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Timothy Peasley

1060 W. Addison

29 April 2019

tpeas0001@mail.ct.edu

Muziza Feri

by

Tim Peasley

On his first diplomatic mission, over the mossy mountains of Tudamai, past the Rift of

the Druids, Rex, the Chief Father of the five tribes of Lahcyra, was met with disdain by the fair-

skinned people of the Harenae Empire. This was the way of things in the sandy, southern side of

Tudamai when Rex came to be the leader of the northern tribes. He was a long way from the top

of the ziggurat in the rainforest. Stopping in the northeast quarter of the Empire, Rex sent one of

his guards to the Malaccesian Market. When they returned empty-handed and told him that they

were dismissed over their green skin, he bit his tongue and went himself into the city.

The tropical country of Tudamai was once a more humid cumulation of ecosystems.

Dense rainforests, grasslands, and woodlands inhabited by countless species of creatures and

nearly as many races of people. These people lived under no law higher than their own and

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guided by some faith in their central gatherings; they built pride while their western neighbors

built institutions and wealth.

Most Tudamaian people were reptilian humanoids, primarily the Lizardfolk who are

different races of bipedal, scaly creatures. People in the Haranae Empire are humans mostly, and

though they were never absolute enemies of Tudamai, they had never been absolute allies with

them either. Long before Chief Father Rex, many more tribes and elders claimed the land until

the Haranae Empire expanded to Tudamai generations ago. When they settled, the Empire’s

military forces were too strong, and the tribes of Tudamai weren’t prepared.

So, after some small battles over land, the adequate room was made for new cities, ports,

and fortresses of the Haranae Empire. The thicker-hided, more barbaric tribes migrated north to a

narrow island known as the Last Bog, a mostly barren wetland just off the coast of Tudamai. The

Haranae expansion only went as far as the Rift of the Druids which began the coalitions that

created Lahcyra. Five of the major tribes left over in Tudamai took control and started declaring

one leader over the new alliance, the Chief Father. After that time, the climate in Tudamai

changed rapidly and what was once a country covered by a canopy of vines and palms became

desert and savannah with minimal vegetation beyond the mountains. North of the mountains,

Lahcyra still has its lush environment, rich with wildlife.

Diplomacy wasn’t unheard of between the Empire and Lahcyra, it was common to see

trading between them. Newer generations built villages together serving purposes of mutual

benefit.

One of these villages became Malaccet, where Rex marched into the market and met a

young dancer. Seduced by her movements outside of the market, he relieved her of the life of

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panhandling and took her as his concubine. Years later, her tan human skin started to change

color. It started like sunburn until she was red all over as if she had been painted. The tribes of

Lahcyra did not approve, and Rex was forced to send her back to the Empire. Word came upriver

that she had gained a following of admirers who believe her red skin is a gift from an old

forgotten god. That was the last time Chief Father Rex of Lahcyra heard about the wine-skinned

woman.

Then, a festival starts in Lahcyra to celebrate the migration of a certain species of

carnivorous fish that travel south in warmer seasons. Shops open on the river docks sell and rent

everything from boats to banana beer. One market in a fishing village, near the center of

Lahcyra, is run by a Frogman called Pubbe. Frogmen are just as intelligent as Lizardfolk or

humans, but some differences include: They live half as long, they are less strong yet more agile,

and they can breathe underwater. Pubbe rents boats and huts on the river from his own hut as

well as other services and products. Helping him set up shop this morning, Rodel the sapphire-

colored Lizardfolk man is hoisting hefty crates of leathers and ropes across the dock for display.

A bearded dwarf woman on the opposite side is selling cohune hearts and banana beer, another

seller sets up assorted odd items like glowing green leather boots, a human skull with gems in the

eyes and multicolored vials. Pubbe brings out a chair from his hut and rests his feet on the dock.

He keeps an eye out for potential patrons.

This is home for Rodel and Pubbe, and Rodel had grown up in this village working at

Pubbe’s side. A fishing village over a river on the cusp of the deep rain forest and heavy swamp.

Lumbering up the vertical strip of the T-shaped dock, a brooding figure advances towards

Pubbe’s shop.

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“Pubbe never saw nothing like you,” he says with a chuckle, “Not ‘round here, no.”

Pubbe often refers to himself in third-person.

