Not a whole wizard army.”

“Greetings, Haven!” Tom boomed, putting an end to their conversation.

It sounded like he’d magically amplified his voice, and his words echoed through the fairgrounds like a thunderclap. All the villagers froze in their tracks and turned toward him.

“Listen up!”

The cult—and their companions, whoever they were—arranged themselves around the fairgrounds facing the Havenites. Their faces were grim, and they looked like they meant business.

“This is a takeover,” Tom said. “We—”

Hammersmith stepped forward and threw back the hood of his cloak. “Let me do it, Tom.”

“But I—”

“Are you the master necromancer here, or me? I said, let me handle this discussion. So let me handle it.”

“Fine,” Tom snapped, stepping back to join the others. “If that’s what you want, go ahead.”

“This is a takeover,” Hammersmith said, and while his voice wasn’t as commanding as Tom’s had been, there was a power behind his words that the other man had lacked. “We’d hoped to do it one way, but—well—plans change. We’re the Order of the Dying Light, and we’re here for the Mana Cavern that sits below this town. You’re going to step back and let us take it—or we’ll kill all of you, every last one.”

The townspeople looked around at each other, dismayed.

“You and what army?” Roger said, still half-drunk, as Cory Johnson tried to hold him back. “Doesn’t look like there are that many of you.”

“We’ve brought friends,” Hammersmith said. “Well, I brought friends. These are all dark wizards I’ve met as the Order traveled the continent. We’ve kept in touch. Exchanged tips and such. Now they’re here to help me out.”

The other necromancers gave Hammersmith a nod of recognition, and he nodded back.

“Thanks, all,” he said.

“We trusted you!” the miller wailed. “We welcomed you to this town!”

“Yeah, well,” Hammersmith said. “Maybe you shouldn’t have done that, should you? I was surprised at how easy this was—even if someone did destroy my stones. If I ever find out who did that, I’ll kill them. Painfully.”

Maggie and Cid looked everywhere but at each other as the necromancer scanned the crowd.

“All right. So, you’ll give us the cavern, and we’ll let you live. You’ll have to leave Haven, of course, and agree never to come back. Deal?”

Cid tensed, ready to fight, when suddenly a voice rang out from the town green.

“No deal.”

He looked up. Daryl Nightgreen had stepped in front of the other villagers and was staring the necromancers down, leaning hard on his cane.

“What?” Hammersmith said.

“You heard me,” Daryl replied. “No deal. We’ll fight you off. All of you. And we’ll win—or we’ll die trying.”

Twenty-Eight

For a moment, the necromancers looked baffled, as if they’d expected an entirely different reaction to their takeover.

“What?” Hammersmith said again.

“You heard me,” Daryl said, looking younger than he had in months. “We’re not just stepping back and letting you take over. We’re going to fight.”

Tom of Ashburn laughed. “You, old man? You really think you’re going to defeat us—”

Roger the Baker stepped forward, finishing off his turkey leg and dropping the bone to the ground with a flourish. “Not alone, he won’t. I’ll fight with him.”

The miller joined him. “And I.”

Old Mary came forward too and put a withered hand on Daryl’s shoulder. “And I. Daryl Nightgreen, we’re all with you.”

The old man turned back to look at the other villagers, and they roared their approval. It was clear that every man, woman, and child in Haven would support Daryl in his fight against the dark wizards.

Then, to Cid’s surprise, they turned to him.

“What say you, Cid Dawnshield?” Daryl said. “Will you stand with us? You’re under no obligation—after everything—but—”

“I will.” He grinned. “I’m Town Constable, after all. It’s kind of my job.”

“Glad to hear it, lad. Truly glad to hear it.”

“Who knows?” Cid said. “Maybe my Fire One might come in handy.”

The old man laughed. “I think you’ll be seeing a lot more than Fire One before the day is out.”

As if on cue, Hammersmith raised his arms and sent a massive firebolt hurtling toward Daryl’s face. It was so hot that Cid could feel it scorching the tip of his beard, but Daryl raised one hand, almost casually, and the necromancer’s attack dissolved into empty air. He grinned at the dark wizards facing him, still learning hard on his cane.

“You’ve underestimated us, lads,” he said. “Thought we were just helpless villagers, did you? Not the first time some damn fool’s made that mistake. You’ll come to regret it, though, I think. A lot of us were Magic Knights once, or will be one day, or know the Corps well. Combat’s in our blood. We try to avoid it, keep things peaceful when we can. Don’t go out of our way to cause trouble. But we can defend ourselves when the time comes. And if you threaten our home—well, may the gods help you.”

Quickly, before the necromancers had a chance to respond, Daryl raised his arms and hurled a forked bolt of lightning at Hammersmith. It was searingly bright, and Cid could taste the electricity in the air as it passed him. The necromancer barely got his arms up in time to block it, and the strain was visible on his face as he worked to dissipate the energy of the old man’s attack.

Wonder how useful I’m going to be in this battle. It didn’t seem like the kind of fight for a non-mage. Then again… Used to fight together with Bran. He’d do ranged attacks and I’d do close combat.

“Maggie,” he said. “I’ve got an idea.”

She was watching Daryl and Hammersmith fight, looking thrilled. “Shoot.”

“Cover me while I go in. I’ve got my sword. I could do some good here, I think.”

“They’re mages.” She smiled. “They’re used to magical battles. They won’t be expecting anyone to come up to them with an actual weapon.”

Cid grinned back at her. “Exactly.”

He watched as she took a fighting stance, eyes bright with excitement, and called up her magic. Purple light flickered around her face as she prepared her first spell.

“Okay!” she said. “This one should be good. Big old glowing energy balls, a classic. As soon as you see me launch it, go in. I’ll keep the volley going as long as I can.”

“Aye,” Cid said, turning toward the cluster of dark wizards. They had rushed the Havenites while he and Maggie had been talking, and the air was full of flying spells. He’d have to work hard not to be hit by an errant curse.

“Stay low,” she said. “You should be okay.”

Hope so.

