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    Flick rushed to slam the door on him, the noise seeming to spur Mordren into action. He rolled out of the bed and down to Sean’s side in a smooth motion, showing no sign of his recent impairment.

    “Sire, can you stand?”

    Sean nodded and leaned on the bigger man as he helped him rise. The pain in his chest had merged with that of his broken ribs and he found it difficult to speak. Still, he managed to grin at Mordren.

    Sean could quite literally see Mordren bite his tongue, but the elf had the good grace to smile back at him.

    “Thank you, sire, for making the decision you made. Between taking me into your service and this… rash action of yours, I believe I owe you my life twice over.”

    “That makes us even, then. I may need your help when Aster decides to collect the debt I owe him though.”

    Mordren’s expression sobered. “I suspect you will need more than just my help when that time comes, but you can trust that I will face those dangers beside you.”

    “So will I, lad. Ladies know you can’t seem to do anything on your own.” Flick chimed in, carrying an unconscious Corvane.

    “I thought it was quiet in there.” Sean remarked. “What happened to him?”

    “Looks he got a bit too aggressive with the door and bashed himself silly.”

    Sean sighed. “He has some things to answer for when we make it back to Aiane. I know he didn’t mean to, but I’m afraid Corvane’s old schemes have put us all in danger.” His eyes were drawn to the priestess standing docilely in the corner. “And not just us.”

    “Well the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can get some answers.” Flick replied, hefting her pack.

    Mordren placed his hand on the coffer cart’s pull bar and started to haul before noticing there was some extra weight. He looked back and saw Sean looking sheepishly back at him.

    “Ah,” he stuttered, “you don’t mind if I ride for a little while, right Mordren?”

*****

    Colm was just finishing up his nightly cleaning when he heard a knock on the door of the Tipsy Thistle. Hoping that perhaps, this time, it was the king returning from his journey, he bounded across the floor of the common room to open it.

    As he’d been so many times in the past few weeks, he was disappointed to find that the figure standing on the other side of the threshold wasn’t Sean. The man that faced him was clad in heavy red travelling coat. Colm could see a tabard of similar hue peeking out from beneath his collar, the plain field edged in gold.

    “Evening, stranger, come in out of the cold. What brings you to Greenbough?”

    The visitor accepted the invitation, rubbing his hands together in the inn’s warm air.

    “I come as a messenger from the court of King Culley. The goddesses’ proclamation echoed even in the south and my king has sent me to take the measure of the man who rules these lands.”

    “Well you’re in the right place, lad! Take a seat, I’ll get you a bite to eat.”

    The messenger sat by the inn’s fire, holding his boots of to the flames while Colm rummaged through his kitchen. It didn’t take long for the innkeeper to emerge with a bowl of stew.

    “Thank you.” the messenger said, his mouth full. “I was planning to take lodging at the King’s castle for the night, but I can’t seem to find it in the evening fog. Could you point me in the right direction?”

    Colm scratched the back of his head. “You’re actually sitting in it. He’s away for the moment, but King Byrne’s seat is here at the Tipsy Thistle.”

    The messenger laughed, “The stew is delicious, sir, I have no doubt the King has had cause to frequent your hall.”

    The laughter died away when he noticed Colm wasn’t joining in. “You’re serious?” He asked.

    “Aye, it may not be much but it’s where we conduct the King’s business. I have the honor of being his chamberlain, as well as this inn’s proprietor.”

    “Then I must speak with your master. There are rumblings in the southern kingdoms that war is on the horizon and King Culley seeks allies. When will he return?”

    “The question, lad, is something we’d both like an answer to.”

*****

    Henry bit down to muffle a yelp as his wife yanked an arrow through the meat of his arm. Another mage reached forward, channeling his power to heal the hole before it could bleed too much.

    “That’s the last of them.” Charlotte said, checking him over for any wounds she might have missed. “You stayed too long with the rearguard.”

    “If their prince won’t fight alongside his men while their retreating, they won’t advance with him either.” He replied.

    “I never said you shouldn’t have made an appearance, just that you were excessive. Next time just wave your banner inspiringly and leave the forlorn hope to someone less important.”

    “I know you don’t mean that,” he chided, trying to pull his mail shirt over his head, “at least not entirely, but you still shouldn’t say it. I may be royalty, but my life’s worth no more than the men crowding the hold.”

    And crowding it they were. In the retreat from Last Harbor, the Iron Witch had taken as many of the routed Northern Host as it could carry. The rest had been forced to take the long, dangerous road south. Henry took some solace in the fact that Bastin had survived the disaster and was at their head.

    Charlotte helped him slip the shirt over his head. “It’s worth more to me, my prince. Besides, what do you think would have happened if you’d fallen? The Host would have shattered and that Shaderryn snake would have had free run of northern Fulgraine.”

    “He still does.” Henry pointed out. “The number of men coming through that damn portal, he must have emptied the whole kingdom. The Empress will need to mobilize more than the Empire’s northern forces to respond. It will set our expedition to Aiane back for months at the least.”

    Charlotte sat down next to her husband, running a hand through his sweat-matted hair.

    “The island is still shrouded, Henry. Keep your concern for your own home and not your great grandfather’s. Shaderryn or no, it will still be there when we’ve pushed this invasion back across the Wall.”

*****

    The group ran out of the transition circle at full speed, not wanting to linger any longer than necessary in the dead zone surrounding it. Mordren in particular seemed eager to leave the mushroom ring behind. They were immediately drenched in the torrential downpour that was coming down around them.

    “Does Aster make one of these every time he comes here?” Sean asked his attendant, raising his voice to be heard above the rain. He rubbed idly at a stinging sensation on his wrist as they moved.

    “Not just Aster, the other lords and ladies of Thairis use the same mode of transport.” Mordren coughed into his hand. “Pardon me, I find myself unable to explain further.”

    “No worries, I just hope they aren’t slowly irradiating my island.”

    “’Your island’, lad?” Flick teased. “Big words for a king who’s realm consists of a handful of hamlets.”

    “That’s what we’re here to fix. If Aster was telling the truth, Oarhaven and its port should be just over this rise.”

    “Aster never lies, Successor.” Corvane’s stately voice sounded strained as the raven shook himself awake in Flick’s arms. “But he does not always tell the whole truth when a part will suffice.”

    “Aye, sounds like a certain sanctimonious bird we know. How was your self-inflicted nap?” Flick asked.

    Corvane blinked several times. “I am not certain what happened after we passed through the first ring. I apologize for my lack of presence.”

    His head rotated around, taking in Mordren and the silent priestess. “Who are these new additions?”

    “I’ll go over everything that happened when we get to the town.” Sean replied. “I’ll need you to explain some things too. Actually, I’ll need you to explain a lot of things, Corvane.”

    “I will do my best to oblige, Successor.”

    The group crested the hill, bringing the town of Oarhaven into view. Its stone walls and large buildings made for a different sight than Greenbough and it was easy enough to see even in the gloom of the storm. Past the buildings Sean could see masts poking into the sky. Wind howled across the hilltop, coming in from over the waves.

    “I think that’s our destination!” Sean shouted.

    Lightning arced across the sky, throwing the scene into stark relief. For a moment, Sean could see tattered sails hanging from Oarhaven’s masts.

    The sea beyond boiled. Not with waves, but with bodies, colossal beasts churning the water to froth as they writhed.

    The flash ended and the thunder that cracked in response was deafening.

    “Yeah,” Sean said to himself as the boom rolled over them, “that’s definitely where we’re headed.”