“Umm,” the armor-clad Lizardfolk man is broad and imposing, but stumbles through his

words after Pubbe speaks, “Uh- I- Headman Harbon.”

“You do bear a resemblance to Harbon,” Pubbe gestures in jest to Rodel, “Doesn’t he,

boy?”

A lipless smile shows on Rodel’s face, and he nods, moving more crates of fletching

materials.

“What does a knight need from Pubbe?”, he blinks incredulously with one of three sets of

eyelids, “A boat?”

Rodel listens on while continuing his tasks and wonders if he’s ever seen a knight before.

“A parcel is en route to Headman Harbon, and it’s coming by the river.”, the knight says

promptly.

“What about the mips moving downstream? Pubbe just opened shop for the festival,”

Pubbe interjects.

“That’s why I’m here. My orders were to gather a crew and clear the way. It must be

important.”

“Well, that’s all you got to say to Pubbe!”, he responds.

The knight is relieved to finally relay his message but has a sense of doubt about Pubbe’s

abilities. Pubbe notices the man’s questioning glance and calls for Rodel. After setting aside

some wares, Rodel meets Pubbe in front of the knight.

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“Hi, I’m Rodel.”, he says in his gravelly voice.

The knight looks Rodel over and is not displeased. A sturdy, sapphire-skinned

Lizardfolk, a young adult like himself, rising to the occasion.

“I am Malakite.”, he responds heartily.

As they become acquainted and the task of clearing the river for safe passage is

explained, a man in a wide brim hat wavering down the dock nearly careens into the water

below. Rodel reaches out for him, grabbing him by the lapel and pulls him onto the dock.

“Hey, you saved me.”, he hiccups.

“Yeah.”, says Rodel coarsely, “You stink.”

“You don’t smell so fresh yourself, my friend.”

Rodel inhales through his nose and wonders what the man means.

“Don’t worry about it.”, he says with a grin, “Why so blue?”

On his back, the man has a few different musical instruments that Rodel doesn’t

recognize. He unstraps his lute and strums some notes and sings seemingly improvised lyrics. A

ballad about a large blue lizard man needing a bath.

“Blue lizard man,

Stinky blue lizard man,

Burning up my nostrils

Take a bath as soon as you can.”

Pubbe and Rodel are amused by it, and Malakite snorts from laughter. An odor of brine

and ale passes by as he joins the three. Then, Pubbe gets a whiff of the eggs he cooked earlier

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and offers them around. Rodel and the bard eat ferociously, and Rodel thinks about inviting him

to come along.

“You eat like a bird, greenskin.”, Pubbe says sending his tongue like an arrow through a

fat insect that was flying too close. He chomps it down and stares at Malakite.

“Your skin’s green too, Pubbe.”, says Rodel.

“I bring rations when I come into the jungle.”, says Malakite.

“Rations sound good. You have any I could buy?”, the bard says to Pubbe.

“Pubbe got rations. Never needed ‘em, so Pubbe just kept ‘em.”, Pubbe giggles.

The bard pulls out a plump drawstring pouch the size of a melon and Pubbe’s frog eyes

burst open. An exchange is made, and Pubbe charges high, but the bard pays blithely, and Pubbe

speaks up.

“Are you from the empire too, now?”, a hint of disdain in his voice.

“What empire?”

“The one Malakite works for.”

“I don’t think so. Maybe.”, he takes parchment from his pack, “Have you any pipeweed

for sale?”

Pubbe’s first response is to look for a lawman’s disapproval, but Malakite shrugs.

They’re all slightly perplexed by the bard and his ignorance but chalk it up to the brew he reeks

of. Another exchange and he takes out a wooden flute that he packs with the weed and smokes.

He and Pubbe pass it back and forth, and Malakite gets restless.

“The parcel should be here tomorrow, we should get to the crossing before nightfall.”,

Malakite rises.

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Rodel stands stiffly next to him and looks at the bard, he notices the man’s ears are

pointed and says, “You can see in the dark. Want to come with us?

“That’s not a bad idea, now.” Pubbe chimes in.

“I’ve got nothing better to do.”, the bard declares proudly.

“Pubbe’s got a boat big enough.”

Malakite shrugs again, and the three gather in a boat off the dock.

“Will you be okay without me, Pubbe?”

“Don’t worry about Pubbe, now.”