A glowing purple orb flew low above his head—Maggie’s first attack—and he sprinted as fast as he could toward the closest dark wizard, a scrawny, tight-lipped man in a black cloak and a large fur cap. Two more energy balls launched past him as he ran, and the necromancer turned to face the enemy spellcaster behind him—but encountered Cid’s blade instead. The wizard tried to rally, tried to cast a defensive spell, but Cid was faster. He cut down his enemy easily, then turned to find the next one.

The battle was in full swing now—the dark wizards were fully on the attack and the villagers were fighting back hard. As he watched, Old Mary hurled a ball of green fire at the closest necromancer. He was engulfed in flames and went down instantly.

Funny. Never would have thought they’d be so powerful.

He knew they were Magic Knights, obviously. He hadn’t forgotten it. But he’d gotten so used to thinking of them as peaceful farmers, bakers, and millers that part of him hadn’t realized how dangerous they actually were.

Won’t be forgetting this one anytime soon.

Daryl and Hammersmith were still facing off at the center of the fight, magic flickering around them. They seemed to be in the middle of a battle all their own, separated from the others. As he watched, he saw a flash of light—a fireball flying at Daryl—and then, just as quickly, the light vanished. The old man had stopped the attack again—once again, apparently without breaking a sweat.

Another of Maggie’s purple energy balls flew over his head, and he turned back to the fight at hand, leaving Daryl and Hammersmith to their own devices. That battle was above his head, and he couldn’t do much to intervene there. The old man would have to win or lose on his own terms.

Roger the Baker sprinted past him at high speed, desperately trying to dodge a volley of razor-sharp ice shards, and Cid sprang into action. Roger might be a little annoying—heck, might even be half-drunk at this very moment—but he was still a citizen of Haven, under the Town Constable’s protection. Cid had to help him if it was within his power.

Roger turned to face the dark wizard who’d attacked him. He was breathing hard and looked exhausted, but it was clear he couldn’t go down without a fight. Cid had to respect his spirit—had to respect all the villagers, in fact. They might be annoying, might be way too secretive for their own good, but they were brave and fought well. He could see why Havenites made up so much of the Magic Knight Corps.

The dark wizard was younger than the one Cid had just faced, and he had a thin, pointy black beard.

Probably trying to make himself look older.

It didn’t work. He just looked like a boy playing dress-up. His cloak was a little too big for him, too.

No need to kill this one. Even if he is a necromancer.

Cid had seen young men like this back in Hearthstone: green lads trying to play with the hardened criminals, walking around stiff-legged like puppies trying to look larger and tougher. It usually didn’t end well for them—just as things likely wouldn’t end well for this one. But Cid didn’t have to be the one to dish out his final judgment.

The young necromancer clapped his hands together and launched yet another volley of ice shards toward them, and this round was even deadlier looking than the last one. Roger brought his hands up to cast a defensive spell, eyes wide with fear, power flickered around his face, but he was moving too slowly. The shards flew toward them, jagged and cruel—

And Cid stepped in front of the baker, sword high, and knocked the necromancer’s attack aside with the flat of his blade. The wizard stared at him, agog.

“Never seen anyone do that before?” Cid smirked. “Well, you’ve never met a Hearthstone City Guard.”

The young wizard gaped at him a moment longer, then gathered himself together to attack again—but Roger was already on it. He threw a large glowing orb—this one a blinding acid blue—and it barreled toward their enemy at high speed. Before the necromancer had time to respond, the energy ball had swallowed him whole. Cid could see him inside it, struggling to escape.

“Don’t kill him!” he hissed.

Roger looked at him blankly. “Why not?”

“Because he’s just a boy.”

“He’d kill us without a second thought.”

“Still,” Cid said. “We don’t have to sink to that level. We can be better than that.”

The baker gave him a funny look, but he shrugged and called off his attack. The young wizard lay prone on the ground, eyes closed, but still alive. Cid took a deep breath.

Hope we won’t regret making that choice.

Roger was looking at him quizzically. “You’re an odd man, Cid Dawnshield.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. You’re just odd.”

Cid blinked. “Okay.”

“Cid!”

He looked up. Maggie was waving at him, looking distressed, and he left Roger behind to hurry over to her, dodging spells with every step he took.

Anything to get away from that conversation.

But she didn’t look happy to see him. Instead, she was almost in tears.

“Lyle!” she said.

“What about Lyle?”

“Have you seen him? He was just going to the ravine. He should have been here by now!”

Cid looked around at the chaos on the village green. The air crackled with magic, and he could hear wounded villagers and dark wizards crying out in pain.

“I mean,” he said. “Maybe he saw all of this happening and decided to hide in the woods until it was over? That’s what I would do if I was his age.”

“That’s not what Lyle would do,” she said. “And you know that.”

“True.”

The boy never did have much common sense.

“I think something’s wrong,” she said. “Something’s happened to him. I just know it.”

A large explosion at the center of the green kept her from saying anything else. Daryl and Hammersmith’s battle had finally reached its end—but who had won? A cloud of dark smoke billowed toward them, and Cid found himself shrinking back from it, not wanting to touch it in case it was contaminated with necromantic energy.

“Do you—?” he said.

She shook her head. “Nope. Can’t see yet. I’m looking, though.”

They kept their eyes trained on the cloud, straining to see who’d come out the victor. And then, finally, moving slower than he ever had and gripping his cane in both hands, Daryl Nightgreen limped out into the sunlight.

“You won,” Cid said.

“Aye, lad, I did. It took a lot out of me, though. More than I’d hoped.”

“And Hammersmith?”

“Dead,” Daryl said, looking disgusted. “Dead as a doornail. And good riddance to bad rubbish, too. We won’t see the likes of him around here again, that’s for sure.”

Cid looked around. He’d been in enough battles to know when one was nearing its end—and this one was one of them. To his surprise, the villagers seemed to be winning. Most of the dark wizards were on the ground or had fled already, and Tom of Ashburn and his gang were nowhere in sight. Daryl nodded approvingly.

“We did it, lad,” he said. “And thanks for all your help back there. I truly wasn’t sure if you were going to stay—”

“Of course I was,” Cid said. “I couldn’t let those creeps win.”

