Chapter 7

NOW

We were bruised.

We were bloody.

And we weren't even in the thick of it, yet.

Sabal had been impossibly quick — another time stop spell?— to use her single magical shard on the pillar closest to her. What had seemed a fight in our favour moments ago, now saw us on the defensive.

Whilst we'd barred the door behind us to slow her reinforcements, we'd only had the advantage of numbers for a scant few seconds. Now there were four of her. All perfect mirror images of each other. And each as deadly and dangerous as the last.

Nathyrra was engaged with one, both a flurry of blades and shadows.

Valen was actively defending against two more. He bore down on one as the other scored a slash at his unprotected flank. He swung his flail in a wide arc, forcing her back. Then, with a roar of rage, he rushed the other.

I forced myself into slow even breaths; arrow notched and bow taught. My shoulder blades burned under the stress, as I held the bow in position below my chin.

I scanned the field, backing up against a pillar lest the final Sabal get the slip on me.

Valen gave a shout of pained anger, dropping to a knee.

I forced myself to exhale slowly as I lined up my new target.

I released the arrow, aiming for the middle of her back.

The arrow lodged in the shoulder of one of his assailants, her bloody blade shining in the Throne Room's limited light.

She paused.

That was all the advantage Valen needed. He swept the legs out from under her with his flail's chain, before regaining his footing.

I paused, hand raised and ready to draw another arrow.

The air shifted beside me and I felt the downy hairs on my neck shift.

I dropped my bow, ducking to the side in a roll as Sabal slashed at where I'd been a moment before. She bore her teeth in a snarl.

I hit the floor hard, before scrambling to my feet.

I drew my knife and stepped out of range.

She was upon me, leaping forward and driving her shoulder into my chest, knocking the wind from me and forcing me back. My back slammed into the pillar behind me and I gasped desperately. I don't know what happened to my bow, but it was gone.

She was angry. This wasn't the cool and collected Sabal we'd fought before.

And this was definitely no mirror image.

I dropped to the floor and rolled to the side, gulping down air. Sabal's glowing daggers slashed the air where my neck had been.

I staggered.

The drow woman spun on me, eyes narrowed in concentration. She lifted a hand, weapon pointed at me.

She pulled back her lips in a snarl, spitting out the first phrase of an arcane spell.

I pulled my forearm back and flung my knife.

It wobbled momentarily but flew true. I thought I had her until she easily battered it aside with her own blades.

The spell died on her lips.

I drew my longsword. Not enough time for another attempt at throwing a knife.

'Finally,' I heard Enserric's lazy drawl in my mind as I drew him in an arc, keeping the magic weapon between us.

She smiled, bright white teeth bared in a feral snarl.

Then her eyes widened and I saw the shadows shift behind her.

I pressed my advantage and charged at her. I plunged my sword through Sabal's stomach, as Nathyrra's blades crossed her throat.

I grimaced as warm blood sprayed my face.

My sword's easy laughter filled my head.

I was turning even as I pulled the bloody weapon free, and my breathing was coming out in ragged gasps.

Valen was still engaged with the final Sabal. I searched desperately for my abandoned bow.

He lifted his flail, chain whipping taught above his head.

Suddenly, she paused, before simply fading out of existence.

He brought the heavy weapon down with a roar, right where the drow had been.

He left the head of his flail on the ground, shoulders heaving.

The other body at Valen's feet, her head a bloody pulp, faded away.

I wiped as much of the blood from my face as I could with the back of my wrist as I knelt by the true Sabal's body. She was heaving in shallow gulps of air, her body convulsing as blood spilt from her throat.

I bit my bottom lip uncomfortably as she caught my eye, gaze red and full of hate.

I shifted my eyes away from the drow's broken body, prepared to wait. Then I caught Nathyrra's raised white brow.

I swallowed hard, reminding myself this woman had been trying to kill us seconds earlier and would have no qualms about watching us die.

I approached her broken form cautiously, kneeling gently by her side. She gasped again, a horrible wet sucking sound. She was trying to say something. More blood spilt from her neck.

Without meeting her hateful stare, I carefully pulled the shard of glass we'd been fighting over from her prying fingers. As an afterthought, I pocketed the gleaming silver ring on her index finger.

"Uh," I started uncomfortably. "Thanks for those."