The humid air of the jungle is palpable, and chirps, buzzes, and huffs of wildlife seemed

to grow louder the farther south they went away from the festivities. Acrid, earthy odors

bubbling up in the bog soon mixed with fruity, floral fragrances of the rain forest. Over three or

so hours, not much was discussed. Malakite was especially quiet, but the bard would sing some

songs and laughter would bellow from Rodel.

“What your name?”, Rodel grumbled.

“My name’s Bucko.”

“Bucko?”, Malakite sneers slightly.

The bard solemnly strums his lute and croons at a progressively higher pitch:

“Bucko

‘Fucko’

Boingo.”

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He strums on as the other two glance at each other with shared confusion. It started to

rain lightly earlier, but now it’s falling hard, and their vision and hearing are now limited beyond

the boat. Bucko puts his lute away in his pack and listens intently to his surroundings. A

resounding crack cuts through the rain and they stiffen up.

“Did you hear that?”, Bucko calls out only for Rodel to quickly shush him.

Rodel scans the water. Bucko peers through the curtain of rain and rows to the edge of

the river. Malakite sits still. Another crack breaks through, closer this time. Rodel grabs the ores

and pushes off tree roots, back towards the middle of the river.

Malakite hesitantly stammers out, “D- do you see uh- anything uh… Bucko?”

“No. What about you?”

Rodel whispers, “No.”

Suddenly, the sound of another rowboat close behind alerts the group. All of them stand

up and watch as the boat’s nose comes into view. A cloaked man of commanding stature

standing on the boat, wielding a great sword. Another cloaked man rows until the boats are

adjacent. Rodel grabs an oar and holds it like a glaive. Malakite rests his hand on the hilt of the

great sword strapped to his belt. Bucko bows cordially.

“Hello, friends. Those are nice cloaks. Are you clergymen?” Bucko quips.

Another forceful crack, this time coming from above, followed by a branch snapped at

one end. The branch falls into the water and Bucko looks up. Two slender lizardfolk women shift

through the vines that stretch between trees, over the river. Thwack! Another branch plummets,

this time next to Bucko on the boat, with one of its ends sharpened. One of the women swiftly

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drops down behind Rodel. The other falls not a moment later, on the opposite end, behind

Bucko.

“Sisters?” Bucko bids.

Instantly, the two boat-jacking, sliver-pupil-eyed women strike Rodel and Bucko

simultaneously. Bucko clutches his stomach, dazed from the lightning-quick, scaly fist.

Clink! Greatswords clash after Malakite unsheathes in time to parry an overhead swing.

The cloaked man groans and throws back his hood revealing the face of an ape with black hair

matted down by rain.

Rodel takes the abrupt punch on the chin followed by two more to his sides, and he

expels a thunderous growl. Fury runs through his veins and the oar snaps in his fist. She lands

two more strikes on Rodel’s body. He whips the flat end of the oar around smacking her across

the face with enough force to send her head first into the cloaked rower’s lap.

“Can’t we talk about this?”, sighs a cowering Bucko.

Malakite whirls his weapon clockwise, sliding it up to his opponent’s blade. Like a

hammer, he swings his sword down, forcing them both to point to the water. Rodel targets the

preoccupied foe with another violent whack.

Next to them, the reptilian beats down on a defenseless Bucko. With the ape-man glazed,

Malakite turns on Bucko’s attacker. He cleaves into her neck from behind and knocks her head

off like a dandelion with one clean slice. The body wilts and Malakite boots it over the gunwale.

“Thank you.” Bucko whimpers.

“Don’t mention it.” Malakite helps him up.

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Sunlight dims and Rodel swings, connecting again with the ape-man’s head.

The rower pushes the unconscious female off him and stands, muttering in another

tongue under his breath. He twirls his gloved fingers towards the other boat, his intensifying

chant echoes and his eyes glow red under his hood. Finger-shaped plumes of smoke billow from

his sleeves and reach out towards the trio. The lizardfolk next to him stirs awake, and the ape-

man raises his greatsword over his shoulder. Then without warning, the rain around the cloaked

men’s boat freezes around them and binds all three together in a slab of ice as big as a hay bale.

“Countered!”, a shrill voice cries distantly.

Paddling into view, a scarlet-haired dwarf on a dinghy calls out another enchantment and

the ice and frozen bodies shatter, crumbling into the water.

“Good god.” Malakite gasps.

