Witcher Warrior Scholar Spy

Shen took a deep breath, letting the air hit his lungs with the force of it. He could use the slight stretch in his muscles—it reminded him it was real. They were together. It was a load off his mind, knowing Arkim and Kuala were safe beside him.

For now, he reminded himself, trying not to dwell on the Doom. On the way it had overcome their home, taking with it most of Shen’s connections to the material plane. They would have to fight the monstrous God that had attacked Contraria, even if the fight was by proxy. Champion versus champion. The Doom versus the Four Heroes of Exile.

What once had been calm within him turned into a storm, his stomach rolling at the thought. He watched Kuala on her horse next to him, her body suddenly rigid as she turned her gaze to face Shen.

“Quiet your anxiety,” she growled. “It’s setting me on edge from here.”

Shen smiled, a wry thing, but a smile nonetheless, and shook his head. He couldn’t waste his power here, draining his mana before they approached Pallea. They would need every last drop of magic to get to the Grotto of Light. Thus, he was left voiceless. Almost.

He lifted his palm and flicked the air, summoning a shining blue bird that was aimed at Kuala’s forehead. As it fluttered around her, she tried to whack it away, but he knew once it made contact what she would see—and what she would hear.

“Shut up!” A child would whine, trying to escape the cruel words of his sibling. It was close enough to what Shen wanted to say.

“Ugh, Arkim’s right,” Kuala grumbled, but upon seeing the man in question perk up and look over, she scowled. “So annoying, the both of you.”

Underfoot, the rolling hills had long since turned rocky. They were reaching the end of the Wistra Plains, soon to approach the stone-addled country of Quoral. Where soil was rare and agriculture was a thing of Green Mages locked in their glass houses.

Arkim laughed heartily as his eyes jumped between Kuala and Shen before he spoke. His voice was serious, but still contained a bit of mirth. “It’s better than the other working. I’d much prefer he use his Inheritance than the glorified mind-rape he does with his new Well.”

Snapping her reins, Kuala pulled ahead of the two men before turning the horse around fully and blocking their way. They all came to a stop.

“I’m concerned,” she said. “Is that all your new Well can do? What is it? An illusion? Why does it burn afterward?”

Shen and Arkim shared a glance. It was uncharacteristic of Kuala to ask so many questions. She was one to live and let live, to dive in headfirst without briefing anyone of her plans, to sacrifice the advantage if it meant there would be carnage at all.

Arkim gave a crooked grin, his light hair sparkling in the midday sun and his rosy pink eyes shining. “Mind if I take this one? I know you’re saving your power.”

Shen shook his head, then immediately regretted it because his hair covered his eyes. Pushing back his dark locks, he waited for Arkim to answer Kuala. To see what he had seen and deduced, in the way only a true Scholar could.

“That elemental God, Xolo—the one based by Yuhaul—holds two powers. Fire and plague,” Arkim said as he took the break he was offered and dismounted from his horse, stretching out his limbs. “It’s likely a madness. Probably. Shen, cough or something if I get too off base.”

When Shen did no such thing, Arkim nodded to himself, looking supremely satisfied. “He uses a working to cause something akin to a hallucination—it’s why it doesn’t work too well on me. Mind of mithril, you know. Anyway, then he just, poof, burns the illness away with a cleansing fire.”

When Arkim took another pause, Shen took the opportunity to clap frantically, as if he were cheering for a child’s play. It was, unfortunately, a terrible sight to behold, because Shen was trying to cheer and instead was making seal noises and showing off the grotesque stump of a tongue.

“Stop that, it’s disgusting,” Arkim insisted, scrunching up his face until Shen dropped his hands and rolled his eyes.

Shen decided it was worth it to cast a working, then.

“You’re just jealous I have both hands, whole and able to clap,” the not-quite-Shen said in Arkim and Kuala’s mind. Shen immediately burned away the thought, leaving his two companions looking at him. Kuala snorted and Arkim’s smile was strained.