The door behind us shook again with the force of Sabal's reinforcements, the handle turning in its place.

Tense, I stood, placing my free hand on my belt, body tense and ready for another fight.

I needn't have worried.

Nathyrra ushered a few words of magic and pointed towards the door, renewing the spell that created the glowing green apparition.

Bigby's interposing hand was certainly useful...

Without another word I made towards the waiting fool, picking up my far thrown bow and throwing knife, my prize in hand.

His eyes left the dying body of Sabal at my approach, his face pale and grim.

I held the shards out to him.

"I hope once our Queen Shaori is restored she leaves the blood here in the throne room, to remind her people of the folly of war." He said, eyes focused on the shards.

Yeesh, you're welcome.

He shook his head. "But such concerns are not mine." A sigh. "Once I restore the mirror, I will again be nothing more than a dancing fool." Though his voice was steady, I could see the fear in his eyes.

Nathyrra, replacing the knives to her belt, stepped up beside me. "A noble sacrifice." She nodded her head once. "I hope it is not forgotten once the kingdom is restored." The bloodlust radiating from her only moments before was completely forgotten.

My heart was still hammering in my ears.

The Fool smiled wanly at her kind words. "Now that the shards have all been collected in the Throne Room, I can begin the incantation to repair the mirror. Thank you, all. The Avariel are forever in debt to you."

He motioned to the dust-covered rug, once a grand weave of colours, and I placed the shards at his feet.

He placed his thick-fingered hand above the shimmering pile, and with a few hushed words, the room filled with light so bright that when I blinked it did nothing to dampen it. The world rung in my ears as I felt the room shift around us.

When I opened my eyes again, the Queen stood before us, restored mirror in hand. The Fool, a vacant expression that hadn't been there before, now on his slack face. The Queen's hand rested on his shoulder.

"I thank you, kind Aethen," A solemn nod.

She held the mirror towards me. An offering.

I accepted the artefact — the reason we'd started with the mystery island — hoping my eagerness didn't show.

One challenge down.

THEN

I was exhausted.

Turned out the first component of my 'training' wasn't very exciting.

I'd fed the school's chickens and sheep, milked the cows, and then cleaned out the stalls in the stables.

The only thing that had even slightly strayed from Drogan's strict instructions had been that I'd put aside some of the milk to feed to the stray ginger barn cat — who I'd named Mr Meowgi — who'd successfully tripped me up a few times that morning.

I don't know what it was supposed to have taught me, but it had succeeded in making me stink almost as bad as the livestock.

Plus, my back ached like a mother fucker.

The second part of my training was even worse: Running a lap around Hilltop's walls.

Which wasn't even close to fucking possible.

I gasped in a deep breath through burning ribs.

I'd like to see the stumpy-arsed dwarf try…

I lent over a bush, wiping the back of my sleeve across my mouth with a groan. Bile was on my breath.

Misha was jogging on the spot to my left, watching with a look of disgust plain on her face. Her cheeks were flushed and she breathed with careful, controlled puffs of air.

The sun was rising on the horizon. We were supposed to be back before it was fully visible.

I groaned again, fighting against the spinning world around me.

Drogan should be happy if I make it back, timing be damned.

"You done?" The paladin-in-training questioned between far more dignified huffs.

I waved her off, too out of breath to insist she continue on or go fuck herself. She rolled her eyes.

I spat into the bush again, keeping my eyes on the infuriating young woman as I did so. She pulled a disgusted face, but to her strength, didn't turn to leave.

Groaning in defeat, I pushed myself up straight again, trying my best to ignore the burning in my legs.

When was the last time I'd gone for a run?

My following 'Let's get this over with', came out more like: "Lets, yeah? Fuck."

She'd shaken her head minutely but hadn't begrudged me my slower pace as we'd continued towards Hilltop's main gates, chasing the growing sun.

The sun was well overhead when we finally reached Drogan's school.

The half-orc I'd met the night before greeted us with a toothy grin. Xanos sat on a rocking chair by the front door, enjoying the morning's rays as it melted away the fog and frost. A murky cup of water sat at his feet and an open book in a language that definitely wasn't English was on his lap.

Misha and I approached him, the younger woman stopping to stretch.

