An hour later, they arrived.

  The party were seated in one of the great dining halls of Kag’s keep. It was a lofty, vaulted chamber filled with towering ironwood beams and tapestries that draped like water over the stained glass windows. Tall, proud stones made up the ten-foot-thick walls as bookshelves clung like vines to the gilded interior. Gargoyles and statues of servants of the imperial throne were etched into every fine inch, making it seem as though the great hall had ever-present watchful eyes. Kag’s immortalized citizens and deities alike forever stared down in judgment through their marble gaze. The ceiling was a masterwork of art. The battle of Kag was forever immortalized in over ten thousand brushstrokes on the curved arches. A brushstroke to commemorate every year since the battle’s passing. It had been commissioned by the former Emperor himself, and while Irwain often regarded it as a gift, it too was a stark reminder to the depth, passion and loyalty so freely dictated by imperial command. Irwain had held balls in here in the past. Not that Jan had ever actually attended. Apart from the snacks, they were rather boring occasions filled with political guile and boring speeches. A great hearth was placed on one side of the room with a fire crackling among the tree-sized logs. Sparks echoed from the gnarled wood, flames dancing among the candlelit shadows. The room was a potent mixture of elegance and beauty, with polished floors complemented by paintings and banners which strung from wall to wall in a lattice of vibrant colours. Banners honouring the great houses hung like sore reminders among the hall’s architectural beauty; there must have been thousands. Each design desperate to be different, unique enough to spill out the virtues of it’s forbearers and capture any attentive glow from those within as they cried out for remembrance.

  They were fully seated around a thirty-foot ironwood table. At the head was Irwain, and four chairs were set on either side. The rest of the table was empty, and Longsa had joined him. She sat poised like a panther ready to strike as her eyes gleamed with a smug expression. Her sword dangled in a well-worn sheath as simple training robes had replaced her armour.

  “More lobster, Laura?” Irwain asked.

  She nodded thankfully and raised her plate for a third oversized portion to splatter on top.

  Butter oozed from the red shell as she cast a sly glance toward Jan. She was enjoying this moment.

  A huge platter of food was spread out infront. Crustaceans, wild boar, skewered octopus, potato salad, meat pies, geese and roasted duck. Vegetables, somewhat rotten fruits from the eastern borders, freshly baked loaves and cookies were complemented by diluted wine along with purified water. Imported beef and lizard sat glazed in the finest spices. Pasta and local dishes steamed untouched as their delicious scent wafted through the thin air. If gluttony had a personification, it would be outshone by the sheer wealth and complexity of the provisions spread infront. An army of personal chefs would have slaved for hours over the stove to prepare the feast infront, and only four people ate.

  Jan picked up his knife and fork and began cutting away at a different section of the table.

  His food.

  A tall glass of water, stale bread that was older than the city's last revolution and boiled spinach that looked a few days from sentient.

  Rations provided by Irwain.

  It was a punishment, but if this was all he received at the hand of Irwain, it wasn't terrible. He cast a glance towards Longsa, and the Scrier gave a sly smile in return. She was a little too smug.

  “Do you know why you’re here Jan?” the Archmage said slowly.

  "Good job integrating with these primitives Commander!!! This Jannic shaman seems to believe you're the real deal!!!!" Sill whispered in pure confusion.

  The two scribes looked at each other. Almost trying to blink a coherent story together over scurried, hidden messages or shocked expressions. There had been no time to corroborate tales or invent even the thinnest stretch of lie.

  “No?” He added to stave off the silence.

  The room fell quiet, and the two cast glances again.

  “Longsa talked to me about your little break-in at Kag's library,” Irwain said with a perplexed expression on his lips.

  Laura scoffed, almost choking on a piece of fish as Jan's eyes widened. The two were almost frozen in fright. Hatred brewed in Jan’s stomach. He could feel it pulsating through his veins as his fist clenched in anger. It had been a fair game; Sill had defeated her with ease, and even then, Longsa still hadn't upheld her version of the deal. Jan cast a glance towards Sill and wondered what he could dire actions he could take to protect the poor rock. The creature buzzed for a moment before letting loose a startled jumble of expressions Jan took for foul-mouthed curses.