“Say that to my face,” Arkim demanded, a malicious glint in his eyes. “Oh, wait, you can’t because Xolo took your silver tongue. The only true asset the Spy possesses.”

Shen hopped off his mount and rushed Arkim, quicker than the man should have really been capable of, but Arkim didn’t stop speaking. “You could be a War Mage with that control, you know. If this whole saving our homeland thing doesn’t work out, that is. Although, with that” —Arkim dodged Shen’s attempt at a tackle— “temperament, you’d likely be nothing more than fodder with the rest of the masses of foot soldiers.”

“Hey,” Kuala shouted down at them, distracting a twirling Arkim just enough for Shen to grab him. “Mind your insults, I feel like I’ve caught a stray.”

Arkim was unable to respond, as Shen had wrapped his arm around the man’s neck, and he was slowly losing consciousness.

Right as Shen felt Arkim go limp in his arms, he released his grip and let the neat freak fall to the ground, getting rocks and dirt all over his clothes. Turning away from the fallen lump, Shen pointed at Kuala and a working of fire and ash and illness manifested.

“I could, technically, function as a War Mage with the power of fire and plague. But I’ve spent the past months perfecting mind magics. They work well with my Inheritance—in the way I can overlay lies that change reality. And my new Well requires it. It makes me crave to spread Xolo’s sickness, and the best way to do so is via the mind arts.”

Kuala nodded and dismounted from her steed. “All right, then. Let’s break until Ark wakes up.”

Shen smiled, and though he burned away the remnants of his workings, he thought to himself, It’s too easy to get into Lala’s mind. Far too easy.

“I’m happy, you know,” Kuala said oddly, but Shen was too busy kicking Arkim’s foot to try and wake him up to look at her expression. “Arkim is useless in fights, and without…without, ugh, without Olea, it’s up to me to protect the two of you.”

At that, at the strangled tone of her voice, Shen snapped his attention to the darkskinned woman. She was gripping Wrezgul’s hilt tightly, her knuckles stretched harshly with the force of it. Her seafoam eyes were nothing if not somber.

“And I hated being alone in that,” she half-whispered.

Shen approached Kuala slowly, as if she were a bird threatening to fly away. But when she made no move to bolt, he wrapped his arms around her. Tighter and tighter he pressed, until their heads harshly hit one another. He didn’t need to cast another working to say what he needed.

I’m here. You’re not alone. We’re all together.

“That’s hardly fair.” Arkim’s choked voice came between them, and Kuala and Shen separated minutely to look at the man splayed out on the ground. “It’s not as if I’m not worried as well.”

Kuala’s eyes softened. “I know—”

But Arkim cut her off, his voice gentle but overwhelmed. “What if, when we find Olea, she’s unchanged?”

All the tenderness in Kuala left her in that moment, and her muscles tightened in Shen’s arms.

“What if she’s just as she was when she left?”

They all knew what he meant.

Broken. Beaten. The wounds on her fresh, but unable to be rewound. As if she had been cursed for her blood to flow. She was wrecked when she finally left Contraria, but Babel had refused his involvement, and nothing had ever come out of the accusations without Olea there as evidence of his cruelty.

“What if she never got any better?”

Shen’s mind wandered back to the memory that the three of them had been pretending didn’t exist. That they had never spoken about, save for once, when they needed to explain the full picture to each other.

Ten years. It’d been just over ten years. The three of them were nearing the end of their twenties now.

Perhaps, Shen thought, it’s time to reckon with the follies of our youth. Of our failings. Of everything we could have changed but chose to ignore until it was forced upon us.

It had been a normal day, a simple thing. Kuala and Mara had been off somewhere, though Kuala had never shared where exactly they went. Arkim was with Alkimika, studying, and Kilkua was trying to get Shen to take up the sword. That had left Babel to instruct Olea by her lonesome. It was an odd thing, as Olea got older. Usually, she spent most lessons with Sierre, learning what it meant to be the Witcher. To learn how she could wield so many Wells, where to find them, and the best way to contract.