I fell to the floor in a heap, knees bent and starting at the cloudy blue sky above us. I gulped in great gasping mouthfuls of air as he chuckled warmly at our misfortune.

"Good run?" He questioned with teasing mirth.

I groaned and Misha gave an indignant huff.

I lent towards Xanos' cup and drained it in a couple of spluttering mouthfuls, most of it ending up on my new cotton shirt, ignoring his indignant objections.

I threw it aside and then flopped back onto my back and closed my eyes.

I don't know how long I lay there, Misha and Xanos discussing the dwarf Dorna's location — the fucking tavern — when Drogan's face suddenly blocked out the sun.

His bushy brows swallowed his eyes in a deep frown, his hands on his hips in open disapproval.

Shit.

I scrambled to stand, the world spinning once more. I flailed, grabbing the top of Xanos' rocking chair, nearly upending him — if his gasp was anything to go by.

I blinked at the dwarf's open disapproval. Misha continued stretching behind him, a smirk clear on her lips, green eyes twinkling in delight.

"I thought I told you back before the sun." He pushed his half-moon glasses further up his nose.

I'm tired from my travel here, my brain insisted on the lie. I opened my mouth to follow through when he turned on Misha.

"Both of you," he started, "I want another lap."

She paused mid-stretch, her eyes darting between myself and Drogan. Indignant anger flashed across her face.

I smirked at her over Drogan's shoulder. I covered my mouth, too late, behind a hand.

"I was waiting for her," she went red, cutting a hand in my direction.

Drogan stepped back into the school's doorway. "You're a team," he shook a stubby finger at her. "You're only as strong as the weakest link. Another lap." He slammed the door.

The following two weeks passed in much the same fashion. We woke hours before the sun — yep, I'm still stuck in this nightmare of a dream-world, my first thought every morning. I tended to the animals. I'd run a lap around Hilltop with Misha. We couldn't finish the lap in time, because of me. We'd run another lap around Hilltop. Dried meat for lunch followed by stretches with Hilltop's soldiers. Before another lap with my unwitting companion.

Then, I'd prepare dinner alone — yay; more boiled vegetables — as the other's did who knows what out in town. They'd come and go in the evening, sometimes eating around the table together, sometimes missing dinner entirely.

Every night, after collapsing in bed by the light of a candle, I'd pull out Emma's notebook and memorised the different creatures and plants she'd illustrated within.

Broad waxy leaves, green with red veins. Floating on water, with a single stringy root below the surface. Bloodpurge. Found in freshwater marshes. Neutralises minor poisons.

A small leafy herb. Bloodstaunch. Found in gullies in arid temperatures and foothills. Slows bleeding when ground into powder. Smells like honey.

A tuber with green and purple leaves. Single green stalk for a flower with two petals. Nararoot. Found in the shade of trees in cold climates. Birth control.

There were pages upon pages that continued in such a fashion until it suddenly stopped a third of the way through. There was seemingly no pattern to the codex. They were probably just added randomly as she travelled.

I started filling it with everything I learnt, wanting more than anything to complete Emma's notebook and remember as much as I could to help me with what was to come.

Then, on a morning like any other that week, I met Misha at the school's doors after mucking out the stalls. Orange cat hair littered my ankles and I smelt — like always — of shit. The cold air burned my lungs as I stretched, going through my breathing exercises.

She approached me with a nod, and we were off without a word.

A little over a half hour later, we arrived back at the school with victorious shouts, the emerging sun throwing drastic shadows all around us.

Misha was breathing just as heavily as me as we stretched; huge grins on both of our flushed faces. Drogan had come outside, watching us with a bemused smirk under his thick braided beard.

From then on, we only ran the once in the morning, joining the guards afterwards for sword practice instead of just catching their stretches at the tail-end.

A young soldier with fluff on his lip took us through movements with a long wooden sword; the exercise more akin to yoga than sword-practice. I enjoyed this component of our training, focusing only on the movements and the breathing, letting the world around me fall away. The dummy swords had hilts long enough for a tight two-handed grip which felt awkward in my small hands, but I persisted.

We parted ways with the soldiers in the middle of each day with a smile and a handshake with those who had given their time.

I left each time wondering just what they got out of it.

