Bernt extended his spirit into the circle and braced himself for the disorienting sensation of being in two places at once. Jori, who didn’t have any prior warning, stumbled and nearly fell before she caught herself. She was running across the dead, rocky landscape of the hells flanked by several other imps.

  “Finally!” she cried, “What took you so long? I have news!”

  “I heard.” Bernt said, keeping his voice low. There were a few people within earshot, but it was only Nirlig, Torvald, Ina and Estrid. The latter two didn’t know about Jori, but he wasn’t especially worried about them. Besides they were having a conversation of their own over dinner. “I got Iriala’s message. Can you really do it?”

  Jori shrugged confidently and picked up her pace again to catch up with the other imps. They were getting away from her. “Sure. I don’t really know that we can kill a shade, but I don’t think Ed will have any trouble.”

  “But how will you even find them? I thought they would be off in their own… places.”

  Bernt felt Jori grin viciously. “Oh, don’t worry about that. That’s the easy part – I’m very sneaky. I just sent Faedris to go and ask where to find them. With Tallash dead, nobody is going to be suspicious about one of his imps looking for protection. Everyone knew they all worked under Zijeregh together.”

  “And that’s going to work?” Bernt asked skeptically.

  “We already found the hag, Roaznis. We’ll reach her position in a few days – she’s supposed to guard a confluence with the fourth hell when she’s here, on this side. Faedris and Maladzhoth just walked into one of Varamemnon’s outposts and asked. The demon in charge tried to coerce them into service, but a bit of hellfire to the face set her straight. It was easy!”

  It didn’t sound easy. “Just be careful, alright?”

  Jori rolled her eyes. “The great mages check in every day. When we get there, I’m going to grab Ed and let him flatten the entire place. If the hag isn’t there, we might just do it ourselves and then set a nice trap for her when she returns from the mortal plane. They’ll never stand a chance.”

  Bernt grunted in what wasn’t quite agreement, but he tried to mirror the confidence she felt as he withdrew his spirit. Then he broke the portal circle, smudging the carefully chalked runes. Stepping back over to the others by the fire, he noticed a new arrival – Xul’evareg was sitting with Estrid, who was talking animatedly to the old goblin.

  “ – it’s all the same thing, right? I mean, a spirit is a spirit whether it’s got a body or not, and that’s your area of focus. Do you know if that’s really how it works?”

  The shaman frowned and gave a sort of half-nod. “I speak to the spirits, I understand them. But it’s not the same. I don’t try to change them or tell them what to be. I don’t tell them what to eat, or watch them do it. Many spirits just like normal things – like anybody. It’s not all about power and magic. They like to experience new things, or to just enjoy familiar comforts.”

  Bernt sat down, eyeing the two of them. He could guess what Estrid was talking about – she wanted to understand magical potential, to see if his ideas were any good. As it happened, he wanted to know about that, too.

  “Do you know anything about how spirits grow naturally?” he asked. Maybe he should have talked to a shaman sooner. For all he knew, Xul’evareg could simply tell him what it took to bridge the differences inside his own mana network.

  Xul’evareg hummed, looking him over. “Not like you, that’s for sure. You have an unbalanced aura. A piece of your spirit is living fire, manifested in the world. That makes you an elemental – or a small piece of one. The rest of you is... off, a little. But that's normal for mages. In nature, this does not happen – it can’t.”

  “Is that bad?”

  The goblin frowned. “I don’t know, but it’s unnatural. If a spirit changes, then it does it all in one piece, to maintain its balance and sense of self. People are more than just a spirit, we have bodies and our minds, so we can do things differently. But I wouldn’t say that makes it a good idea.”

  “Right, okay.” Bernt said, uncertainly, “But how can I find the balance, as you said? I think I need another material that will bridge the gap between the two investitures I already have, but I have no idea exactly what I’m looking for.”

  The shaman cut him off with a forceful shake of her head. “No! A spirit is one thing. One. If you want balance, you have to unify it. I can’t tell you how to do something like that, but sticking more foreign bits into the essence of your being is not going to work.”