But Shen and the others hadn’t known, not fully, why that was. It wasn’t until Shen had left Kilkua behind by pretending to receive a summons from Babel that he knew. He had slipped into the offshoot of the main castle, the one where Babel had an office. The halls were silent, free of guards and servants alike. He remembered how he had thought it strange, but not much more than that. Shen didn’t let it deter him.

Sierre was there, standing over a collapsed form, and behind her was a stumbling teenager, halfway between girl and woman. Shen hadn’t recognized her immediately. But as he looked over the blood-caked face and the torn clothes, he saw it. The dark curls heavy with crimson liquid, the mauve eyes clear even as her arm failed to grasp the wall, the pale skin that only shone through the rips in her sleeves and pant legs. It was Olea.

It was an open secret that Babel was a cruel taskmaster. Shen had known more than the others, but he had been saved by the man’s apathetic approach to Shen’s lessons. Though it wasn’t just that. When Olea would slip into Shen’s room—too late for anything but intimacy—he would see. The streaks of silver lines, smoothed over by time, met the jagged, pink scars that were fresh. Shen had traced them, with hand and tongue alike, but he feared Olea’s distance too much to ask. To demand an answer.

Shen had needed Olea to know he could be her solace and salvation.

That was the day Shen realized that Olea didn’t want solace. She didn’t want salvation.

She wanted revenge.

“You fool of a man.” Olea had laughed, her voice firm despite the way she swayed from blood loss. “I’m going to end the Dreknot line. All because of you.”

She spat toward the collapsed form of Babel, and Sierre finally looked away from the man. Her gaze raked Olea’s form, taking in the lacerations lining her skin, breaking her clothes, forcing her blood to flow. Shen’s breath hitched as he did the same, drawing the woman’s attention to him.

Sierre’s concern vanished, her expression hardening. “You need to leave.”

“No, I—” Shen had started, the thickness in his throat causing his voice to crack.

It didn’t matter. Olea took a step away from the doorframe she’d been using as a support and grabbed Sierre’s hand.

“I’m the one who needs to flee,” she whispered, her knuckles white as they gripped with all the force Shen thought Olea could muster. “I cannot stay here. Not anymore. It’s too much.”

Sierre only took a moment before she nodded, sharp and determined. “Very well. I’ll get you out. I’ll set you free of your obligations as the Witcher. Let nothing weigh on your soul, Olea.”

Arkim’s mother was never so serious. Shen had seen her fighting assassins with more joviality. Had seen her watch executions and crack a joke. Had seen her fighting her grief with laughter. Sierre D’Argent then turned to face Shen.

She raised her palm, pulling on a working of time and space. She could not undo him seeing Olea. She could not erase his memory or destroy his sight. Or, rather, Shen had prayed that she wouldn’t. That as much as Sierre cared for Olea, he hoped the woman cared for him. Sierre was the Witcher. A dozen Wells, a dozen ways to be a War Mage.

That was when the world went fuzzy. Not black—Shen wasn’t unconscious. He remembered the time that flowed next. Knew his actions were his own. Yet he didn’t really know why he made the choice to return to Kilkua’s side. He didn’t know why he agreed so readily to pick up the sword the man had thrust at him. Shen hated swords. He hated the way the metal chafed his skin because Kilkua refused to let Shen wear gloves.

That choice was what brought Shen back. A clang resounded as he dropped the sword and took off running. Kuala’s father hot on his heels, a maniacal cackle following close behind.

“Come on, kid! You can’t just run from a fight!” Kilkua had been shouting.

Shen didn’t care. He had to find Olea. She was leaving.

That was the moment Shen ran straight into Kuala, a wicked grin on her face that fell as the two of them tumbled to the ground. Or, rather, as Shen tumbled around Kuala’s arm and Kuala stood stock still.