The old man smiled. “Well, I—"

A shower of red sparks rose high in the sky above them.

“Lyle!” Maggie gasped. “That has to be him.”

“You’re probably right,” Cid said. “And it’s coming from Oak Tree Farm.”

“The Mana Cavern!”

Cid grabbed his sword, got ready to sprint back to the farm, to do whatever was needed—but Daryl put a hand on his arm.

“Let me handle this one, lad,” he said. “I think I know what to do.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Fairgrounds

Daryl snapped his fingers, and a gust of wind blew through the fairgrounds, kicking up fallen leaves and making the canvas tents billow like sails. He looked at Cid and winked.

“You like Air One, lad?” he said. “I’ll show you an air spell.”

He tucked his cane into his belt and spread his arms wide, and the wind carried him up and away over the fairgrounds toward Oak Tree Farm. Cid watched him until he was just a tiny speck in the distance.

“Wait,” he said. “Daryl can fly?”

Maggie shrugged. “He used a powerful air spell to lift himself into the air.”

“Right. So he can fly.”

“It’s not the same as flying,” she said. “It’s more like gliding. Like what a flying squirrel does. Not like a bird.”

He looked at her blankly.

“He can’t generate his own lift,” she explained. “He’s just riding the wind.”

“Okay,” Cid said. “I don’t understand the difference. Wait, can you do that?”

She laughed. “No way!”

“And why hasn’t he been doing that this whole time? You’ve seen him—he can barely walk, even with the cane. He could have been flying around Haven!”

“Because,” she said, face grave, “the spell he just used requires an immense amount of power. Daryl doesn’t exactly have a lot of power to spare these days. Traveling to Oak Tree Farm that way might be the thing that finally kills him, Cid.”

“Oh,” he said. “Let’s follow him, then. Just in case it does.”

She gave him a look.

“And to save Lyle!” he said. “Obviously!”

She gave him another look.

“Okay, let’s just go.”

They sprinted toward Oak Tree Farm with Cid in the lead and Maggie following close behind him.

Hopefully, the villagers can clean up the rest of the necromancers without our help.

It seemed like they’d be able to handle it. Haven was a tough town. Tougher than he’d given it credit for being.

When they got to the sign that marked the turnoff for the farm, they picked up the pace. They ran through leafy trees, past Nightshade’s pasture and through Old Mary’s cornfield toward the Mana Cavern. It was strange, but Cid found himself admiring his own hard work as they passed each landmark. Only a few months ago, this whole property had been derelict. It had been abandoned for years. Now it was a working farm, and he’d done that. There was still a long way to go, and he had plenty of projects left ahead of him. But he’d come a long way. He might yet make a half-decent farmer.

“Cid!” Maggie hissed. “Look!”

The Mana Tree was silhouetted against the sky above them, along with several figures in cloaks and hoods. And at their feet—

“Lyle!” she said, digging an elbow into Cid’s ribs. “It’s him.”

“I can tell. What do we do?”

“We’ve got to—”

But before they could do anything more, Daryl Nightgreen swooped down to land in front of the necromancers. He stood tall for a moment, then sagged onto his cane again. Cid’s stomach dropped.

Is he going to be strong enough to do this?

They crept closer as the old man confronted the wizards who’d stolen his grandson.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Daryl said.

Tom of Ashburn—Cid recognized his voice—laughed. “What do you think you’re doing, graybeard?”

“I don’t have a beard,” Daryl said. “I meant, what are you doing with the kid? He’s just a boy.”

“He’s not. He’s a man grown, Daryl Nightgreen. And a threat to us, and to our Order.”

“Grandpa!” Lyle said. “It’s them! They’re the ones who killed my parents! They told me all about it—all about how they died—it was horrible!”

He sounded near tears, and Cid’s hand drifted toward the hilt of his sword, just in case. If what the boy said was true, the necromancers couldn’t be allowed to walk away from Haven. They were too evil.

Daryl was silent for a moment. Then, he sighed. “Is that true, lads? You killed the boy’s parents?”

“Aye,” Tom of Ashburn said, sounding almost gleeful. “Well, not me. I’m no necromancer, much as I wish I was. These others did it.”

“And an honor it was, too,” said a man with a deep voice and dark black hair. “The Nightgreens were powerful. They fought well and were worthy enemies. They were defeated honestly on the field of battle, and we paid our respects.”

“Yeah,” Lyle said, “but you still killed them!”

“I’m giving them a compliment. You don’t understand the ways of dark wizards, boy.”

“And I never will! I hate you!”

“These guys cost us a lot of gold,” Tom of Ashburn said, stepping back to the front and gesturing for the wizard to be quiet. “Contracting them wasn’t easy. But we knew it would be worth it to get access to the Mana Cavern. That said, stop gabbing and start fighting.”

The deep-voiced wizard looked irritated. “I’m just telling the boy—”

“Start fighting! What am I paying you for!”

Cid had to laugh. “They’re mercenaries. They’re not actually on board with the Order’s cause at all. Tom just raised enough gold to buy their—well, they don’t have swords. Buy their magic, I guess.”

He’d dealt with mercenaries before, and they were far easier to handle than fanatics like the Order of Dying Light. Once they felt that a fight wasn’t worth the money, they’d usually abandon whatever cause they’d committed to.

“Let’s get closer,” he said. “Just in case Daryl can’t handle all of them.”

As they moved in, the old man stepped forward, and the dark wizards reluctantly turned to face him.

“He’s just an old guy,” the dark-haired wizard said. “Are you—”

“Stop gabbing!” Tom shrieked. “Start fighting! How many times do I have to say it?!”

The wizard sighed. “Okay, okay.”

He and his comrades started working a spell in unison, arms moving so fast they were almost a blur…but Daryl Nightgreen was faster. Lightning pierced the sky as he leaped into the air, moving more quickly than Cid would have thought was possible, and rained blue fire down on the dark wizards from above.

“What the—?!” the black-haired necromancer said, but he would have done well to take Tom’s advice in this case. Less gabbing, more fighting. One of Daryl’s fireballs hit him square in the chest, and he collapsed to the ground with a shriek.