I found out at the end of that week, when Misha and I sat in their barracks sanding back the practice swords, sharpening their blades, and oiling their leathers for the majority of our 'day off'. Misha helped me with these tasks with patience better suited to a motherly teacher than a paladin-in-training, despite my teasing.

We cut through the monotony, discussing the different movements we'd learnt that week and chatting about what we hoped to learn when we got to the actual fighting.

That afternoon brought me my the first opportunity to explore the town at my own leisure.

"So where're you headed first?" Dorna pressed as we ate dinner.

"The Bubbling Cauldron!" Xanos gave me a hard whack on the back. I spluttered, spilling most of my drink. "Isn't that right, Emma?"

I shook my head, pounding my chest to clear the water I'd swallowed the wrong way. "Gonna have a bit of a wander."

Most of my exploration was around Drogan's school and barn, the outside of the town's walls, and the barracks that backed onto the Community Hall. I'd barely had a spare moment to myself to even consider exploring the other buildings, beyond the occasional curious glance as I rushed past.

"Well, when you get thirsty for a real drink, meet us at The Cauldron," Xanos pushed his empty bowl away and rose from the table with a belch.

Dorna chuckled. "If I haven't drunk this lightweight under the table by then, ey?"

I caught Misha's disapproving glance, and she perked up at my attention.

"I'll be helping Veraunt with some filing this evening," she paused for a moment, before; "There's always plenty of work at the 'Hall, if you want it." Misha said this last bit with a tilt of her head.

I shrugged, flattered at the invites. "I'll see how I go. Got actual training with Drogan tomorrow morning, so I don't want to go too crazy."

Drogan had let me know that afternoon in as few words, so I had no idea what to expect. So far, the other's training with Drogan had been completely different — so I couldn't go based off of their experience. I'd actually caught Xanos trying to conjure something whilst Drogan had thrown things at his head! Somehow I doubted that was on our schedule.

Misha left before us, and Dorna, Xanos and I were quick to follow after rugging up against the autumn evening's chill.

Fuck this weather for a joke. How am I going to make it through winter? I pulled my cloak tighter around me.

I followed them as far as the first hut and offered them a wave of goodbye as they continued bickering towards The Bubbling Cauldron.

I stood before a small shop I'd passed every day. It was mainly timber panels, built against an old oak tree. Large orange leaves littered the thatched roof. The door was closed against the chill, but the timber plank with a painted green leaf was still out front.

Good; they're still open.

I gave the door a hard knock before stepping inside. The interior was almost as cold as outside, but it was lit infinitely better. The wall of the room that was the tree's trunk was littered in burning torches, throwing dramatic shadows around the herbalist's shop. Drying plants hung from every inch of the ceiling, giving off a dirty yet sweet smell. I stomped my boots at the door, conscious of the beautiful pelts that lined every inch of the floor.

A head popped out of an adjoining doorway, pushing aside a hanging brown hide to better see me.

I blinked through my surprised stare.

A large garish scar split his face down the middle. Starting in his dark stubble, it pulled one side of his lips into a deep frown, cutting across the ridge of his slightly bent nose. The old scar — white against his sun-weathered skin — bypassed his deep brown eyes, before cutting through his eyebrow and disappearing into his hairline. His brown hair was disrupted by a badgerlock; a patch of white hair where the scar continued.

A pause, then; "You're Drogan's new apprentice, aren't you?" He walked into the room, bare feet making no sound on the plush rugs.

He was in his early to mid-thirties, a short man with impossibly broad shoulders. He rubbed his chin as he took me in, a critical look to his sharp eyes.

"Yeah," I said. He took my offered wrist in greeting. I only paused slightly before introducing myself this time. "Name's Emma."

"Farghan," he replied. "I've seen you running laps the last few weeks. You're getting quicker." He smiled warmly, the scar pulling his lip down on one side.

I groaned, my cheeks warming. "You didn't, did you?" I paused, searching my memory. I frowned. "I didn't see you out there."

Another warm smile. "Doesn't mean I wasn't out there." He tilted his head in question. "But what brings you here?"

I reached for my small satchel, one of the few items Drogan had gifted me with upon arriving. I fished out Emma's notebook with care and handed it to him.

He gently took it from my hands, flicking through the worn pages, stopping occasionally. His brows were turned down.

