We are dying. An epidemic has struck my brethren. It spreads, and there is nothing that can be done to stop it.

At first, we thought it beautiful. Our colors changed into vibrant hues we had not seen before. Was this a next step in our evolution? Were we ascending to some higher state of being?

Then, some began to fall. Others faded first, their colors leeching out until they were dead, brown, gray, but inevitably we all lost our grip on life and crashed to the earth.

I felt my own hold loosening on a crisp day in late October. A chill wind blew, and a few of my brothers and sisters rustled listlessly. As the bluster grew, my strength ebbed and broke. I drifted, dream-like, watching the others growing distant, whispering my goodbyes. Then I settled among those who had fallen first, and slept.

This next piece is a poem I wrote for my applied grammar class (another teaching course). We were assigned restrictive forms (I chose a villanelle) that would force us to play with grammatical constructs. When we presented the poems in class, we had to explain what we did grammatically and why. Can you guess what geek hobby I’m referencing?

Wizards’ Duel
I draw my power from forest and plain
Nature’s might at my beck and call
Long and hard for this battle did I train

From mountains high, I sense disdain
My opponent does not yet fear a downfall
I draw my power from forest and plain

To summon beasts with horn and wild mane
I tap the energy of sun-dappled groves and recall
Long and hard for this battle did I train

The mountain mage casts spells of pain
Lightning bolt and exploding fireball
I draw my power from forest and plain

To ensure my allies will not be slain
Protective auras I wrap around them all
Long and hard for this battle did I train

His frantic efforts are in vain
Defeat he cannot forestall
I draw my power from forest and plain
Long and hard for this battle did I train

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“Ha! I highly doubt that,” I said. “Your god considers me an idolater.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Sahllos said with a smile. “You’re more than a mere idolater. You are a priest of a false religion.”

“Was a priest,” I growled. I wanted to ask how he knew about my former service, but I did not trust my tongue. The wrong word, spoken in anger, might bring down the man’s armed followers upon us. Zealots like Sahllos weren’t known for their stability.

“My apologies for a joke made in poor taste. I have been told that my sense of humor can be…inappropriate.” Sahllos’s expression turned serious. “I agree that you do not seem a likely candidate, at least not one that would be my first choice, but Jord does not see men in the same way that you or I do.”

“Look, I’m not interested in joining your little…group here.”

“I claim no ownership over these people,” Sahllos said, undeterred. “Nor am I asking you to stay. Just the opposite, in fact.”

I cast a questioning look at Pelban, but he just shrugged back. “Fine. What do you want from me then? What does Jord want from me?” I corrected when Sahllos opened his mouth. He smiled.

“There is a boy. He lives in a village south of here. His father died in a skirmish against the dragons’ forces before he was born. His mother dedicated him to Jord in gratitude for giving her a son to remember her husband by, and now it is time to claim him. This boy will be the vessel of our salvation from the dragons, but he must grow into a man, first. He will need someone to guide him past the obstacles he will face, someone who can teach him the skills he will need to be a leader of men, someone who can protect him until he can protect himself.

“This is the task Jord has set before you. Do not ask me why. That is a mystery he has saw fit not to reveal to me. You must trust, as I do, that Jord knows it is something you can accomplish. Do not the inspired Scrolls, from which you also read, say, ‘The laws and ordinances of Jord are not encumbering. He does not require of you more than you can bear.’”

I frowned at the familiarity of the words. They were indeed ones I had read during my time in the church, though we attributed them to Dwarvul, the durkar name for He Who Forged All Creation.

“Keldon.” Sahllos said my name, drawing me out of my thoughts. “Let’s lay aside the theological debate for a moment and take a different look at what is being offered. Do you wish to see the dragons’ yoke thrown off?”

I nodded.

“You are being given the opportunity to nurture and influence the one who has been anointed for this very purpose. He requires the knowledge and training you can provide. If you fulfill this role, you will have planted the seeds that will grow to produce the fruit of freedom we all have been hoping for.

“The choice, though, is yours. We are all agents of our destiny, as Jord created us.”

“And if I refuse?” I watched him, waiting for the pronouncement of doom I knew was coming.

“Jord will find another for his use,” Sahllos said, disappointment dimming his eyes. “His will can be delayed, but not circumvented. To think otherwise is the height of arrogance.”

I shook my head to free my thoughts from the disbelief and shock that clouded them. The man confounded me every time he opened his mouth. Let his god find someone else. I wanted nothing more than to be done with him and gone.

But where would I go? I could not return home, not after the raid and the attack at our house. The weight of uncertainty crashed down on my shoulders, and despair welled up inside me.