His friends rallied to his aid, throwing what looked like green globs of jelly into the air, but the old man dodged them, and they splattered harmlessly on the ground. He was far more nimble in the sky than he’d ever been on the ground. Once the wizards’ attack was done, he slowly spun to face them—and his expression was terrifying. His eyes were blank and glowing with power, and his teeth were bared like a wolf’s.

“Damn,” Maggie whispered. “I think— I think this is it.”

“What do you mean, this is it?”

“I mean, he’s calling on all the magic he has. His deepest wells of power. This will kill him, Cid. I know it!”

Tears streamed down her face, and Cid’s heart twisted in his chest.

“There’s not much we can do,” he said, watching as the old man flew higher into the sky. “If this is how he wants to go out, saving Lyle, this is how he wants to go out. It’s his choice.”

“I know.”

With a roar, Daryl Nightgreen rained gold fire down on the necromancers, lighting up the sky like a second sun. Cid squinted and shielded his eyes, trying to see what was happening. He could barely make it out, but it looked like the necromancers were running for cover, trying to shelter in the roots of the Mana Tree while Tom of Ashburn kept trying to order them back out on the field.

“Go!” he screamed. “Fight him! Come on! Cowards!”

But none of them did as he asked, and their attempt to hide didn’t save them. One by one, they fell to Daryl’s attack, and still the old man kept going, roaring that eerie battle cry as he did.

“He’s sinking!” Maggie said, grabbing his arms. “Look!”

He looked. She was right. Daryl was getting lower and lower, and his fire seemed to be dimming as he got closer to the ground. He was running out of power. Maggie ran toward him as soon as the intensity of the flames started to fade. Sword at the ready, Cid followed.

“Cid!” Lyle shouted as Maggie went to Daryl. “Let me free!”

He held his hands out. They were tied together with thick rope. Cid cut the boy’s bonds with one stroke of his blade, and Lyle stood up, shaking out his aching wrists. Together, they took stock of the situation.

“Wow,” Lyle said. “Grandpa took out most of them.”

It was true. Almost all of the men were lying on the ground around the Mana Tree, motionless.

Almost.

“Tom of Ashburn,” Cid said loudly. “We meet again.”

The man glared at him. “Hi.”

“What did you think you were doing, stealing the grandson of the Village Elder? Did you really think we’d just let it happen?”

“Figured you’d let us take the Cavern if we had a hostage,” Tom muttered. “Figured the boy was a good choice because you’d think he was valuable. I didn’t know about his parents, or that my guys were the ones who killed them. Weird coincidence.”

“For sure,” Cid said, slowly moving closer, willing Tom not to notice what he was doing. “Definitely weird. Did you really think the villagers wouldn’t fight back?”

“How was I supposed to know they were Magic Knights?! I’m not psychic.”

Close enough now, I think. He slid his hand into his pocket.

“I mean, they live on top of a Mana Cavern. Surely you had to—”

“No idea,” Tom said firmly. “Do they seem like mages to you? Because to me, they all seem like—aughhhhh!!!”

Cid had thrown a large handful of pocket sand into the man’s eyes, and he went down screaming and clutching his face.

“Lyle, tie him up,” Cid said. “Make sure the knots are good and tight. Don’t want him getting out to cause trouble somewhere else.”

While the boy was working, Cid joined Maggie at the top of the hill. Daryl was lying prone on the ground, face pale. He was barely breathing.

“Did I do it, lass?” he gasped. “Is the boy all right?”

“He is, Daryl,” Maggie said, biting back tears. “He’s fine. You saved him.”

“That’s good. He’ll be a good Guard one day, I think. He won’t stay in Haven. That’s not his path. Cid Dawnshield, is that you?”

The old man tried to sit up to look at him, but he didn’t have the strength.

“It’s me,” Cid said.

“I didn’t do right by you, lad,” Daryl said. “And I’ll never stop being sorry for it. But I hope you’ve found Haven to be a good home just the same. You’re a good Town Constable. Best we’ve had. Isn’t that right, Maggie?”

She smiled. “By leaps and bounds.”

“And I hope you’ll stay.”

“I’ll stay,” Cid said, glancing back over at Lyle. The boy was almost done securing Tom of Ashburn to the tree. “Lyle, do you want to get over here—”

“And I’ve decided,” Daryl went on, “that Maggie will succeed me as Village Elder.”

She froze and her eyes went wide. “Wait. What?!”

But Daryl Nightgreen didn’t hear her. He had drifted away with a smile on his face under the Mana Tree.

Chapter Thirty: Elder

“Village Elder?!” Maggie said. “But I don’t want to be Village Elder. I’ve lived in this town all my life. I want to go somewhere else, just for a little bit before I die!”

Cid was tempted to say that he’d always told her the old man was like this, that he liked to make decisions without bothering to consult the people involved, but he held his tongue. Daryl Nightgreen couldn’t defend himself now. Plus, it seemed tacky to speak ill of a man so soon after he died.

“Grandpa!” Lyle shrieked, rushing over to them. “Grandpa! Are you okay? Grandpa!”

Maggie can handle the boy. Cid excused himself to go check on Tom of Ashburn. The man spat when he saw him coming, but he was trussed tight as a turkey to the Mana Tree.

“Seems like you’re not going anywhere,” he said. “You’re pretty close to the Mana Cavern though. So you almost got there.”

“You dumb lug!” Tom snarled. “I’ll make you pay for this!”

Cid shrugged. “Less gabbing, more fighting. Or I guess, in your case, no fighting either. Because you’re tied up.”

He looked back at Maggie and Lyle. The boy was sobbing next to Daryl’s body.

“Time to get back to town,” he said. “We’ll send someone to pick you up. Eventually.”

“Cid,” Maggie said when he approached. “Can you—?”

“No problem,” he said, lifting the old man in his arms. Daryl was light as a feather; he hardly weighed anything at all.

Must have been sick for a while. Longer than anyone knew.

They walked back to Haven in silence, with Maggie in the lead. Lyle wiped his tears and squared his shoulders as they got closer to town.