Rodel climbs into the empty boat and looks under the thwarts for any remains the

assailants might’ve left. The dwarf rows closer to meet the two boats.

“I just saved you.” He declares in a voice like doors creaking.

The rainfall calms so, Malakite and Rodel start getting the water out of the boats. Bucko

takes out his lute and responds in song.

Thank you, ‘Red.’

I would be dead, but instead

Malakite cut off a head

And you used a spell or two.

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“I like that.” The dwarf chuckles.

As he sings, Bucko heals himself and his companions. His mystical abilities come from

within and are enhanced by his music. He is a warlock, a variation of a human with arcane

ancestry. The dwarf, on the other hand, gained his power through sage advice and strenuous

research.

Quietly, Malakite prays to his god. “Please forgive this dwarf. Have mercy.”

“What was that?” Chirps the dwarf.

“A prayer.”

The dwarf scoffs.

“Are you from the Empire?” Rodel asks.

“Did you find anything on the boat?”, the dwarf spouts, ignoring Rodel’s question.

Rodel looks down at the boat again and sees a stone under the shallow water he stands in.

He picks it up and flashes it to the dwarf before slipping it into his belt.

“Ooh. What about in the water?”

Next to the boat, Rodel sees the ape-man’s great sword stabbed into the riverbed.

Crouching, he goes elbow deep minding the water ripples for signs of mips or alligators. He rips

the blade from the stone’s clutch. Worn from heavy use, but sharp and suiting Rodel’s brawn.

“I think I might be lost,” the dwarf exclaims, “you look like you know the jungle well.”

He looks to Rodel with eyes swelling like ripe coconuts.

“Yeah. I was raised here.” Rodel confirms.

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“Help me. Take me with you.”

“What are you doing so far from the Empire?” Malakite jumps in to query.

“I wanted to expand my research, learn more about Lahcyra.”

“What’s your name, ‘Red’?” Bucko inquires.

“Vallin. Vallin Sinderstone. The top student in my class and evoker in training.” He puffs

his chest triumphantly.

The group introduces themselves, and after explaining their mission to Vallin, he joins

them on their expedition southward.

Night falls on them, so Bucko sings an incantation to conjure a light from the stern to

guide their passage. Rodel acting like a captain, points out landmarks or jungle specific species

of plants and animals, to Vallin’s enthusiasm and Malakite’s disinterest. Finally, they spot a

substantial school of mips blocking their way and form a plan involving the water-manipulating

spell that saved them some hours earlier.

Meanwhile, the emissary charged with delivering the package to the designated Headman

has traded that responsibility to a ranger in the east. A young half-warlock by the name of

Xanros Glade. Renowned in the savannahs and eastern rivers of Tudamai for his impressive

hunting, Xanros was familiar with this route and went on foot knowing it would be faster than if

he rafted upstream. He notices the party of four floating down, nocks an arrow and finds cover

behind a bulky tree.

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The snores of hefty creatures sleeping, coos and hoots of nocturnal birds, and a ringing

hum of chirping insects surround them. Rodel has quieted down since Vallin has put his nose in a

book. Malakite rows forward and Bucko is asleep on the new boat. Rodel notices a giant, mossy

green alligator peeking out from the water. It creeps forward with only its solid black eyes and

spiked nose above the water. Then, Rodel looks for its prey. He locks eyes with a readied archer,

Xanros perched in the undergrowth taking aim on him.

“Hey!” Rodel shouts.

By habit, Xanros looses the arrow at the blue-scaled, yelling man. Now moving to the

edge of the river, the gator lunges at Xanros and chomps down with tremendous force. He avoids

its rotten teeth with a nimble sidestep. His arrow whizzes by Rodel and sinks into the water

behind. They row faster to catch up to the archer. Muck spews from the monstrous alligator’s

putrid mouth, and it lets out a hateful hiss. Then, Xanros reaches over his shoulders, crossing his

arms and unsheathing the shortswords strapped to his back. He slashes at the beast with cunning

precision and carves through its tough hide like a candied ham. The alligator makes another

feeble attempt at snapping down on him, thrashing around helplessly. Both shortswords slam

into its skull and a black ichor fountains out.

“Are you alright?” Rodel says rowing in closer.

“Yes. Yes.” Xanros says catching his breath, “Now I’ll be on my way.”

“Wait!” Vallin pops up from his reading, “I know you! You’re that hunter from the coast.

Glade, right?”