  “That being said, sneaking into the library to steal answers to Kag's exams is something you've done before.”

  “What?!” Jan muttered out loud. This was not the conclusion he was expecting.

  The two scribes turned to have combined confused expressions.

  “Relax Laura, I know it wasn't your fault, and besides, without your company, Jan likely would have done much worse,” Irwain added.

  Strikes, what does she have on him that I take all the blame?

  Laura slipped back a little bit, yet her face still contained a similar pale expression. She twisted pasta with her fork, a habit forcing her mind to readjust.

  “Wait, we can explain…” Jan opened his mouth to speak.

  “Quiet...” the Archmage said calmly. Irwain took a harsher tone, leaning against the table as he spoke. He, too, had barely touched his food. At the same time, he seemed to have something weighing on him, a strange half-muddled expression between pity and shame.

  “I think it’s time we had a change around here, and Longsa has made great points. I am impressed that you both were able to beat two inanimate objects in a pwol without the use of your own”

  “It’s true, I too was quite impressed by their abilities,” Longsa added smugly.

  She gave no hint at the lie and was almost too comfortable distorting the truth infront of Irwain. Her face lit up with how easily she had manipulated the Archmage. A potent glee that almost spread from ear to ear. The two both instantaneously jumped on the branch their tormentor had just so graciously provided, adding to the hollow truth with hurried words.

  “You saw us playing earlier today. Jan loves the game; he's a brilliant strategist, I've been teaching him, and he's quite good! Almost too good! You know us always working away!” Laura stuttered.

  Jan could tell she was nervous, but for both of them, lying had never been their strong suit.

  “Yes, yes, I love the game. I love pwol, pwol is great!” Jan wheezed.

  “Yes, Commander!!! Quick, while you're at it, ask for the bank vault codes!! We need those!!” Sill whispered to Jan. He couldn't understand how the rock was able to speak to only him, but the voice appeared in his ear and left him double-checking Irwain's expression for any hint of recognition. The creature was still helplessly lost at all social cues.

  In a moment, Irwain cleared his throat before letting his knife sink into an octopus tendril and hit the plate with a resounding clang. He stared at the food like a spoiled duck as he spoke, never letting his gaze wander from the dish. A tapestry fluttered behind him, the thick fabric waving in the crisp evening wind.

  “I have given you every opportunity to succeed here in Kag, brought you into this keep, and while you have performed actions both good and bad, this can not continue. Your academics and performance continue to excel, but your laziness is just unfathomable.”

  “Look….” Jan replied only to be cut off.

  “Jan, I don’t want to hear it. You may be a talented mage, but I’ve got better things to attend to. You understand? Your problems just aren’t worth my time anymore.”

  “Unfathomable,” Laura mouthed silently, causing Jan to snicker and wince at the same time. The emotion was quickly diffused by the seriousness of the moment.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Irwain’s actions felt more stern; this time, a hint of disturbance echoed through his voice.

  “Look out that window.”

  He stood up forward a moment and shifted his head like a clock towards the stained glass. Jan could hear their faint shouts and shifting words. Protesters clung to the Kag’s closest street corner. A mass of a few hundred people surrounded by a few sporadic guards as the crowd clung like wasps to the marble street. They waved signs like sharpened swords, slogans their battle cries as each shouted in unison, a mixture of fear and anger sprouting from their lips. It was a small protest, and realistically, there had been larger in the past. However, three years prior, a protest like this would have drawn out the city's entire garrison. Now it was a simple squabble, derelict by a handful of guards and stared at in passing by the merchants and nobles who traversed the downtown quarter. It was an ever-present reminder of the horrors the city faced when no one watched. There was a thorn in their hearts. An unseen terror slowly chewing through their mists, and while its claw perched upon the shoulder of every soul, its strike was slower than an aging death. The changeing.

  They were terrified of the parasitic disease. From coffee shops, taverns, street corners, marketplaces, to classrooms, the term hung like a forgotten curse in conversations, an ever-present being, watching, waiting as they discussed its presence in hushed whispers that became ever louder as fear gathered. While clinics and testing sites had been opened to quell suspicions and routine screening patrols stalked what back alleys and populated quarters felt the most affected, it was growing. Kag’s newspapers hadn’t done much to quiet suspicions with independent works like the Sam Herald plastering catchy titles and fear-mongering illustrations to rake in coin.