“Watch out,” Kuala had laughed, mirth filling her gaze until she caught sight of Shen’s expression. “What’s happened?”

“I—no, we have to stop her,” Shen rushed out, looking over his shoulder where Kilkua was quickly gaining. “She’s going to leave.”

Kuala, for all Shen and Arkim called her muscle-headed, immediately understood. She bent down and hoisted Shen over her shoulder before turning to head the way he had been rushing. “You’re going to have to tell me where to go.”

Shen pointed, and off they went. At some point in their mad rush through the castle—headed for the docks out back—they passed by Arkim strolling lazily with a book in his hand. He hadn’t said anything, just looked at the frenzy plaguing their movements, and had gestured for Kuala to lift him up as well.

With a grunt, Arkim was slung over her other shoulder.

In hindsight, the picture made Shen quirk a smile. It was ridiculous. Kuala carrying two teenage boys like it was nothing. But at the time, there were no smiles—no jokes able to be made. Just the sound of Kuala gradually leaving Kilkua behind with every erratic turn.

Kuala never stopped, never stumbled, never so much as paused—even when Shen watched her ankle roll as she landed at the base of a stairwell.

That was how they found themselves at the docks, the late afternoon sun positioned low over the ocean. Olea was wrapped in Sierre’s coat, and a bag lay next to her as the two of them waited for one of the smaller boats to be ready.

Shen was launching himself off of Kuala as soon as Olea was in their sights, running to her. Before he could get close, though, Sierre appeared.

“You cannot unwind this path,” she whispered, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks. “She needs to escape.”

“No, but—” Shen started, only for Olea to turn around. At first, her eyes were focused on the ground, but as Shen made a strangled noise, she brought her gaze up to meet his.

What Shen saw made him flinch. Her usually cold-as-ice stare was soft. No. It was shaking. Within the depths of her eyes, all Shen saw was pain overflowing.

Behind him, Kuala growled, “Don’t do it, Lea.”

Olea smiled, and it was a horrible thing that showed off her busted lip and bloodied teeth. “Goodbye, Lala.”

“No!” Kuala cried and rushed past Shen and Sierre, Arkim left behind as she released her grip.

Sierre simply snapped her fingers, and frost burst from the ground, gripping Kuala by her calves and stopping her in her tracks.

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“I’ll unwind it!” Kuala screamed, her voice breaking. “I’ll unwind as many times as it takes!”

Olea laughed then, and it was a barked-out thing, forced through pain. “It will never work, you can’t go back far enough to fix this.”

“Tell me,” Kuala demanded, her eyes hard and her gaze steady. “Tell me how far back I need to go.”

“When she was born, probably.” Arkim sighed, standing and brushing himself off. “Isn’t that right, O?”

“Bingo, Ark,” Olea said lightly, as if she wasn’t gripping Sierre’s coat like a lifeline keeping her afloat.

“It won’t stop me,” Kuala threatened. “If you go, I’ll simply rewind it. Again and again. This isn’t the first and it won’t be the last time I’ve done so.”

Olea’s smile fell, and when she spoke next, Shen had to strain his ears to hear her. “You can’t unwind me, Lala. I’m stronger than you, in will and magic.”

Shen recoiled and watched as Kuala did so as well. Sierre’s eyes were focused behind Shen, though. On Arkim, her son.

“It’s okay, Olea,” he said, breaking through the tense atmosphere. “We’ll find you, one day. And everything here will be made right.”

Shen whipped his head around, focused on Arkim, on the way his shoulders were dropped and his knees shaking. Shen disagreed. There was no making this right.

“Let me go with you,” Shen demanded, turning back to Olea.

Olea took several slow steps toward the three other teenagers. She passed right by Kuala without a glance, didn’t so much as look over Shen’s shoulder at Arkim. No. She came straight to him. With a slight nod at Sierre, the woman stepped back and freed Shen from her grasp.

Stepping in close, Shen could smell the blood and salt caked onto Olea.