“Brother, you should do this.” Pelban’s voice surprised me, and I turned to look at him. “We should do this, together. We have no clearer path in front of us, no reason not to.”

His words echoed my thoughts and I knew he was right. Uncertainty fled. I stood and faced Sahllos. “Where do we find this boy and how will we know him?”Similar Posts:

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“We are arrows in the dark,” Pelban said. I saw him hold up his silver pin from the corner of my eye. The sharp metal point inches from my forehead persuaded me from fumbling for my own pin. Pelban’s guard grunted his acknowledgment of the passphrase and spears were lowered. We climbed to our feet and followed the two men into the camp.

The guards deposited us at the central campfire then returned to their posts. A pair of outlaws walking past hailed Pelban and he rose to join them. I took a seat by the fire and glanced about the camp. People huddled around a couple satellite fires, while others stood in tight groups conversing. Three canvas tents, one by each fire, were the only standing structures. The front flap of the tent by the central campfire flipped back and the aylar who spoke at the induction ceremony stepped out. I watched him as he gazed over the camp, his head nodding on occasion as though he were noting someone’s presence. When our eyes met, I did not turn away, and he smiled, but continued his sweep. Then, once finished, he looked back at me, strode to the fire, and sat down across from me.

We stared at each other for several moments, taking the other’s measure. The fire gave a ruddy cast to his features, which were dominated by the mass of dark, wiry hair that covered his face and head. He wore a simple, knee-length linen shift, belted at his waist. I told myself I would let him be the first to speak, the first to signal an end to our little confrontation, but I could feel questions welling up inside me. Pelban came to my rescue as he took a seat beside me and drew the man’s attention.

“Sahllos, I am glad to see you escaped.”

“Yes. I continue to serve at Jord’s pleasure as long as he has a use for me.” He eyes strayed back to me. Pelban did not miss the gesture.

“This is my brother, Keldon.”

“I know.”

I frowned at the statement. How did he know who I was? The idea that Pelban may have spoken about me in detail without my knowledge, or that this group had been prying into my life unsettled me. I looked at Pelban, and discovered a combination of guilt and anticipation in his face. What had he told them?

“You are wondering how I know,” Sahllos said. I fixed the aylar with my sternest glare.

“Do not blame your brother,” Sahllos chuckled. “He has done his best to respect your privacy in the face of my demands. And I have not sought out on my own more than he was willing to give.”

My anger surrendered to my curiousity. “That does not explain your interest in me.”

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“Pelban…where…are we…going?” My gasping question reigned Pelban in until we both stood panting with our hands on our knees. The long grass of the open plain provided little cover, so Pelban got us moving as soon as we caught our breath, though at more sustainable pace this time.

“A rendezvous was designated, should something like tonight ever happen. That’s where we’re going.”

“How long have you been a part of this…group?” I asked.

“A while now.”

I frowned at his vague response, and wondered why he felt the need to hide his involvement from me. “Did you get the sword from them?”

“Yes.”

“Hey, I’m a member now, remember?” I waved my silver pin at him. “I’d appreciate if you’d drop the whole ‘coy and mysterious’ act and fill me in on what’s going on.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Keldon. What would you like to know?” he asked as he looked over at me. His apology surprised me, and it took a few moments for me to come up with a question.

“Do you believe them?”

“It’s a just cause, Keldon. We should be standing up to the dragons and their minions, fighting back, not cowering in fear.”

“That’s not what I meant, Pelban. Do you believe what that man said tonight, about Jord raising a hero?”

“I…I don’t know. Does it matter? Something is needed to rally the people’s spirits. If it takes a story about a promised hero, that’s fine with me.” Pelban’s passion stunned me. I watched him from the corner of my eyes as we walked, but asked no further questions. Not that I didn’t want to. My brother’s attitude confounded me. I wondered how long he had harbored this desire to strike back at our oppressors, for I’d never got a hint of it before tonight.

The land began to rise beneath us, signaling our entrance into the hill country. We trudged on in silence, and my gaze wandered up to the starry sky. I knew the night waned, but had no clear notion of how much longer we had until dawn. My thoughts drifted with my gaze, and I began a prayer to Dwarvul, but stopped as the words of the man from the induction ceremony echoed in my head.

Like many of the durkar, I worshipped Dwarvul and believed in the tenets of the faith, going so far as to join the clergy. I fought in His name when the dragons invaded our homes and petitioned Him for protection when forced to flee. My prayers became fewer since, and though it was easy to blame the lack on the occupation and my subsequent removal from official service, doubt lurked in the back of my mind. Doubt that Dwarvul listened. That Dwarvul even existed. Would our salvation come from Jord instead?