“Xanros. Xanros Glade.”, he nods and continues walking.

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“We could use your help. Those fish need to be gone before morning.”

“I’m a hunter,” he says walking away, “not a fisherman!”

“We’re making way for an important package.” Malakite asserts, “For a headman.”

Xanros saw the Haranrae sigil emblazoned on Malakite’s breastplate. A visage he fears as

much as he respects so, he turns and walks back towards them.

“It looks like you’ve already done that.” He throws his haversack in front of him, over the

shoulder. “I was paid to get this across the mountains.”

“You got here sooner than we expected,” says Malakite, “and we thought you’d be in a

boat.”

“Yes. Yes. It would’ve taken much longer. The courier who paid me probably wouldn’t

have made it far.” Xanros smiles, “Didn’t look much like a courier.”

They bring their boats to the edge of the river and Xanros joins them. After everyone,

except Bucko who is still asleep, introduces themselves and they start upstream, curiosity

thickens.

“What’s in the bag?”, says Vallin with his face in an old tome.

The question kicks an eyebrow upon Malakite’s square face. Xanros notices the subtle

glare of disapproval in his eyes and shoots him a look for permission. Malakite shrugs. Out of his

sack, Xanros reveals a leather pouch. “I think it’s a book so I didn’t bother looking.”

“Could it be a spell book?” Rodel chimes in.

“Let me look,” Vallin claps his pages together, “I could tell you.”

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“Maybe it’s not for our eyes. Headman Harbon sent me…”

“How do you know Harbon? I’ve never seen you in Lahcyra before today.” Rodel

interjects, “I’ve never seen any knight anywhere near Harbon’s Temple.”

It’s not like Rodel to question authority, but he’s carried a slight suspicion since he first

saw Malakite. He had never heard of lizardfolk fighting for the Empire. On the other hand,

Rodel’s apparent lack of animosity is enough to convince Malakite to confide.

“He doesn’t know it, but I’m his son.”

“I thought Headman are celibate.” Vallin remarks, “That’s what I read anyway.”

“That’s why he doesn’t know.” Malakite begrudgingly states, “He broke his vow with my

mother, and she hid me. So, I was raised in Fort West by a soldier my mother knew. He taught

me honor and gave me a place at his table before he passed.”

“How’d you get this gig?” Bucko stirs awake.

“I got an order from Fort East.” Malakite explains, “It requested a knight to round up a

crew capable of clearing a path. So I came to Lahcyra for mercenaries.”

“Aren’t you lucky you stumbled on all of us?” Vallin cuts smugly, “A famous hunter

from the east, a burly, blue barbarian, and a future greatwizard.”

“What about me?” Bucko showing a sardonic smile says.

“I believe him.” Xanros adds, “He doesn’t act like a trickster, and since we're being

honest, Bucko worries me more.”

The latent admiration and envy Vallin has for Xanros induces a concurrent nod. Malakite

remains indifferent, and Rodel feels torn. Being brought up in the jungle and hearing the Pubbe’s

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stories of vagrancy in his youth left Rodel with a supple heart. Contrarily, he learned from Pubbe

that strangers of unknown origins are buyers and nothing more.

“Where do you come from?” Rodel turns to Bucko.

“I’m not sure.” Bucko sits up.

“What do you mean?” Xanros scorns.

“I mean I can’t remember. When I woke up, I was under a tree, in a jungle I didn’t

recognize. I had my things with me, the things I could remember. Then I checked my pockets,

and I found a message. To me from me. It was wet, and most of the words are gone or illegible.”

“What about the other words?” Rodel asks.

“Something about an explosion, a traitorous violet-haired sorceress, and a lute-playing

tavern cat.” A moment of melancholy moves over Bucko, and he clutches his lute, “I remember

bits. The sorceress had a strange name. There were others, a group like us. She turned on them.

Sold us out and blew up a tavern, killing in cold blood. I remember that cat,” he quivers with

anger now, “I gave him gold. Gold he’ll never spend.”

“Wow,” cries Vallin tastelessly, “that’s horrible, Bucko.”

With his worry stifled, Xanros feels a touch of shame. The hint of vengeance in Bucko’s

voice is enough for the group to not only accept his story but to sympathize with him too. Now,

the sounds of the rainforest fill the space around them, and rowing continues. Bucko packs more

pipeweed, and Vallin uses a simple cantrip of combustion. The five of them pass around the

pipe, and after one rotation, Rodel falls asleep. After that, Xanros takes over rowing the second

boat.