“We’ll have to tell everyone,” Lyle said. “We have to tell everyone how brave he was. How he came out to help me. How he defeated all those necromancers all alone, even though he was old.”

“Yes, lad,” Cid said, putting a hand on Lyle’s shoulder. “We’ll tell them all of that.”

“He gave his life for me,” Lyle said. “I have to make it worth it.”

The battle was almost done by the time they arrived back at the fairgrounds, and the villagers were just mopping up the last of the dark wizards. Roger and the miller came out to greet them when they saw them coming—and their faces fell when they saw what Cid was carrying.

“Is he—?” Roger said.

Cid nodded. “Yep. Died bravely, though. I’ve never seen power like that. The Magic Knights would have been proud.”

They nodded. “And who’s Elder now?”

“I am,” Maggie said. “But we should talk about that. I don’t know if I want the job. I don’t think Daryl should just be able to declare someone Elder for life that way, either.”

“Aye,” Roger said. “Talk we will. I imagine there are a few other things we might want to discuss as well. We’ve done things the same way for a long time. But—well—I’ve been thinking. Might be time for a few changes around here.”

Cid grinned. “It sure is.”

“We’ll talk tomorrow. Just as soon as we’re done with this battle.”

“Speaking of,” Cid said, “we’ve got a prisoner tied to the Mana Tree. Any chance someone can come through and pick him up?”

With the battle won, the villagers turned their attention to picking up the pieces. A group came by Oak Tree Farm the next day to pick up Tom of Ashburn. The bodies of the dark wizards had all vanished into smoke when the sun rose, but Tom himself was still there. He glared at Cid as he made his way past the farmhouse, but Cid just kept hoeing his potatoes and didn’t give him a second look.

“We found the other cultists hiding in the woods,” Roger said. “We’ll exile them from Haven forever. And we’ll be sure to tell everyone in the area who they really are.”

It didn’t seem like enough punishment after what the men had put them through. But sometimes that was how it was.

Daryl’s funeral was held the next day in the town cemetery. Every villager brought a flagon of honey mead to pour on his grave—and some brought two. Maggie had two pints of ale with her, and she gave Cid a nod when she saw him coming.

“One for the old man,” she said. “One for us to share.”

He grinned. “I like the way you think.”

As the new Village Elder, Maggie was the first one to speak. She handed off one of her pints to Cid and approached Daryl’s grave.

“I’ve known Daryl Nightgreen since I was a little girl,” she said, voice shaking a little. “And I can tell you one thing about him. He loved this town more than anything. He would have done anything, sacrificed whatever he had to, to keep Haven safe. And in the end, I guess he did.”

She poured her ale out onto Daryl’s grave and walked back to Cid’s side, blinking back tears. He put a hand on her arm to comfort her.

One by one the villagers came forward with their honey mead. Each of them said something about the old man—some gave long speeches while others only stammered out a few sentences, but everyone in Haven took a turn. Finally, Cid was the only one left.

“Your turn, Cid Dawnshield,” Roger said. “Go on. Head on up.”

He grimaced. “Do I have to?”

“Haven tradition. Happens at every funeral. Everyone gets to talk about the person who died. Only nice things, though.”

“But I’m not from around here,” Cid said. “So maybe I don’t have to—”

“You’re part of Haven now,” Maggie smiled. “Go on!”

“Only nice things,” Roger said, giving him a sharp look.

Cid had no idea what he was about to say as he approached Daryl’s grave. At least he had the full pint of ale Maggie had given him as a spare. He’d have something to pour.

Wait. Was that a trick? He decided to assume that it wasn’t a trick.

“Um,” he said when he got to the front. “Daryl Nightgreen.”

He looked out at the crowd. They looked back at him.

“Daryl Nightgreen was—well, he cared about Haven a lot. He cared about his grandson. He tried to do the right thing.”

He couldn’t think of anything else to say, so he dumped his ale onto the old man’s grave and walked back to where Maggie was standing.

“That was a good speech,” she said.

“That was a terrible speech.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t have to be perfect. People will just be happy that you said something.”

“I see,” Cid said, although he didn’t, really.

“Town meeting tonight,” she said, looking excited. “And guess what? I’m going to see if we can change the role of Village Elder.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Yeah. I don’t think it should be a lifetime job, and I definitely don’t think the previous Elder should just be able to appoint whoever they want. I’m going to see if we can shorten the term to a year.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said. “And I’m going to see if we can make it an elected position. Everyone from town gets a vote.”

“Really?” he said. Maybe things actually were going to change around here.

“Really. I think we’ll all vote to help you harvest your crops this season, too, as thanks for your help in the battle. I know you’ve been worried about that.”

“Wow,” Cid said. “That’s really nice.”

“You should come to a town meeting sometime. Get engaged. They’re fun!”

“Maybe.”

He wouldn’t be going to this one, though. After the last few weeks, he was looking forward to spending a quiet night tilling his fields.

“We’re going to start planning for next year’s Mana Harvest tonight,” she said. “It’s already that time again.”

“Oh boy,” Cid said, without enthusiasm. “Another one. Make it a labyrinth this time.”

She grinned. “That’s a great idea!”

“It was a joke—”

But she was already off to spread the word. Cid sighed. Time to get back home.

On his way out of the cemetery, he passed a lone figure standing just outside the gates.

“Wilbur?” he said. “You’re still here?”

“Don’t have anywhere else to go,” the boy said morosely. “They wouldn’t let me into the funeral though.”

“Yeah, I can see why not.”

Wilbur looked down at his feet. “Yeah.”

Cid almost left him standing there alone. Almost. Damn my soft heart. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of parchment and a quill.

“Here,” he said, scribbling an address on it. “My friend Bran lives here. He’s out on the road now, but he’ll write back whenever he sees your message. Hopefully, he can sort something out for you. You need to get out of here, lad.”

Wilbur took the parchment from him, looking dumbfounded. “T-thank you.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t make me regret this.”

The boy smiled. “You won’t, sir. You won’t!”

And he sprinted off toward the Johnson house with Bran’s address clutched close to his chest. Cid watched him go.

Come on, Bran. Do me one more favor. You owe me that much at least.

Epilogue

Six Months Later

“Cid!”