  Bernt grimaced and shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t know. Mages do try to achieve balance. In a way, at least between our different investitures. They have to be able to fuse together as a greater whole, or we end up weakened. If they don’t match up properly, it doesn’t work.”

  “It sounds like foolishness to me,” Xul’evareg said. “But it’s fire. If you want to learn more about fire spirits, you should go and talk to one.” She pointed south, toward the mountain range that separated them from the Phoenix Reaches. “Something that all spirits have over us mortals is that they understand themselves. You can learn something if you listen, maybe.”

  Bernt looked out toward where she was pointing. The sky behind the mountains was tinged red, as if by the first light of dawn. It hadn't sounded like the whole place was on fire in his books, but that made him doubt. Maybe it was a storm? The burning rain would probably make enormous fires. But that wasn't the point right now, he had more urgent questions.

  “I can just go and talk to an elemental? How? And where would I even find one?” The entire suggestion seemed ridiculous. They were literal forces of nature, you couldn’t just stop by for a chat. Besides, they weren't even really the same sort of spirits as those the Goblins worshipped – elementals always manifested physically. But apparently their shamans didn't really see it that way. Bernt had already been planning to summon a flame sprite – but a tiny elemental like that didn’t even have a will of its own, much less a mind capable of complex thought. Could he maybe summon something more substantial? But how? And how would he keep it from incinerating him on the spot?

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The goblin shrugged. “It’s not so complicated. Spirits can always make themselves understood if you bother to listen. The hard part is communicating back. If you want to find one, you just go and look. Intelligent creatures all behave alike in certain ways. They go to places that make sense to them. If you can understand them, you can find them.”

  Bernt looked over at the others. Nirlig and Ina had somehow disappeared in the last few minutes, but Estrid nodded at him encouragingly. “Elementals aren’t inherently violent. They get a bad reputation, mostly because they are inherently dangerous and people are stupid.”

  He let out a small sigh and nodded. “Alright, I guess since I’m already going to the Reaches... assuming I can find an intelligent fire elemental to talk to.”

  ***

  The night passed uneventfully, making it the first time they hadn’t been attacked the day after leaving a major city. Still, the reprieve didn’t do much for morale.

  The sentries spotted movement more than once, and Ksuwa and Ina found tracks around the campsite in the morning – claw marks, human-sized boots, and less identifiable marks. Some were fresh, and others at least a day old. They were being followed, but the enemy was ahead of them as well.

  There was nothing for it but to go on. There were no alternate routes around the Sunset Range. But they weren’t attacked that night either, or the one after. Still, the general mood continued to sour. People began snapping at each other, and Emata had to step in once, when one of the remaining Halfbridge adventurers tried to pick a fight with Ksuwa.

  The terrain grew drier every day, until nothing but a few weeds poked out of the rocky landscape. Massive boulders began to appear here and there, growing denser as they progressed and casting shadows down on the road which wound around the enormous obstacles and slowed their progress.

  “Do you think that shade is following us on the march?” Bernt asked Uriah one night. They were conjuring water for the camp – or rather Uriah was. Bernt had barely managed to fill a single cooking pot in the time that the hydromancer refilled canteens, waterskins, pots, and even a washbasin.

  The others were setting up several circles of stones for fires. There was no fuel to burn here, so Bernt was going to set up several of his improvised campfire spells. Everyone was on edge, and they had been for days now. The circumstances warranted it, but he was starting to wonder if it was all just a bit too much.

  “What do you mean?” Uriah asked, putting a stopper in a waterskin. “You think there’s a demon here?”

  “Not right here, but close. It’s like the shades in Halfbridge, during the siege.” Bernt explained. “They were influencing people’s emotions, making them scared. It felt just like it does right now…”

  “I don’t know. We’re being stalked by a bunch of demons. You can’t expect anybody to be cheerful and relaxed. Don’t you think someone would have seen something?”

  Bernt shrugged. “Not necessarily. Almost nobody actually saw them in Halfbridge. Count Narald ended up hiring the Bards’ Guild to play all around the city to counteract them. I was in the Undercity for most of it, but you could really tell the difference. Do you think I should talk to Elyn? Maybe she could help.”