Her own blood, Shen had to remind himself.

She stepped close, so close Shen’s heart skipped a beat, and freed her grip from the coat wrapped around her. Bringing her palm up, she ran her fingers along Shen’s jaw. It was a fraction of a second when Shen saw Olea falter, hesitate, hold herself back. It was a breath before she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. A chaste thing, as she pulled away quickly—too quickly for Shen, who chased her head with his as she stepped back.

“No,” was all Olea said. A wave of magic hit him with her words, and the world shifted, turning and going black.

Shen shivered, coming back to the present.

What if she never got any better? Arkim had asked.

“What if she resents us for never coming for her?” not-Shen countered.

At his words, Kuala charged forward, a snarl on her face, and left the boys behind. She went so far, Shen figured she had to be out of earshot—she was definitely out of casting distance, so before she left, he burned away the hallucination.

“We know she’s at Plumcliffe,” Shen’s image continued. “We just need to get there. She’s near the Grotto, and the horses will get us there faster than she can flee.”

Arkim looked off at Kuala, her back ramrod straight. “Yeah, we’re still weeks away, though. We need to switch out our steeds soon.”

Shen nodded. “We can swap them out at the next waystation.”

It was a silent ride, after that, while Shen recovered some of the small magics he’d cast. Even Arkim, who loved to complain at any opportunity, remained silent on their ride. For a while, at least.

“Are we camping again, or can we make it to a village?” Arkim whined, long past when the sun had set across the horizon.

Kuala snorted, and Shen shot Arkim a disbelieving look.

“Do you see a village, Ark?” Kuala said, laughter lining her words.

“Well, just because it’s not right here—” Arkim cut himself off as Kuala’s grin took on a malicious twitch.

“Tell you what…” Kuala hummed. “If you can name a village on the way to Pallea, I will keep riding until we find a bed.”

Shen shook his head. Idiot. He thought fondly. Arkim has read almanacs for fun.

A wide grin spread across Arkim’s face. “Oh, no, whatever shall I do? I need to remember names!”

As Kuala’s expression fell, Arkim spoke again.

“Owla, Wellspring, Grendale, Horque, Playdue,” Arkim began ticking off the names on his fingers, and after several more seconds of listing, Kuala brought her steed up close to Arkim and whacked him on the back of the head.

“Yes, okay, I get it. Which one is the closest?” she demanded.

Shen coughed to cover a laugh, but he knew the answer as well as Arkim. The Spy and Scholar were much like the Warrior and Witcher—two sides to a single coin.

“Horque, probably. It should be another hour or two away if our horses don’t give out,” Arkim answered, snapping his reins, causing his horse to propel him forward.

Kuala twitched her lips and did the same, leaving Shen behind. He petted his horse’s neck before gently guiding it into a trot to catch up.

As the darkness surrounded them, Shen could see Kuala’s head turning as if on a swivel—scouting for any danger to the three of them. It was a relief to have her with him again. Perhaps, had she been at the university with Shen, he never would have received the scars that decorated his body.

As it turned out, Horque was not quite what the almanacs had proclaimed. Instead of a small village on the brink of collapse, the three of them found a fully erected stone wall that towered around the town—because that was what it must be called. Horque was not a small collection of ramshackle homes, as the books of ages past had proclaimed. Then again, Shen knew some of the texts he’d studied in Contraria hadn’t been updated in centuries—and one would be hard pressed to find such detailed maps of Tayaran in a Yuhaul university.

Truly, Horque had grown out of the purview of the original scholars. Shen wouldn’t be surprised if Horque had its own historian and library. A feat for any city aside from those that encapsulate Wells.

Thus, it was quite unfortunate when Shen, Kuala, and Arkim found themselves promptly escorted from the main gate through the entirety of town. Suddenly, they were in an overly ostentatious manor surrounded by not ten or twenty but thirty guards.