We crested a ridge and Pelban motioned for a halt, breaking me from my meditation. I followed his pointing and saw the glow of a fire tucked between the hills before us. We crept down toward it, stopping behind some brush a few yards away.

“Why are we hiding,” I whispered. “I thought you knew these people.”

“Just being cautious,” he replied as he stared through the branches. A snap from behind drew our attention and we turned to see two aylar emerge from the darkness, the spears in their hands pointed at our faces.Similar Posts:

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Another lyzar reached the top of the stairs and I swung my hammer up at its snout. Bone cracked as the blow connected. I let the momentum of my swing bring my hands back around and smashed the hammer into the reptile’s rib cage. The creature tumbled down the way it came, and I heard a tell-tale snap as it bounced and rolled.

Two more lyzar appeared at the bottom of the stairs. They advanced at a slow and steady pace, their large, spiked clubs held ready before them.

“We’re not going to be able fight them all,” I told Pelban over my shoulder. “They’re too big and strong, and we don’t have the element of surprise anymore.”

“You’re probably right, brother. So what do you suggest we do?”

I thought for a moment. We had to leave town and find a place to hide. “Tie some bedsheets together and anchor them to the bed. We’ll climb out the window and make a run for it. Hurry. I won’t be able to hold them back for long.”

Pelban disappeared back into the room and I could hear him wrestling with the sheets. The lyzar rushed forward, perhaps sensing our desire to flee. I stepped under the lead lyzar’s swing and struck the abomination in the knee with my hammer, smashing the joint. The creature fell to the side, its leg unable to support its weight. The second lyzar brought its club down in a powerful arc, but I retreated a step and the blow slammed into the floor, shattering the wood plank.

I barreled into the lyzar, hoping to topple it back down the stairs, but an iron grip snared my ankle as I charged. I smacked the floor face first, and my hammer bounced out of my hand and skittered across the floor. I scooted to avoid another blow from the lyzar’s club and saw the first lyzar’s scaly hand wrapped around my foot. I kicked and twisted, but could not break free.

Pelban returned to the fray with a bellow and stabbed the lyzar on the floor. It released my foot and I scrambled for my hammer. I looked up to see Pelban and the second lyzar circling each other. I waited until the lyzar’s back was to me and I leaped, swinging my hammer over my head. The blow connected with the crown of the lyzar’s skull, and its head exploded with a crunch and a shower of gore. I stood panting from the exertion, covered in filth, three dead lyzar at my feet.

“They’re still coming.”

I looked and saw more shadowy hulks gathering at the base of the stairs. “Help me with this,” Pelban grunted as he started shoving one of the corpses. I joined him in rolling the bodies down the stairs. Then we sprinted to the bedroom.

“You first,” Pelban said. I wiped my hands and my hammer on the sheet, tucked my weapon into my belt, and climbed out the window with the makeshift rope in my grasp. Pelban appeared moments later and we dropped to the ground. A quick glance revealed no immediate threats, so we bolted off into the darkness.Similar Posts:

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And the waiting arms of the dragons’ enforcers.

Squads of lyzar slithered through the makeshift aisles between stacked crates and piled sacks. They tossed weighted nets over the fleeing inductees, snaring them in pairs or singles. The man in front of us went down and Pelban shoved me to the right. We weaved our way through the darkened warehouse, searching for a door. I spotted one and sprinted for it. I grabbed the knob and turned, but it resisted. I shook the door, planted my foot against the jam and pulled–all in vain.

A grunt from the left drew my attention. Pelban lifted a sack of grain and heaved it through the nearby window. The glass shattered with a crash.

“Come on,” Pelban shouted and hurled himself out. I followed. We picked ourselves up and sprinted into the night. I recognized the streets we took; a few more blocks and we would arrive at our house. I managed to halt Pelban before we rounded the last corner.

“Is this safe?” I asked. “If they knew about the meeting then they might know who some of the members were. They might know about you.”

“All right. Let’s take it slow and keep our eyes open.”

We stuck to the shadows as we approached, watching for movement around or inside the house. Nothing revealed itself, and Pelban signaled for us to separate and make our way to the back of the house from opposite sides. I hesitated, unsure of the wisdom in such a tactic. Pelban started off without me, turned back, and shooed me on.

I circled the house, darting from tree to tree. Every rustle and snap set me on edge. I paused each time until I could rationalize the sound as just the wind in the leaves or some nocturnal creature scampering away. I found Pelban waiting when I arrived at the rear door.

“What took you so long?” he asked.

“Just being cautious,” I grumbled. A loud snap sounded behind us and movement in the shadows caught my eye. “What was that?”