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After a few short piss stops and pipe circles, they reach their destination just before dawn.

Xanros kicks Rodel to wake him up when they get to the docks. Stepping onto the docks, Rodel

notices the naiad named Marigold through the door of her hut.

If there is anyone Rodel looks up to more than Pubbe, it is Marigold. The budded vines in

her hut blossom into roses whenever he’s around, and her presence fills his chest with

effervescent fervor. Her hut which is next to Pubbe’s was once an enchanted tree that she turned

into an apothecary in association with Pubbe. Rodel sometimes takes up an entire day helping

her after his daily chores. One major difference makes romance difficult and entirely impossible

in Marigold’s eyes. She, as a naiad, naturally outlives Rodel by a century or two.

On the path to Harbon, the group crosses Dawncaller Kilo. An ash-gray, bumpy-skinned

woman, taller and bulkier than most men, stands before them. Her stare is ominous with eyes

like molten bronze. She is Stoneborn, a descendant of Mountain Giants. As a Dawncaller, she

must awake earlier to oversee the tribal temples.

“We’re here to see Headman Harbon, miss.” Malakite announces, stepping forward.

She scowls.

“I have a package for him. From the south.” Xanros beckons.

Her eyes sweep over them, and she grants them passage up the temple stairs. The two-

floor building is small and made of stone bricks, with steps curving around on the outside. Inside

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his chambers shrouded by the morning light, kneeling by a window, Harbon is praying. To avoid

disturbing him, Malakite stands in the doorway. Vallin walks between his legs and into the room.

“Hello!”, he cries.

Harbon kisses a small idol he was clutching and gets up, “Good morning! If you’ve come

for morning worship, we’re starting soon.”

“Headman, we have delivered your package early.” Malakite boasts.

“Ah! The letter said it’d be here tonight.” He smiles, “Thank you, sir.”

A displacing chill comes over Malakite. In all his knighthood, only the man who raised

him ever called him that. Then, Xanros hands him the leather sleeved book, and he presents it.

Harbon happily takes the parcel and sets it down in the window. He then grabs an amulet from

his podium by the window and hands it to Malakite. A disk of gold with a crystal center and

branches carved around it, on a gold chain.

“I don’t have any coin,” he says timidly, “but I wish to give you this as a reward. I see

you’re a holy man yourself. Once a day, pray with this. It will heal wounds.”

Malakite accepts and kneels, “Thank you, Headman Harbon.”

Headman Harbon grins as Malakite follows Vallin and the rest back down the stairs.

They gather outside, and Bucko eagerly asks, “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Yeah, Malakite. Don’t you want to tell him?” Vallin whines.

“I can’t,” he mutters, “no one would respect a man of the cloth who broke his vows.”

“I think I would.” Bucko jests.

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“They might if they knew his son is knight,” Xanros says.

Rodel does not join the conversation. Instead, he considers his own feelings about

meeting his parents. When Pubbe found him as a child, Rodel was alone near Serpent’s Gorge.

Pubbe suspected he was left there by a nomadic clan of barbarians who felt threatened by his

blue color. Rodel decides he would like to know if given a chance. Then, he remembers that

Pubbe is getting old. Suddenly, the conversation stops when Dawncaller Kilo passes by quickly.

She points back down the path and whistles. Rodel knows the whistle as a kind of wake up call

the Dawncallers use for villagers. They watch as she climbs the stairs and meets with Harbon.

“Are we done here?” Asks Xanros, “I might make it home before dark if I leave now.”

Malakite looks up to the window in the temple and sees Harbon waving at him. Another

chill snakes up his spine when Harbon smiles at him. He turns to Xanros saying, “Yeah. Thank

you for your help.”

“Look!”, Vallin cries with his finger pointed at Harbon, “We might get to see what the

book is. Maybe we should wait.”

All of them look up to the window to Harbon who’s removing a large, red-bound book

from the sleeve. Except for Rodel who is looking where Kilo pointed and trying to make out

some shadows in the distance. Now, Kilo is with Harbon watching as he examines the book. He

opens it, and immediately it erupts with a blast of fire, filling the temple chamber with red and

white flames. The roaring explosion muffles the fading, painful screams of Harbon and Kilo

before they go quiet and smoke as dark as space billows, curling around the window. Rodel

looks behind him at the fire and feels a pit in his stomach.