“The townsfolk of Horque welcome you three of Contraria,” said a man who Shen could only describe as grotesque. Though his face was handsome, and his body clearly muscled, it was the way in which he was holding a whip in his hands that bothered Shen.

Well, the whip and the woman collapsed next to the man.

Kuala was already tightening her grip around Wrezgul when Shen tapped her shoulder. Arkim was shaking his head lightly.

“Oh, dear, it seems we’ve been found out,” Arkim said lightly. “May we trouble you for your hospitality for the night? We’ll be out of your hair by morning.”

“Please, call me Viscount Hillangale.” His grin was tinged with hues of green, and Shen felt ill at the sight of it. “My, why don’t you allow my guards to escort you to your rooms?”

Shen saw the malicious glint in the eyes surrounding them. Shen knew this was the wrong move. But he had already used up his small magics for the day. He would leave this up to Arkim, and whatever way he chose to navigate them out of this.

“Very well, Viscount. Please, call us by our titles. I am Scholar,” Arkim gestured to Kuala, “this is Warrior, and the final one of us is Spy.”

It was quick, then, what followed. And it irritated Shen to no end.

The three of them were shuffled into the dungeon of Hillangale’s manor.

The whole night! Shen raged as he glared at Arkim, who had continuously avoided his gaze.

Even as they trotted away from the burning remnants of the manor that they’d left in their wake, the early hour of the morning casting a warm glow on the embers.

“What is the matter with you?” Shen demanded viciously, wrenching his way through Arkim’s mental defenses.

“I was hoping they would give us a bedroom for free.” Arkim winced as Shen immediately burned away his influence.

“Idiot,” Kuala snorted as she whipped blood off of Wrezgul.

“At least we got new steeds! At a discount!” Arkim defended himself.

Shen looked down at the war horses they’d commandeered and shot Arkim another glare.

Dismounting, Shen swung his aching legs over the saddle, landing roughly on the ground.

“Shen, cough up a ring,” Arkim demanded as the stablehand took their ill-gotten steeds away.

Rolling his eyes, Shen tugged off one of his few remaining rings—this one of emerald and gold. Worth at least twice as much as the three pale horses they were being given. It was the least of the rings he had left, the other three all being made of mithril. Shen knew there was no asking for change.

The worst of it was Shen knew Arkim had the exact amount in Tayaran currency. Kuala had ratted the man out last time they’d had to switch out their horses. It wasn’t anything new. Arkim was always stingy when it came to Shen.

It was one time, Shen griped internally. I only forgot to pay him back once.

“Shouldn’t you cover it this time?” Kuala said, mirth lining her tone as she glanced between the two men. “You’ve made Shen buy three sets of horses now.”

Arkim whistled, bright and happy, before turning on his heel and waving Kuala off. “He owes me more than a dozen horses.”

Shen tried to contain himself, but his will leaked out, and his Well flooded the area. “I was twenty! I didn’t know how much the House would take!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t know how to gamble, Shen. And it definitely is your fault that I had to bail you out.”

Crossing his arms, Shen glowered as the stable hand led the horses over to him. The poor kid looked petrified at the sight.

Shen, however, was sinking back into the memory of wasting a year's worth of his allowance in a single go. Three hundred Contrarian gold. It was a sum only one of the Heroic Lineage could write off so easily.

His mother had been so cross with Shen that she had refused to allow him to attend court for months. It was shortly after their falling out that he had sailed across the Horrid Ocean on a charter ship and began attending the university in Yuhaul. Alkimika had all but disowned him by that point. The university was his last chance at redemption, both as the son of the Scholar and the next Spy. And Shen had long since proved himself worthy. Six years in academia saw him grow in more ways than one.

Though it did make him a bit more skeptical of Contraria as a whole.

Time had passed quickly, and though Shen was exhausted, he could not find it within himself to fall asleep. Not even in the cool night, the soft breeze caressing his nose, and the stars smoldering in the sky. Across from him sat Kuala, handling the watch.