“You worry too much. I think it’s all clear. Let’s go inside.” Pelban turned to the door, but I kept my gaze on the spot where I saw the movement. My eyes adjusted to the darkness and I could make out a hulking shape crouched in the bushes.

“Lyzar!” I shouted. The scaly abomination burst from its hiding place, its skin glistening in the pale moonlight. It carried a massive club in its claws, which it hoisted above its crested, reptilian head as it charged. I shoved Pelban through the open door, slammed it closed behind me, and threw the bar down. The door shook in its frame as something rammed into it.

“There’s more of them,” Pelban said in a hoarse whisper. I looked out the window he indicated and watched as several lyzar emerged from the shadows. “We’re going to have to fight our way out of this.” We raced up to our rooms. I threw open my footlocker and pulled out the hammer I once wielded as a symbol of my office in the church. I met Pelban back in the hall. He held a sword in his hand, the blade about two feet in length.

“When did you get that?” I asked.

The sound of glass breaking traveled up the stairs.

“I think we have more important things to deal with, right now,” he said. Similar Posts:

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“Can I help you, sirs?”

Pelban held out his hand to the woman, and I saw a flash of silver in the moonlight. The woman stepped back to let us in. She shut and secured the door behind us then shuffled past and lead us through the dark halls of the house to the basement. She lit a lamp, handed it to Pelban, and bade us good night.

“Now what?” I asked.

“Give me a moment, little brother.” Pelban crossed the room and set the lantern down. He moved his hands over the wall, searching. I watched as he paused, pushed, and a section of the wall swung open to reveal a tunnel carved into the earth. Pelban picked up the lantern and entered.

The tunnel twisted and turned its way down into darkness. The soft glow of torchlight appeared and we soon stood in a small antechamber carved out of the rock. Four men sat around a rough-hewn table in the center of the room, three of them waiting to continue their game while the fourth eyed us with suspicion. I could see a great cavern full of other figures through the opening in the rock beyond the men.

“You’re late, Pelban. This him?” the man asked in a gruff voice.

“Yes,” Pelban answered.

“Well, you better get in there. They’ve already started,” the man said.

Pelban led the way into the cavern and found us a place among the crowd. I counted at least twenty others present, a mix of aylar and durkar, men and women. They all watched and listened to the aylar speaking from a crude wooden stage opposite the entrance we came through.

“All the races suffer for the arrogance of Erolei. Her hunger for power allowed her to be deceived by the dragons’ promises. Now they rule our cities and their abominations walk our streets. Our mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, sons and daughters, are subjected to the whims of these cruel masters with no recourse or relief.

“Jord has heard the cries of His suffering children, and He is moved. To a select few, He has revealed His plan for salvation, and we have been sent to spread this message of hope. In the fullness of time, He will raise a hero to lead the races against the dragons.

“Until then, He expects us to prepare the way. We must do what we can to make straight the paths, to remove as many obstacles as we can. We are not an army, our numbers are few, but it only takes a single arrow to pierce the enemy’s heart and they will fall. Will you be that arrow, shooting through the dark to strike a mortal wound?”

The crowd cheered, and I felt myself caught up in it. I turned to look at my brother, and he grinned back. The man on the stage raised his hands and the crowd quieted.

“Some of you are here for the first time, brought by friend or relative who thought you shared the same belief that joins us together here. We welcome you, and have something for you–a symbol to signify your commitment to our cause.” Ripples in the crowd identified where individuals weaved their way through the group, passing out something. A woman appeared in front of me and handed me a small, silver pin shaped like an arrow. She moved on and the man on the stage started speaking again.

“An opportunity to deal our first blow has been presented to us. The details are being finalized and we will soon be asking for–”

“Raid!”

Someone burst in from one of the other tunnels that emptied into the cavern, shrieking in alarm. Panicked cries rose from the crowd and everyone scrambled to escape.Similar Posts:

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You’ve had a chance to read the opening scene from the version of “Relvan’s Rescue” that I submitted to a handful of markets earlier last year. I’ve been hard at work on a major revision to this fantasy fiction short story, and thought you might like to see how the new opening scene really changes the tone of the tale.

Janner Kohl clasped his gloved hands behind his back, rolled his shoulders and rocked on the heels of his boots. He gazed across the crowded pier, but saw no sign of their client.

“Either those new cap’n’s bars are heavier than they look, or somethin’ ‘bout this job’s got you on pins ‘n’ needles.” Mig Daro’s smirk let Janner know which option his sergeant thought it was.

“How about you go make sure the men have their things stowed. We’ll leave as soon as Lady Temmere arrives.”

Mig came to attention, but his wink belied the salute. “Yes, sir.”