He jumped. Daydreaming again. He’d been staring out at the snow-covered fields, imagining what they’d look like come springtime. It was nice seeing the farm like this—like it was asleep, just waiting to come back to life. But he was ready to be warm again.

“Cid!” Maggie shouted again. “We’re going to be late! Lyle’s waiting!”

“Coming, coming.”

He stood up and smoothed out the creases in his constable’s uniform, then grabbed his sword belt from its peg in the front hallway. Maggie was already waiting on the porch in a bright blue dress and winter shawl.

“You look good,” she said. “Let’s go!”

She’d moved in shortly after their battle with the necromancers—and he’d immediately wondered how he’d lived without her for so many years. Their home was full of life now, and they’d had small groups of villagers over for dinner throughout the winter. She’d also brought some extra furniture from her own apartment above the tavern, which had been a plus.

Village Elder was now only a year-long post, just as she’d wanted, and she was now halfway through her term. When he’d asked her what she intended to do once she was done, she’d shrugged.

“Travel a little, maybe,” she’d said. “See some sights. I’ll come back to Haven, though. Promise.”

He hoped she did. He had a ring hidden in the basement for her when she was ready.

Now, though, it was time to focus on Lyle. The lad had kept up with his training and was a halfway decent swordsman now. It was time for him to learn from better teachers than Cid. He was heading to Hearthstone today to try to join the Guards.

“Chose a cold day for it, didn’t he?” Cid said, rubbing his hands together as they walked into town. “You think he’ll be all right on the road?”

Maggie smiled. “He’ll be fine. He’s a tough lad.”

“He’ll need to be, in the city.”

Part of him was worried about Lyle Nightgreen. After all, Hearthstone was a dangerous town. The boy had never left Haven in his life. Would he really be able to handle it?

Then again, that was how Cid had started out: a green lad from a rural village, dreaming of the Guards and the big city. And he’d turned out all right in the end, hadn’t he? He liked to think so.

The boy was waiting on the bridge for them, just as always, but this time, he had on a thick traveling cloak and half the village was standing with him. Roger was holding the reins of a small, gray mare, and he looked close to tears.

“Fare thee well, lad,” he said, handing the reins off to Lyle. “You know we’ll miss you. And if you need anything, just write to us.”

Lyle nodded, then turned to Cid. “Any advice, constable?”

“Find Bran as soon as you get in. You have his address, and he should be in town. He’ll put you up for the night and make sure you’re fed. And in the morning—”

“Lord Vanstone,” Lyle said. “I know.”

“Just mention my name, and he’ll admit you as a recruit,” Cid said. “And—well—do the six months training and see if you like it. There’s no shame if you don’t. It can be a hard job.”

“I want to be a Guard,” Lyle said firmly. “I know I can do a good job. And I’ll work as hard as I need to.”

“Aye,” Cid said, feeling more emotional than he’d expected to. “Well, if you come at it like that, I’m sure you’ll do well.”

The boy mounted up and gave them a rough wave. “See you soon,” he said. “Hopefully.”

Or not. Cid wondered if they’d ever see Lyle again. How often had his own parents seen him after he’d joined the Guards?

It can be a hard job.

“Here,” Maggie said, pulling her own gloves off her hands and handing them up to Lyle. “Take these. They’re warmer than the ones you have on now.”

The boy smiled. “Thanks.”

And with that, he was off. They all watched him until he’d disappeared around a bend in the road.

“Like saying goodbye to my own son,” Roger wailed. “I’ll miss the lad.”

“Bran will help him out,” Cid said. “I’m sure of it.”

He’d helped Wilbur Johnson, too. Six days after Daryl’s funeral, Cid had seen that lad off too, although he had been the only one there that time.

“Do you think Hearthstone’s the place for me?” Wilbur had said.

“Truth be told, lad, I think anywhere but Haven’s a better place for you.”

He hadn’t heard from the boy since that day, although Bran’s letters suggested he was doing well. Cid felt it was better not to ask too much about him.

Now, on the bridge, Maggie turned to him, wrapping her bare hands in her sleeves.

“I’ve got a surprise for you,” she said. “If you come back toward the tavern with me.”

Cid scowled. “I hate surprises.”

But he followed her anyway, and just as he’d feared, there was his sister Laurie, sitting prim and proper at a high top by the window.

“Good ale,” she said. “You’ve done well here.”

“Thanks,” Maggie beamed. “Cid, your sister’s looking for a mage for her manor.”

“Just on a case-by-case basis,” Laurie clarified. “As a consultant. When you wrote to me, I looked into this town a bit. Sent letters to some people, asked around. They all told me Maggie’s one of the best they have.”

“A mage?” Cid said. “As in, you’d go work for my sister?”

That sounds terrible.

“I wouldn’t have to live there,” Maggie said. “I’d just go up for a few days at a time when she needed help with something. And I can’t do anything until my term as Elder’s up, anyways. So there’s plenty of time to think about it.”

Cid scowled.

“I’ve been wanting to put my magic to use,” she said. “And this would be a good way to get started.”

He sighed. If she wanted to work for Laurie, that was her business. “You’ll do great.”

“We’ll keep in touch,” his sister said, draining her pint. “You let me know as soon as you’re ready. And, brother, I took the liberty of visiting your farm. Took a look around.”

Oh boy. Here comes the list of notes. She’ll have a lot of—

“It looks great,” Laurie said, her expression softening. “You’ve done a wonderful job with it. I’m glad to see you finally settling down.”

“Oh,” Cid said. “You don’t—”

But his sister was already standing up. “Well, that’s all for me here. I’m off. Lots of work to do on the manor.”

“Wait,” he said. “You came all the way to Haven just to have one pint of ale and tell me my farm looked great?”

“Duty calls.” She smiled. “See you soon, Maggie.”

And she was gone in a rustle of skirts.

“Wow,” Cid said. “You know, Laurie can be—”

“Isn’t she great?” Maggie said. “She’s so organized!”

He bit his tongue. “Yeah. Definitely organized. You’ll have a good time on the manor, Maggie. I’m proud of you.”