The last few waystations had found the journey growing thick with tension—Pallea was only two days away. Then they’d be in Quoral and ready to charge toward Plumcliffe.

“What’s keeping you up?” Kuala said, her voice hushed so as not to wake their sleeping beauty.

“I’m just…” the illusory-Shen’s voice trailed off. He wanted to say, ‘thinking about Olea. How close she is. How far we still have to go.’ Instead, he cleared his throat, and not-Shen continued, “Wondering how Mara will handle the return.”

“Poorly,” Kuala responded lightly. “But with grace.”

“She does everything with grace—even failing. Do you remember when we were kids, and she tried to race horses?” Shen bit his lip, holding back a laugh. “She was holding back tears from the fall, but still kept her shoulders stiff.”

“Or when she wasn’t able to save that bird when it ran into the crystals surrounding the castle.” Kuala grinned. “She made us listen to an hour-long eulogy meant for a king.”

Mara. Sweet and gentle Mara. She was strong in her own way. Raised to be the next head of Contraria’s monarchy. Her Well was strong—though, never quite as strong as one of the Four.

Shen wasn’t able to hold back his laughter as he projected a visual of Mara in Kuala’s mind, the way her brow furrowed—stern and soft all at once—the same as whenever she’d give a lecture.

“Don’t get drunk off Yuhaul Krush, the hangover is never worth it!”

Kuala wiped at her eyes viciously before barking a laugh of her own. “Did you listen?”

Burning away the image, Shen watched as Kuala’s smile turned wistful. He shook his head.

Mara had been right. It was the worst hangover of my life. Shen sighed to himself. He had been planning on telling Mara about it on his next break. It had been coming up—sort of. Depending on how one defined ‘coming up.’

Grimacing, Shen shook the thoughts of his left-behind life out of his head. It wouldn’t change anything. He’d withdrawn from courses right before finals. It was unlikely the university would let him back in at all. He had been so close to finishing his program. So close to being a trained historian. It had been the perfect cover. No one looks at a scholar twice. Not unless they are the Scholar.

“It’s for the best, you know?” Kuala murmured, leaning back against her pack. It was only ever out of Arkim’s ring for camping. “Mara thought of us as her wards—not her friends. Her duty was to Contraria, and the Four were meant to be cultivated by her as the future Queen.”

Kuala didn’t sound bitter, or resentful, or even sad. Shen just thought she sounded factual.

He let his eyes fall closed and attempted to hum an old lullaby from their homeland. Across from him, Kuala’s rough singing pitched in.

“There once was One,

A God above them all.

He found a people he could call his own.

And so, he split himself—

Tore his heart into quarters.

And from his people, he chose Four.

A Witcher, of magic made manifest,

Bloomed from the lightning that struck mountains.

A Warrior, of strength brought to bear,

Roared from the depths of the canyons.

A Scholar, of mind made mithril,

Walked the land and gave his thoughts.

A Spy, of wit sharpened like a blade,

Spoke to the One made Five.

Of them all, they each became,

Heroes in their own right.

Witcher, Warrior, Scholar, Spy.

The Four Heroes sent far and wide.”

“It’s impossible,” Arkim groaned, knocking his palm into the force barrier outside Pallea—and across what seems to be the entirety of Quoral’s border.

“Use that big brain of yours to break through. It’s gotta be possible,” Kuala griped, trying once again to stab the force barrier with Wrezgul.

Arkim and Shen looked down at the ground, and Shen sent a small thread of flames into the soft dirt underfoot. Arkim glared at the fire for half a moment before whipping his head up and looking at Kuala.

“The damned cage goes underground,” Arkim declared sourly.

“So, what do we—”

“Halt!” a deep voice interrupted Kuala, and all three of them turned to the approaching sound of marching.

“Hello,” Arkim called, unease settling into the pit of his stomach but never showing. “How can we help you, Soldier?”