Janner shook his head at the man’s back. He and Mig had joined the Brigade at the same time, been assigned to the same squad, and went on their first mission together. They’d worked side by side ever since. It bred a certain familiarity that held little regard for rank.

That didn’t change the fact that Janner did feel a little anxious about this mission. The Brigade needed every fighting man it could muster in the war against Lord Tyrran and his Crimson Feathers. Janner disagreed with Commander Aminoss’ decision to allocate valuable resources for a private commission, even if it was to escort the wife of one of Lhapp’s ruling council.

A parasol of pale yellow silk bobbing through traffic at the far end of the pier caught Janner’s eye. He felt the nervous flutter in his belly that always preceded battle. A deep breath, and tracing the trimmed line of dark hair that ran along his jaw and around his mouth, helped calm him. Fourteen winters as a mercenary in the Brigade had hardened Janner to many things, but apparently not to the sight of a love lost.

That was the other reason he wasn’t looking forward to this mission.

Lady Touvree Temmere appeared out of the throng of dock workers and sailors like the sun emerging from behind parting clouds. Her parasol matched her full-length dress, and its shade failed to dull the shine of her honeyed curls or green eyes. Time had rounded her features some, but Janner found her maturity as attractive as his memories of her younger self. He ran his fingers over his beard once more then relaxed into a parade rest stance and waited.

He did not wait long. A wave from Lady Temmere signaled she had spotted Janner where he stood at the foot of the ship’s gangplank. She motioned to someone behind her then made directly for him.

“Hello, Captain Kohl.”

Janner bowed his greeting. “I hope you had no difficulty in finding the ship, my lady.”

“Oh, this trip will be a long one if you insist on being so stiff and formal, Captain.”

“My apologies. I tend to fall back on standard protocols when I find myself on uncertain footing.”

“And what might you be uncertain about, Captain?”

Janner scrambled for an answer that would avoid any awkward and personal confessions. “To be honest, you going on this trip. Pirates are most active in the Archipelago during this season, and a lady such as yourself fetches quite a ransom.”

“Nonsense. My son is leaving me to go off to seminary across the sea for the year, and you think I should sit at home alone and knit.”

“You’re hardly alone. Your husband—“

“Is too busy running a city in the middle of a war. I could argue that I’m in as much danger here as I might be sailing to Byzantum.”

“And your other son?”

“He is already apprenticed to Master Denor. I’m not sure what the point of all these questions are, Captain. You’re being paid to make sure my son makes it to Byzantum safely. What I do, or do not, is none of your concern.”

Janner grimaced at his own lack of diplomacy. “I’m sorry, Lady Temmere. I did not mean to—“

Lady Temmere sighed. “Captain, I think we will both enjoy this voyage much more if we don’t start things off on the wrong foot. Shall we begin again?” She stepped aside and put her arms around a gangly youth with a soft face. “This is my son, Relvan,” she said, drawing the boy up next to her. Janner could see the resemblance in the color of the boy’s hair, the straight and narrow nose, the way his lips curved in a timid smile.

“Hello, Relvan. I’m Janner Kohl,” he said, extending his left hand in greeting.

“Hello, sir,” the boy replied, taking Janner’s hand in a tentative grip and giving it a quick, weak shake.

“That’s better,” Lady Temmere said, her smile beaming. “Now, shall we board? I’m anxious to get this little adventure underway.”

“Of course.” Janner held his arm out for Lady Temmere to proceed and fell in step behind her. He glanced over his shoulder to see a porter burdened with several trunks and bags. The look on the servant’s face filled Janner with sympathy. “I’ll send some men down to help with your things.”

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This new role adds a depth and complexity to both Janner Kohl and the story that was sorely lacking in the original version. The differences are evident right from the start, and have resulted in changes that reach much farther into the story than I initially imagined. Yet, for all those changes, the plot and pace of the story remain largely intact. It has been very exciting to see it all come together.

I’m posting the first scene from the originally submitted “Relvan’s Rescue” below. I’ll include the revised opening scene in a later post for comparison.

“Captain Kohl, come in.”

Janner Kohl stepped through the open doorway and into the spartan, wood-paneled office of the commander of the Blue Lightning Brigade. A simple but sturdy desk divided the room in half. Janner stopped before the two unfinished chairs reserved for visitors. He stood with his arms at his side and his broad shoulders pulled back, the model of a professional soldier.

“You asked to see me, Commander Aminoss?”

“Yes, please sit.” The commander motioned toward the plain chairs. Janner nodded and slipped into the one on the right, keeping his eyes on the hard planes and dark features of Aminoss’s face. “The Brigade has received a new commission, and I’d like for you to take it on.”