The big smile she gave him in response was reward enough for his tact.

That night, he sat down at his desk for the first time in months. His barely started memoirs were still there on the table, and it felt like the blank parchment was rebuking him.

We’ve done pretty well here on Oak Tree Farm.

Haven was changing, his farm was doing well, and he and Maggie were on the road to marriage. He’d even received a compliment from his sister.

Thought that would never happen.

The only thing he hadn’t been able to do was start this book. He’d had all winter to do it, and he hadn’t made any progress at all. But tonight—gods help him—he would write a chapter. He could start with his first month in the Guards, his first visit to Hearthstone….

He picked up his quill, dipped it in ink—and froze.

Did he really want to write this memoir? Did anyone really want to read it? Was that why he’d been avoiding it for so long? What if—?

A character popped into his head, almost fully formed. A young lad. Guided by a former City Guard who was more of a fool than he had any right to be, who retired and moved to a small town—only to find that his new life wasn’t quite what he expected. The story of what that young man would do so guided by such an old man.

Fiction. It could be fiction. Loosely based on life, maybe, but it doesn’t have to be me.

People would love it. It could be a whole series. Smiling broadly, already knowing he’d be up all-night writing, he put pen to parchment for the first time in months. He had a lot of stories to tell. Maybe Lyle, well not Lyle his Lyle but a version of Lyle would be the main character.

Epilogue +

The Brave Adventures of a Peerless Guard’s Young Protégé

by Cid Dawnshield

Epilogue +

Chapter 1: The Start of A New Journey

Lyle stood in front of the great gates of the city of Hearthstone. He had just been dropped off the pack of a merchant’s cart after catching a ride. He carried an old and dusty pack on his back, a gift from his mentor and friend, Cid Dawnshield. He was ready to start a new life for himself and blaze his own path.

“Good luck to you!” yelled out the merchant as the man and his cart were sorted into another line seeking entry into the city.

Lyle waved back and took his place in line. “Thank you! Thanks for everything.”

The rest of the townspeople didn’t both to turn their heads toward him. They stood in line waiting their turn to enter the city. They chatted about who-knows-what while the guards stood standing at attention beside the massive iron bars that made up the entrance into Hearthstone. Nearby another group of guards waited to search through the merchant carts in the other line. They were all men between the ages of twenty-five and thirty years old, dressed in armor similar to those worn by the Knights of the Shield. A few wore helmets too, but most did not. All bore weapons strapped across their backs: swords or spears depending on what their role was within the Guard Corps and duty.

When it was Lyle’s turn, a helmeted guard motioned for him to step forward. Lyle did as instructed, and the guard titled up his helmet to get a better look at Lyle.  “State your business in Hearthstone stranger.”

“I’m here to try and join the City Guard.” Lyle responded as he straightened his back like Cid had taught him and looked the guard in the eye. “Cid Dawnshield sent me. He’s the Constable now up in Haven. He made me his deputy.”

The guard smiled warmly at Lyle as if remembering pleasant yesterdays, “Old Dawnshield sent you, did he? He was always the best of us. Well, if he vouches for you, I’m sure you’ll do great. His name carries a lot around here. How’d you meet him?”

“The Sword to Ploughshare program. I was just supposed to show him where his farm was, and he sorta needed my help after. Farming doesn’t come naturally to most folks. A lot more goes into managing the day to day than people think, and at some point, he just sort of took me under his wing and started teaching me everything he knew outside of farming.” Lyle explained as the guard nodded appreciatively.

"Well then lad, I guess were just going to have to see if you'll be as good of a guard as you were a farmer." The guard reached into a pack he kept against the wall and pulled out a parchment form and scribbled a few things on it before handing it over to Lyle.  "You can take this form right here and turn it in at the Guard's Garrison."

"Thanks," Lyle said with a smile.

"You're welcome," the guard replied as he glanced over Lyle and saw the massive line that had formed while the two of them were talking. "Oh bother. I better get on that. Step on though young man. Just head straight through the market and take a right once you pass the last stand. You should see a sign saying Garrison, head there. They'll get you set up properly and sorted out."

"Alright, thank you."  Lyle said as he waved goodbye to the guard and adjusted the pack on his back and went through the gates.  What he saw on the other side amazed him.

Lyle was used to the mountains outside of Haven. The wide and lush forests. The mana tree. The creeks and brooks that ran through the town, and the river he swam in sometimes on the outskirts of Cid's farm, but this, seeing Haven was something he hadn't imagined. Couldn't have imagined. The image he had envisioned and built up in his head didn't do the city any justice.

The city was amazing, it had so many buildings and structures, shops and stalls, streets filled with people rushing about their daily lives. It reminded him of home in one way: the hustle bustle of activity everywhere he turned. But also in ways it was different; it was bigger, grander.  The scale was larger. Everything seemed taller. Every building he saw completely dwarfed the homes and houses back home.  There was no end to the sight of the city. No end to its size. And yet somehow, despite the fact that he could never truly understand how big the city actually was, he felt comfortable walking down the main street of Haven.  He marveled at every brick and mortar building he passed and wondered just how the city folk had managed to build four and five story houses.

Though Lyle was used to the central square of Haven, the Hearthstone market was many, many times the size. Vendors and merchants yelled out prices and deals from their stalls and stands. Some sold food, while others sold clothes, tools, weapons, potions, and healing items.  Yet, most people walked past each stall and vendor in a hurry. Going from one errand to another. The merchants heckled and called out to the passerbyers like it was a game to gain attention. Lye watched fascinated as the people of Hearthstone pretended not to see the merchants, and as soon as a merchant gained their acknowledgement, the passerby would walk over to the stand. Then they would stop to talk about offerings and haggle price.

Then one of the merchants caught Lyle’s eye and the aggressive selling and upselling increased even further. One merchant stepped out from his stall and shouted out “You look hungry lad! Buy a pie, or an apple, meat pies and apple pies. Buy three, get one free!”

“Hey ignore him lad! Want some potions? We got all kinds of alchemic formulations. Come on buy something!"  A second merchant joined in followed by a third merchant who built on the momentum to try pulling in the crowd to sell something unrelated. "Peaches and pears! Get your peaches and pears!"  The first merchant continued shouting, trying to keep up with the competition.