Because that was what they had to be—a squad of soldiers decked out in plate armor. Some had bows, but most were armed with shortswords, save for the man who had called out to the three. He wielded a longsword.

“You can proceed to the waypoint in Pallea proper,” the leader said, a scowl on his deeply wrinkled face.

“Oh?” Arkim said sheepishly as Kuala and Shen glanced at each other. “I wasn’t aware we—”

“Save it for someone who doesn’t know your game. I can smell a tax evader from a mile away.” The man barked.

Arkim blinked before shaking off the remnants of his bewildered expression. All three of the travelers decided it was better to be viewed as an attempted tax evader than a foreign invader.

“Very well, we’ll head to the main road, then. Thank you for your guidance.” Arkim gave a gentle smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Not so fast, we’ll escort you to the gate.” This time, when the man spoke, his eyes never left Shen. His gaze burrowed under Shen’s skin, as if the soldier could see the very crux of his being.

The three didn’t fight about it. They simply mounted their horses and trotted along beside the foot soldiers.

“Why has a barrier been set up between Tayaran and Quoral? Has the war spread so far south already?” Arkim pried.

“Not as such,” the man huffed from the ground. “An illness is spreading amongst the populace. The crown has decreed not to allow any to leave once they’ve entered.”

Suddenly, the man’s gaze on Shen was crawling with expectation and derision both.

If Shen was willing to use his Well for these people, he could burn away their illness—though who knows how long it would take. With a heavy heart, Shen resolves himself to helping. After he found Olea.

“Ah, that’s terrible.” Arkim’s voice was stilted, unsure, and Shen cursed the lack of a tongue. He cursed his inability to use his Well in front of these soldiers. He cursed Arkim for not being more like him. “Any idea what is causing it?”

“It is a recent thing, only a few months old. It followed after a new Well manifested near Pearschiff.”

All three froze.

“A new Well?” Kuala said, her voice unreadable even for Shen.

“Yes, a foreigner woke it up. It was a terrible thing.” This time, when the soldier eyed them, a stone settled into Shen’s stomach. “As such, it should be up to the foreigner’s people to take accountability. Don’t you think?”

Shen sighed, a heavy and exhausted thing.

“Very well. Let us into Pallea and we will find a way to help.” Shen projected himself into the mind of Arkim, Kuala, and the lead soldier.

To his credit, the leader suppressed his shiver nearly as soon as it appeared.

Shen burned his hallucination from their minds and trotted forward.

It was a short time later that the group found themselves being escorted through the sickly streets of Pallea, with its winding roads and heavy smell of death.

“Lord Ewing will be pleased to hear of your willingness to help,” the soldier said, his helm pulled up to reveal the darkness in his eyes.

He only looked back at Kuala, Arkim, and Shen for a moment—and once he’d looked away, Kuala sent Shen a pleading look. It was a rare thing for the woman.

She usually just did what she wanted without regard for anything else.

This, however, was a mix of faults. On one hand, it was Shen’s choice to bond with the Well of Xolo. On another, it was the foreigner who awakened a Well.

Looking at Kuala’s seafoam eyes, he met her gaze with his own grass-green eyes. And he nodded, resignation filling him.

Between one breath and the next, Wrezgul was sliding through spines, and men were collapsing.

Shen took a deep breath and held out his hands. He created within his mind a black hole where his Well was not to touch. And then his mana veins burned, his magic locking onto everything within a hundred-foot radius. He sank his mental hooks into the minds of soldiers, guards, and bystanders.

Then he pulled. Ripping from them their will to stand and their ability to see, Shen watched as dozens of people collapsed.

Walking from the city, Kuala, Arkim, and Shen had weights across their shoulders. The weight of bloodshed, of choices made, of guilt.

But they had places to be—people to save.

And so, Shen sent out a shining blue bird.

When it shot off toward Plumcliffe, he nearly cried out in relief, even when he refused to say what he saw on the other end.

The coil of dread within his stomach released as Shen had a single thought.

She’s waiting.