Janner’s eyebrows shot up. “Can we spare the men, sir? We’re pretty heavily committed to Lhapp’s defense against Lord Tyrran’s Crimson Feathers.”

“Let me worry about the allocation of our forces, Captain. Besides, the commission comes from one of the city’s council members, and there’s the possibility it could have an impact on the war.”

“Understood, sir. I didn’t mean to question your judgment.”

“Relax, Captain. I appreciate your concern for the bigger picture. It’s one of the reasons I want you to lead this mission.”

“Thank you, sir. What’s the job?”

“One of Lord Temmere’s sons, Relvan, was supposed to arrive in Byzantum earlier this week to start seminary. A letter from the dean of the college arrived yesterday. The boy’s ship never made port.”

Janner felt a rush of emotions, but tried to keep them from showing on his face by playing with the trimmed line of hair that ran along his jaw and around his mouth. Lord Temmere had always been a strong supporter of the Brigade, both as a voice on the council and personally. Janner respected him and was even willing to admit he liked Temmere despite the way things had turned out. Holding grudges went against Janner’s philosophy.

The emotions, however, stemmed not from his feelings for Lord Temmere, but for the Lady Touvree Temmere. Janner’s work for the Brigade had helped take his mind off losing her and he thought that part of his past resolved. He feared his reaction meant otherwise.

“Are there any leads?” Frustration tinged Janner’s voice, more at the revelation of his inability to let go of the past than over the fate of Temmere’s son. Regrets caused doubt, and doubt got soldiers killed.

Aminoss arched an eyebrow. Janner could see the curiosity in his eyes.

“Actually, yes,” the commander said. “A raft was picked up a few miles from Byzantum’s harbor. A survivor from the transport carrying Relvan was found aboard. Apparently, the ship was attacked by pirates, and captives were taken. The boy was among them.

“I have contracted the Glory to take you and a team to Aurtoga in the Garrikean Archipelago. That’s the best place to start. The Glory’s captain is a good man, and his ship is the fastest in port. As for team members, I’ve compiled a list of who’s available. I’m assuming you’ll want Sergeant Daro as your second.”

Janner nodded and took the list from Aminoss. Mig Daro had joined the Brigade at roughly the same time as Janner, and the two had served together on several missions. He owed the burly man his life many times over and couldn’t think of anyone he would rather have covering his back.

A frown grew on Janner’s face as he read through the names. “None of these men have any field experience. What about Kellig or Rictor?”

“Kellig is already on assignment, and Rictor was injured during the assault on Blackfang. It will be at least a month before he’s healed. This is what you have to work with, Captain.”

“Yes, sir. Anything else?”

“No. You’re dismissed. The Glory sails in two days. Be sure to file your mission plan before you leave.”

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Maiden taught me a lot and I wanted to apply those lessons to what I had previously written. I also needed to change how the readers were reacting to Logan and the situation he found himself in. Once again, I rewrote the first two chapters. This time, I would portray Logan as a down-on-his-luck thief from a small town just arrived in the big city. He was tenacious, knew what he wanted and had the skills to achieve it. Unfortunately, powers greater than himself had other plans . . . .

Logan Shadowhand pulled himself up the short ladder that led from the barge to the pier. The Dragon’s Breath still ran low, and would continue to do so until late fall. He leapt over the last rung and dodged some dockhands hauling crates. Wood creaked under their heavy footsteps, reminding Logan of the stiffness in his back from sleeping on the bare planks of the barge’s deck these last couple nights. It would be nice to sleep in a real bed.

But first he needed some money.

He had left Cortheena in a hurry with only what he wore—black leather pants with a matching vest over a faded blue tunic, and well-worn boots that rose to his knees, a dagger tucked in the right one. The ride up the river had cost his last drak. Now he found himself in Jordia, a place he’d never been to before, where he knew no one.

Logan climbed a stack of crates at the edge of the pier to get a better view. The son of a durkar, Logan stood just over five feet in height. Fortunately, his mother had been aylar, giving him a bit of a boost above the typical durkar stature, but it made little difference when surrounded by folk a head or more taller.

He received a few odd looks from passersby as he surveyed the street that ran along the waterfront on his perch, but most people went about their own business. The stares didn’t really bother Logan, but he made a couple of rude faces just for the reactions they got.

Several buildings lined the street within clear sight of the pier. Dockhands moved cargo to and from a warehouse directly across from Logan. To the south, Logan identified a two-story building with a tower on its west face and armed men lounging about the grounds as some sort of barracks. The top of the city wall ran even with the top of the tower, and Logan could see the silhouettes of guards patrolling its battlements.