  Uriah looked around at the shadows suspiciously, as if trying to catch a glimpse of it right then. “Yeah, sure. I guess.”

  Hefting his single pot of water, Bernt carried it over to one of the unlit fire rings, where Elyn, Torvald and Regin were cutting up a few wrinkly vegetables and a large chunk of the late Kanan’s salt pork on a board that they’d lifted out of the side of one of the wagons. Olias sat nearby and watched, not doing anything useful that Bernt could see.

  “I’m telling you, it was right over there when I picked up that rock for the fire,” Regin pointed. “It was a scorpion. It was eating another scorpion.”

  “And what’s that supposed to mean, exactly?” Olias asked. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a flask. He seemed amused more than annoyed by Regin’s superstition. Bernt did his best to ignore the young nobleman – he was tired of hearing how every cloud or bush was somehow an omen of impending doom.

  “It’s a powerful expression of treachery.” the young Baron explained. “One of our own is going to betray us.”

  Bernt narrowly managed not to roll his eyes. Olias took a swig from his flask and made a face as he swallowed the hard liquor.

  “You know, I have to ask. With such insight, how is it that you even got appointed as a legitimator – or that you accepted?” he asked, frowning. He gestured grandly at their surroundings. “One would think that you would have foreseen the danger.”

  Regin’s eyes flicked around the camp nervously, the sarcasm entirely lost on him. “It’s no safer at home – the signs follow me wherever I go. Besides, I’m a ranking member of the Mercantile Guild – one of the only nobles represented. An opportunity to work directly with the Temple of Balarian wasn’t something I could pass up. And my mother urged me to accept.”

  “Your mother…?” Olias asked, clearly surprised. Then his eyes lit up in understanding and his expression grew a bit more sympathetic. “Ah, I see. Inherited your title young, and the dowager Baroness steps in to take on the load. Don’t want the little lord to cock up the entire barony, right? You grow up a few years, start to assert yourself a little and next thing you know you’re being shipped off to Halfbridge to babysit a priestess. Have I got it right?”

  Regin frowned bitterly. It was confirmation enough that Olias had hit a nerve.

  “I guess she might think that, but she’ll see,” he said after a moment. “They all will. Angjou is a high priestess from the Temple of Balarian. I know what I’m doing. I met with a lot of important people in Halfbridge. People I wouldn’t have met if I hadn’t gone. We’ll see what they have to say when we’ve got a temple sitting right on the Hilltower square. We’re a good location, now that Loamfurth is gone.”

  Olias sighed and leaned forward, catching Regin’s eye. “Look at me, boy. You don’t have to prove anything to anybody – especially not to a usurper of a mother. You have the money and the title to choose who you want to be and what you want to do. The sooner you learn it, the happier you will be. Take it from a man who’s been around for a few years.”

  Regin grimaced and returned to cutting meat without answering. Olias shook his head and let him be.

  Bernt cleared his throat and turned to Elyn, changing the subject. “Hey, do you think you could play something on your flute to counteract mental magic? Or just to lift people’s mood? I think the demons might be doing something to us. Have you noticed how dour everyone’s been on the road? It was bad even before we got to Gobford.”

  The half-elf looked around musingly, taking in the general mood as if just now noticing. After a moment, she shrugged and wiped her hands on her colorful pants. “Sure, why not? A bit of music will do us all good. You want to take over here?”

  “I’ll send Nirlig over as soon as I find him.” Bernt promised. “I need to light the fires.”

  Bernt cast his enlarged perpetual torch spell into the circle of stones at his feet and heaved the cooking pot onto the flattest of the rocks to heat up. As he moved to the next one, cheerful flute music began to drift over the camp. From one step to the next, Bernt felt like a weight had lifted off of his chest, letting him breathe easier. He even gained a spring in his step, only then realizing that he’d been literally dragging his heels.

  Conversation started up around the camp, and Bernt heard someone laugh. He lit another fire near the wagons and turned to go when he heard a giggle from nearby. He looked down, following the sound, and found two pairs of goblin-sized boots poking out from underneath a wagon.

  Bernt took a few hurried steps back before turning and moving on, shaking his head. He’d cut the damned vegetables himself.