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Malakite’s face sinks into a frown and then twists into a lifeless stare. The rest of them

gasp in shock and Bucko grips his lute tight. A moment passes, and the fire nearly dies out

instantly.

“What was that?” Xanros shouts, readying two arrows in his bow and scanning the area

around the temple.

“I’ve heard of assassinations like this. Some combination of old spells. They don’t teach

that stuff in school.” Vallin replies.

Malakite growls, rips his sword from its sheathe, and runs up the stairs. Bucko follows

behind and grabs a poultice jar from his sack. The interior of the room is black now, and two

charred bodies lie on a bed of ash. They swallow their fear and Malakite kneels next to the

bodies, clutches his amulet and says a prayer. Bucko plays a mournful tune on his bamboo flute.

Outside, Xanros covers the temple in his sights, Rodel turns back to find the shadows he

saw getting closer, and Vallin starts to panic.

“Rodel!” He shouts frantically.

“Not now, Vallin.”

“Rodel I-”

“There! Look.” Rodel says gesturing where Kilo pointed.

Three lizardfolk approach the temple. The middle is Vallin’s size, and the two on the

ends are in monk robes. They march towards Vallin, Rodel, and Xanros. Malakite looks down

from the temple window with Bucko. A feathered crown sits on the small one’s head, the Chief

Father’s crown. Standing before them is Rex, and the ground seems to shake as he gets closer.

21

“What happened here?” He calls, “Rodel?”

“We brought the Headman a package, and it blew up in his face.” Rodel answers,

“Dawncaller Kilo, too.”

The monks run into the temple at Rex’s command. Malakite points them to the open and

intact book on the window. After they inspect it, the four exit the temple with the book. Rodel

explains to Rex the orders Malakite received and what followed up until the explosion. Rex

glances at Vallin, Xanros, and Bucko with suspicion. Bucko’s eyes are glassy and Xanros,

feeling used, bites his tongue in frustration and guilt. The monks lay the book down ten paces

away from Rex who stabs his staff into the ground and claps his hands together. A small cloud of

violet dust bursts from his hands and form the shape of another hand. He grabs his staff again

and uses it to control the third hand. It floats to the book and flips through some pages.

“It seems to be harmless now.” He says dispelling the violet hand.

One of the monks takes the book, and they return to Rex’s side. Out of respect, everyone

gives Rex the floor. Even Vallin who is eager to speak does his best to stand quiet and still.

“The book is filled with nonsense.” Rex snarls, “Cultist ramblings over ancient gods.”

“That’s what this is about?” Malakite cries, “I’ve never seen a cult do this before. Why

now?”

“You tell me, sir knight. Who gave you these orders?”

“The baron in Fort East requested me to go north to make way for a package from

Malaccette.”

“Why just you?” Rex says.

22

“I’m the only knight with green skin.”

“And you?”, Rex looks to Xanros, “Where did you get the book?”

Then from all around them, the sound of wood splitting and cracking. Suddenly, they’re

surrounded by one dozen robed men who begin chanting deeply, Vannix! Vannix! Two muffled

screams accompanying the men, one deep and guttural, the other soft and airy. The chanters inch

closer to them, the chant getting louder.

Xanros brings his bow up and aims at the cultists coming from behind. The monks form

defensive stances around Rex to protect him. Sword in hand, Malakite roars, and lunges towards

the robed chanters. Before he can connect, a wall of fire tears through the undergrowth and the

vines above. It stretches around to meet at both ends creating a circle between them and the

cultists. His sword goes red hot burning his hands, and his brow is singed, but he stops before

running through the wall. Vallin tugs on Rodel’s belt trying to get his attention.

“What is this?” Rex shouts.

An opaque, man-sized hole forms in the center of the wall before them, a portal from

which two fiery hellhounds leap into view. Around the hellhound necks are blackened metal

chains leading back to the portal. On the other end of the chains, red hands reach out and release

the growling hellhounds. The barrier of fire reduces, and the red woman steps out after the

beasts.

Xanros turns and lets his arrows fly, one at each hound. The arrows sink into their heads

and instantly fizzle away to smoke. He readies two more and stands by.

“This is The Blazing Spire,” she scorns.

23

“How did you know I’d be here?” Rex demands.