A single story, weather-beaten structure sat a block north, with more warehouses beyond that. Logan raised a hand to shield his eyes from the afternoon sun as they were drawn up the face of a rocky plateau that rose above the city rooftops. He could just make out the twisting path carved into its side that lead up to the gates of a great keep sitting at the top.

Logan mulled over his options. He considered following the bustle of people as they flowed west into town along the main avenue. There might be an open market where he could snatch some fruit or a stick of roasted meat from a distracted vendor. He might even be able to lift a purse or two as he slipped through the crowd. Neither choice appealed to him, though. The chances of getting caught, spotted by someone who just happened to be looking in his direction, were too high. At least with the way his luck was running, they were.

Logan snorted. You make your own luck, he reminded himself. Time and chance played a part, sure, but they could be minimized by sizing up a situation and knowing the limits of your abilities. Trusting in luck got you as far as trusting in Jord.

The idea of trying to snatch-and-run still didn’t appeal to Logan. Such tactics only provided short-term solutions. His eyes swept back to the weather-beaten building just north of where he sat. The door banged open and a man staggered out. Logan watched him wend his way to the fence that surrounded the property, lean over and empty the contents of his stomach onto the grass. The man slid to the ground inches away from his vomit and passed out.

Logan smirked and hopped off the crates. Drunken men meant a tavern, and taverns presented all sorts of opportunities for people who knew what to look for.

A faded sign hung from the rotted wooden post supporting one side of the dilapidated fence. Behind the fence sat the ramshackle building. Several holes in the roof marked missing shingles, the two windows Logan could see were black with smoke and grease, and the battered door between them leaned precariously away from its hinges. Logan paused at the sign, taking a moment to puzzle out what it said. The faded outline of a waterlogged rodent was still visible below letters that likely spelled the name of the place, but several of them were missing. The clinking of mugs and the scrape of chairs on wood planks drifted across the yard as his mind worked. Logan finally filled in the blanks on the sign, crossed the small yard with a crooked smile of satisfaction and entered the River Rat.

Shadows dappled the floors and walls, interrupted here and there by shafts of dull sunlight that pierced the roof. The odor of fermented alcohol rushed up Logan’s nostrils while he made mental notes of the River Rat’s interior. Tables and chairs of rough wood dotted the edges of the room. Sullen men occupied a few of them, glowering at Logan before turning back to their drinks. One table supported a snoring man slumped forward in a slowly growing pool of his own spit.

A four-foot tall bar counter dominated the wall to Logan’s left, with rows of mugs stacked on shelves that ran up to the ceiling. A tapped keg rested on the far end of the bar. Behind the counter stood a thick man with a bald pate and tattoos entwined about his arms from wrist to shoulder. A forest of dark curls sprouted from the neck of his sleeveless vest. He paused in his wiping of the counter to watch Logan saunter up to the bar.

“Money up front,” the bartender grunted. “No tabs here.”

“Love the service.” Logan grinned up at the man. “Reminds me of–”

“Pay or leave. I’m busy.”

“I can . . . see that.” Logan looked around the room again, stalling. A surly bartender limited his options, and the current crowd was thin on prospects. Perhaps a different tact would work. “It’s actually a little early for a drink. I was hoping to find a game.”

The man snorted. “Do you see anyone playing?”

Logan sighed. He turned to leave, and caught movement in a shadowed corner beyond the bar.

“What kind of game you lookin’ for?” a voice rasped from the darkness. The owner of the voice leaned forward and Logan saw thin lips and a chin covered in stubble sticking out of a hood.

“Cards, or dice. I’m not too picky.” Logan started toward the table where the man sat.

“I prefer daggers.”

Logan stopped and raised a questioning eyebrow. His body tensed. He could feel the hard steel of his dagger pressed against his ankle. Logan scolded himself yet again for not having a belt sheath. Boots made good places to conceal a weapon, but drawing from one took precious time that might mean the difference between surviving a knife fight and losing one.

Gloved fingers pointed to something behind Logan. He hesitated, not wanting to take his eyes off the man. The thin lips twisted in a smirk, and Logan felt his face flush. He looked over his shoulder and saw a target board hanging on the wall about thirty feet away.

Logan relaxed and let slip his own confident smirk. He had always been good at throwing games. Some people thought he was too good, that he cheated. Logan usually heard such protests after he emptied someone’s purse on a target board wager. He could already smell the steaming roast and feel the soft, down mattress.