"I'm hoping to fill it with more," I explained when he handed it back with an impressed curve of his mouth. I nodded around the room, taking in all of the organised mess around us. "You seem like you might be able to help."

Another friendly smile. "And what do I get out of helping you fill your little book?"

I shrugged. "What do you need?"

And so my routine became even busier and my days stupidly longer.

Drogan's first day of training had begun with him gifting me with a magical ring — how had I forgotten about these? — which Drogan explained to me in great detail. The ring was a fail-safe should I find myself in a situation with no escape. When fed with a focus crystals, it would teleport me back to Drogan. He'd gifted me with a singular crystal — clear and about the size of my palm — and the unsaid warning that it was only for emergencies. I placed the ring of my middle finger, one along from the ring I'd been gifted by the strange man my second night here.

Ring and crystal in place, he gave a satisfactory nod.

Then, just when I thought our training was about to start, he told me that meat stocks were running low and that he would like some freshly caught venison.

I opened my mouth, about to ask him where I would purchase it when he handed me a couple of silver coins.

"For a bow," he explained. "Farghan — who I believe you met last night — will be able to string you up one."

I pocketed the coins in a daze, surprised that he knew, before reminding myself he was part of The Harpers. Knowing things was his business.

"Thanks," I nodded slowly. "Lost mine in the tussle with the… the thing." I swallowed, staring at my feet.

He hummed in answer.

"Pack your things," he said. My head shot up. "Weather turning cold as it is, they'll be scarce. I'm looking forward to a harty," he paused to make sure I got the joke, "stew." He looked impossibly pleased with himself

I tried not to baulk.

I was going back out there? Alone?

I was never going to be able to do that on my own…

NOTEBOOK EXTRACT

A double page of Jane's handwriting underneath a crudely drawn map of Hilltop, with icons marking buildings of note.

Hilltop population: roughly 100, mainly human

Drogan's School

Residents: Me, Jane (going by Emma) - human "ranger-in-training", Drogan Droganson - dwarven wizard and cleric (Harper), Misha Waymeet - human paladin-in-training, Xanos Messamos - half-orc sorcerer and barbarian (weird mix), Dorna Trapspringer - dwarven rogue and cleric.

Places of note: Downstairs - locked door, (presumably Drogan's laboratory with tools to create more rogue stones). Main level - kitchen, main hall, Drogan's suite (locked), storage room (food and basic weapons). Upper level - My room (bed, basin, chest), Dorna's room (locked), Xanos' room (locked), Misha's room (unlocked, bless her. Nothing of value), two spare rooms identical to my own.

Misc: Apparently an outhouse is state of the art?!

Drogan and the Tavern's Shared Barn

Residents: Two horses (Drogan's) - I've named them Harry Trotter and Usain Colt, one donkey (the tavern's) - named Donkey, space for three more animals.

Tavern - The Bubbling Cauldron

Residents: Lodar (owner), Mara (chef), Jill (bar-wench, Hilltop isn't very politically correct)

Regulars: Hol Halstrom and Toman (local farmers), Dorna and Xanos (really like drinking), Gery (shady travelling merchant - specialises in poisons, will buy certain herbs), Piper (town drunk - likes to tell a yarn), Belia (entertainer - plays the flute, not very good)

Residence 1: (locked)

Residence 2: (locked)

Residence 3: (locked)

Residence 4: (doesn't take kindly to people walking into their home without knocking)

Residence 5: (locked)

Community Hall and Militia

Residents: Veraunt Skuttlecomb (mayor/asshole), Gilford (cleric), Donnic (guard captain), Jon (guard - will bellow a tune when drinking), fifteen other guards (all male).

Places of note: Small temple to Illmater, guard's quarters (locked chests - couldn't force open), mayor's office (pretentiously big chair - little man syndrome?), kitchen, main hall (long tables - could seat up to 50)

Herbalist's Treehouse

Residents: Farghan (ranger - good with a bow and identifying/using herbs, good tracker, bossy), Bethsheva (winter wolf - Farghan's companion, doesn't take kindly to being mistaken for a dog)

Misc: Pays well for herbs

The Smith

Residents: Fiona (blacksmith/smart-arse), Glendir (Fiona's half-brother/half-wit)

Misc: Trades in arms and armour (too big/heavy)