She points to Rodel and smirks saying, “I believe you found something in one of our

boats.”

Rodel pulls the stone from his belt, and he cringes. The wall of fire spreads, leaving a gap

where a cultist stands next to two flaming cages. In one cage, Pubbe is bound screaming through

a gag, in the other is Marigold. Fury fills Rodel’s veins as he grabs his greatsword and swings at

the red woman. He feels a sharp, stinging pain shoot through his leg when he moves ahead. The

hounds pounce at him, blocking his strike. When he raises the blade for another bash, one of the

hounds bites his wrist. Steam hisses from the wound, and he pummels the hound in retaliation.

Xanros looses his arrows once more, this time targeting the red woman. Both plant in her chest,

she winces, and the wall diminishes with her.

Some of the cultists make their way into the circle in a line behind her. Malakite runs to

them, spinning his blade, attacking three at once and blood spills from their stomachs before they

collapse. Low notes chug out as Bucko thumps down on his lute strings and sings:

Xanros on the hunt

Shoot that wicked cunt

Two arrows stick through her shoulder, and she shrieks. Again, the burning barrier

weakens. Now, all the cultists are visible through it. Four of them, armed with daggers attack the

monks from both sides. The monks manage to fend them off until the one between the cages

throws a ball of flame at them, blasting them away and leaving Rex unprotected. Rodel raises his

sword to the sky and stabs it through a hound, turning it to ember.

24

The red woman contracts her body, burning away the arrows. She begins to levitate and

advance to Rex who braces himself by his staff. The other four cultists move in on the group.

Rodel swipes the second hound down into a pile of char and then turns to the red woman. Behind

them, Malakite slashes at the cultists, and Xanros takes out his shortswords.

Her hair seems to combust as she gets closer to Rex, wisps of hair morphing into white

flames. Rex digs his sharp nails into his staff and mutters, “What do you want?”

She howls, “I want you to feel my pain. You’re going to suffer like I suffered.”

With each word, her form seems to grow, and the wall of fire grows stronger again. Two

more pairs of hellhounds jump through portals, and the circle gets smaller, tighter around them.

Her back hunches forward, curling over Rex, and her face is riddled with anger never purer. A

couple of hounds claw at Malakite and Bucko kicks at one. Then, the cultist between the cages

throws another ball of fire and Vallin counters it, sending it back. The force knocks her hood

back revealing violet hair.

Bucko trembles with anger and shouts, “You! I remember you!” He runs forward,

through the gap in the firewall. His body flies at her, and he tackles her to the ground.

Vallin’s feet slam into the ground and conjures blue flames in his palms. His scarlet hair

stands straight up and glows white. He yells out an incantation and balls up fists, veins pop in his

head. With a deafening slap, he brings his palms together, and a bolt of lightning strikes down on

the red woman. Electric energy spreads through the forest floor, shocking all the cultists and

bringing them down. The cages break open, releasing Pubbe and Marigold. Rodel runs over to

them and unties them. Bucko gets up from the sorceress, realizing she’s unconscious. Xanros

looks over Vallin who is panting and sweating. Helping Rex, Malakite gets the monks up.

25

Rex’s monks assist Malakite in rounding up the cultists, and Rodel tends to Pubbe and

Marigold. Xanros asks Vallin how he pulled off such an effective spell and Vallin proudly

shares.

“I came to the jungle for spells like that. Ancient magic from an ancient race. For that

spell, all I was missing was one component.” He smirks at Rodel, “A scale of a blue dragon.”

Rodel rubs his leg, and everyone’s eyes point towards him. “I’m not a dragon though.”,

he says.

“Yes. You are. You are Rodel Darnak. The last known descendant of the Cerulean

Conclave. I’ve been studying it for decades, and I traced it to you.”

“You five.” Rex calls out, “You saved me. You are Muziza Feri.”

“What does that mean?” Xanros asks.

“It means he endorses you, now.” Pubbe cries out.

Rodel looks around at Pubbe, Bucko, Malakite, Xanros, Vallin, and Marigold. A feeling

of triumph washes over them all, and he embraces Marigold.

They all head back to Pubbe’s hut and acquire supplies for a journey to get the cultists to

the nearest oubliette. Marigold’s hut is blooming with roses, and a sweet scent is in the air.

“How long do dragons live?” Rodel asks Vallin.