The hooded man stood, his chair protesting loudly as its feet skid across the floor planks. He walked around the table and came up alongside Logan, giving him his first good look at the stranger. The man wore a form-fitting, hooded, black tunic with three-quarters-length sleeves that revealed tattooed forearms and emphasized his lanky frame. Leather gloves covered his hands from fingertip to wrist, and shiny black boots rose up to his knees to blend seamlessly with matching breeches. Three daggers hung pommel-down from a bandolier that ran diagonally across his chest, each held in their sheath by a thin leather hilt-strap. Logan watched one of the straps release with a flick of a finger as the man drew a blade and began to casually flip it in his palm.

“Three daggers, one at four feet, one at eight and one at twelve. Closest to the center wins. Miss the board and it’s an automatic loss.”

“I’m familiar with the game.” Logan drew his own dagger, feeling its weight and balance. The weapon hadn’t been forged with throwing in mind. Its hilt was too heavy and the blade wide. Unlike the long, thin daggers the hooded man carried.

“What’s the wager?” the hooded man asked.

Logan handed over his dagger. “Durkar-forged. You can see the smith’s rune etched in the blade just above the pommel guard.” He handed it to the man to inspect. The weapon had been a gift from his mentor in Cortheena, and was worth several draks. The blade had a keen edge that rarely needed sharpening. The decoration was minimal, but the lines where smooth and the metal free of imperfections. The man nodded his approval.

“I’ll vouch two draks against your dagger.”

Logan frowned. The dagger was easily worth ten times that. “Fifteen.”

“Ha. Then why don’t you go hock it. Five.”

“Not when I can keep both the dagger and the money. Ten.”

“If you want to haggle, go to the market. Eight is my final offer. Let’s play.”

Logan nodded. Eight draks would buy him a week’s worth of meals and lodging. And a belt sheath.

The man counted out the gold coins with the face of their namesake imprinted on one side from a purse on his belt, and handed the money and the dagger to the bartender. Then he moved to a line gouged in the floor a couple steps from the board.

“I’ll go first.” The man put his left foot at the line. His other foot rested a step back for balance. He gripped one of his daggers by the hilt in his right hand and took aim at the board. Logan had seen a few variations of target boards, but this one consisted of the standard five concentric circles of increasingly larger size. Each circle alternated color, forming thin bands no more than two inches wide. Sometimes, a target board was broken into grids of different point values and the player with the highest score won.

The hooded man drew back his arm then threw it forward, snapping his wrist as he released the blade. The dagger spun one full rotation and landed with a thunk in the center of the middle circle. Logan nodded noncommittally. Anyone who spent some time practicing could hit center from four feet away. The man handed a dagger to Logan then stepped aside to let him take his turn.

Logan spent a few moments getting a feel for the weapon. The blade was long and narrow with dull edges–a weapon made for throwing, or stabbing. A minimal guard between the hilt and the shoulder reduced resistance. He held the blade loosely in his right hand, his index finger resting along the edge. Logan visualized the dagger hitting center as he focused on the board. He brought his arm back then whipped it forward and snapped his wrist downward as he released. The dagger flipped blade first and struck the center of the board close enough to touch the first dagger.

“Interesting form,” the man said as he retrieved the daggers. He strode to another line in the floor two paces back from the first one. In one fluid motion, the man stepped to the mark and hurled the dagger. Logan watched it sink into the board just up and to the right of center, near the border between the first and second circles. He didn’t hide his smirk as he took his turn. Once again, Logan’s throw struck center. The man’s face darkened with a scowl as he stalked to the board and back. The third line was two paces back from the last, crowding them next to the table where the man had sat. From here, the center was just a dot of color.

The man threw then moved aside for Logan, drawing a chair away from the table and taking a seat. Logan focused on the target. The man’s dagger hit the center circle, but he didn’t think it was in the very middle. If Logan got anywhere close to center, he won. Logan drew his arm back and swiveled his shoulders, but as he released, he felt something skitter across his feet. He took his eyes off the board for just a moment to look down and saw a brown rat scurry across the floor and drop into a gap between the wood planks. He glanced back up in time to see the hilt of the dagger bounce off the center of the target and fall to the floor with a clatter.

“You lose.” The hooded man grinned.

“Jord’s fist,” Logan swore. “That rat made me miss.”

“Not my fault.” The man stood and walked to the bar.

“Fine. How about double or nothing?”

“You have anything else to wager?”

Logan shook his head. The man took his coins and Logan’s dagger from the bartender and headed for the door. Logan followed close on his heels.

“Look, I really need the coin. I’ll do anything.”

“I don’t do charity. Now beat it.”

Logan sensed the threat of violence in the man’s voice and stopped. He knew when to cut his losses, and watched the back of the hood as the man turned onto the main avenue leading into town. When the hood began to melt into the crowd, Logan started after him. He was going to get his dagger back.

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