“How much are these apples?” Lyle asked, hoping to avoid being drawn in by the crowd as he ducked into a fourth stall.

“Two copper pieces per quarter bag. Or four for a half-sack." Explained the fourth merchant.

“Four coppers for a half-sack is fine.” Lyle agreed, paying the merchant and taking the bag of fruit. As he exited the stall, the first merchant called out towards the crowd.

"Three coppers for the same deal!"

It was a frenzy, and Lyle had enough of it. He kept his head down and began to eat one of the apples as he walked out of the marketplace and followed the sign that read, "Garrison".

Epilogue +

Chapter 2: The Garrison

Lyle walked down the stone road towards the Garrison.  It was a longer walk then he thought it would be. Though he had passed the market, the way was still tight and full of people. Each block he passed was paved and lined with white stones that sparkled brightly in the sunlight. In places he saw large standing lamps that at nighttime would burn bright with Mage Fire. Eventually he reached the Garrison and rather than grab ahold of the bronze knocker, he pushed the large wooden door forward. It creaked and opened up into a sparsely decorated room that was manned by an older looking guard.

“What do you need today?” Asked the guard, seemingly bored.

“My name is Lyle Dragonsbane!" Lyle replied. "I'm here to apply to join the city guard." He grabbed the piece of parchment he'd been given at the gate and placed it on the guard’s desk. "I hear you're accepting applications today."

The guard perked up, his day suddenly interesting again. "That we are. Where've ya heard that?"

"From my old boss, the legendary Cid Dawnshield." Lyle answered as he waited for the guard to give him the application.

"Hahaha, yeah right. That guy left town ages ago. He might not have told you, but he retired a couple months back." The guard scoffed, not believing Lyle.

"He was pretty great anyways." The guard continued. "Absolutely the best of us. Good for him retiring when he did. Anyways, you didn’t fill this form out proper. Take it home with you, fill it out, and bring it back tomorrow morning when the office opens."

"Sir," Lyle protested, "I'm old enough to join the guard. I'm here. I'm willing. Just give me a moment, and I'll fill that form out no problem. Just don't send me back out there, I don't have a place to go."

"Don't have a place to go?" A voice called out. It was Lord Vanstone, the commander of the guard. He was a tall man with a thick mustache that looked almost black in the dim light. He wore a simple robe, which matched the color of his hair and eyes. He wasn't as strong as Cid had been, but he was a powerful man in his own right. Fair. Stern. He stood behind the table next to the guard, and motioned for Lyle to get started and waited  patiently for Lyle to finish filling out his paperwork. "Continue, we can't just send somebody away whose close to Cid."

Lyle finished signing his name and handed the paper to the guard. "Thank you sir."

Lord Vanstone leaned forward slightly, reading over the document, and spoke quietly. "It says here you can do magic?"

Lyle nodded. "Yes sir. I've leveled appropriately. The great Cid taught me everything I know. I can do some advanced spells too."

"Really? Wow. Sounds like you've done quite well for yourself. Not many people get to learn from Cid. So, what brings you to our humble city?" Lord Vanstone asked. "You seem far too young to join the guard."

Lyle smiled. "I'm old enough to know what it's like to fight against an enemy. I am very interested in joining the city guard. I want to protect the city."

Lord Vanstone sighed, thinking hard. His face remained stern throughout the entire process, and he stared at Lyle intently as he wrote. Finally, he put pen to paper, signed it, and handed it back to Lyle. "You'll be expected to start training immediately. Tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp.  You can sleep in the recruit’s barracks. I'll meet you there to get you settled in."

"Thank you!" Lyle exclaimed. "What will I be doing? Sword drills? Uniform fittings? Magic exercises?"

The guard behind the table interrupted. "Nothing of the sort. You'll start where every guard recruit starts. Sweeping the barracks. Polishing the weapons. Buffing out the armors. Cleaning the cooking pots in the mess hall or peeling potatoes in the kitchens."

"Oh... okay..." Lyle responded nervously.

Lord Vanstone chuckled lightly. "Don't worry lad, we won't make you do anything too difficult. We'll ease you into things slowly. Once you prove yourself worthy, we'll work your way up. But for now, let's just say you have a lot of cleaning to do before dinner tonight. All the guards go through this. Right of passage. Even the greatest guard to even grace this humble garrison once swept these floors. Cid Dawnshield."

Lyle bowed his head low, feeling embarrassed for jumping to conclusions.

Lord Vanstone continued. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my duties as Commander call. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Hearthstone and wish you good luck.  Now off with you!" He said gruffly and waved his hand dismissively.

Lyle adjusted the pack on his back and the guard at the table groaned. “I guess I’ll take you to the recruit’s barracks.” The guard said grumpily.  The guard stood up and motioned for Lyle to follow him down a hallway. They were silent until they reached the end of the long corridor where two doors stood side by side.

One of the doors was marked "Recruits, and other staff" and the other was labeled "Guards".

The guard stopped in front of the door and tapped twice on it. "This is yours. Welcome to the garrison. Wake up is at dawn." He grunted, turning around without waiting for a response. He walked away quickly, leaving Lyle alone outside the place he'd be staying.

Lyle took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He turned the brass knob, pushing open the heavy wooden door. Inside he found a small living space that was surprisingly spacious considering its size. There were four bunk bunks for a total of eight possible recruits. Nobody else was there. "This is why I'll be cleaning the floors. There's only me for training. Can't do a class with just me."  Lyle muttered to himself as he climbed the ladder up onto the top bunk he'd just laid claim to.

He lay down on the mattress and closed his eyes. The smell of the freshly washed sheets reminded him of how nice life could be sometimes. This was going to be tough. He knew it. Training was never easy. But he had learned so much from Cid already. Maybe he really would surprise them all. And maybe he'd be able to impress Lord Vanstone enough that he would eventually earn his respect. If he made it past the first month, he might actually become a real member of the city guard. Lyle drifted off to sleep, dreaming about what that would mean for his future. He couldn't wait to start his next adventure.