  Damnu had commissioned a report on incidence rates last week. It had been hidden in his desk, but Jan didn’t mind picking a few locks when he was bored. Current estimates placed the disease at an infection rate of one in a thousand, with only one in ten thousand having its non-dormant form. One in ten thousand people was completely under the control of some kind of parasitic worm.

  It’s not like the disease was something new. It had always been present. There were ways to test for it and largely dangerous ways to treat it dating back a thousand years. Prolonged fever could cause expulsion, but few could survive at such heat or the turmoil of its removal.

  The problem was it was growing and faster than ever before.

  “I may lie to the public’s face, but there is a reason Longsa is here Jan.”

  He was taking his time speaking. Almost relishing the words that echoed across the cascading hall.

  “This city doesn’t have time for your antics anymore, and the Emperor doesn’t either,” the Archmage said.

  “I have a duty as your mentor and teacher, and I have had some talks with Longsa about what is to come next and your future career among our ranks.”

  “You think this can go on forever?”

  “Me running around, playing catch-up while you drag poor Laura into yet another idiotic venture?”

  Jan slinked into his chair a little.

  “Sorry, Lord Archmage,” a voice cut into their conversation.

  It was one of the lower clerics. His tattered and patched imperial robes, along with a half-shaven appearance, dictated that of an inquisitor in imperial service. Coarse, aged hands clung to a bundle of papers as Irwain's aides let him through. He smelt like a mixture of smoke and hay, only found on those who spent too much time on the road.

  “I have just received news for you and the Scrier, those reports you requested on the famine in the eastern breeches.”

  “Ah, thank you, Elder Partich,” Irwain muttered calmly while staring at the paper with lazy eyes.

  The conversation seemed to calm him down, and he shifted his attention away from Jan.

  “What do you think Longsa?” He asked quietly.

  These two were getting along. Since when did they get along?

  She pointed to a line neither Jan nor Laura could see and looked like she sour taste in her mouth. The inky blotch must have elicited some tinge of feeling in her stern heart as her face drooped into a stretched, perplexing expression.

  “Apparent fire destroyed over sixty percent of crops; only an additional ten percent could be duplicated by magic,” Longsa breathed.

  She twisted the hilt of her sword out of habit and shifted her own cloak to let the red robes crinkle like weathered paper on the smooth tiles.

  “Kag won't be affected directly apart from short price increases, but the neighbouring region likely will require food aid,” Partrich added.

  Jan continued to eat as they were distracted. He quickly stole a drumstick from the platter nearby in a careful manner that wouldn't draw their attention. The chicken was nice, and its roasted texture clung to the roof of his mouth.

  “Contact the merchant guild and the imperial distribution office; perhaps we can requisition duplication mages and fertilizers to aid in the assisting region,” Irwain responded.

  “And for the region itself?” Partrich asked.

  “Longsa it says here they will need twelve shipments of food, tools and lumber to make full economic recovery correct?” Irwain stated plainly.

  She sifted in her seat and Jan could tell her eyes were sifting over the report with a little more emotion than she hoped others would realize.

  “Yes, and I agree. I've been in that region myself the people have very little. Farming is their only vocation. I think it's wise if we give them what they need” Longsa spoke quickly.

  “But! There is a reason you have travelled there before Longsa? Not a few months ago did they not rebel against the Emperor? Irwain added sharply.

  He seemed happy with this and placed a little too much more emphasis on the first half of the sentence, causing his face to light up and almost teasing Longsa. Irwain’s soft hands grasped a chalice as he spoke slowly, sipping the wine within.

  “They are people Irwain, people just like the citizens of Kag who are only trying to get by,” Longsa spoke.

  An awkward tension filled the room. It dissipated far too quickly. For a moment, Jan felt a little more respect for the aged Scrier than he had before. He could tell Patritch too was happy with her remarks. His eyes betrayed his emotions and showed a man excited about having a less bloodthirsty general dine with Irwain. Sometimes it was interesting when the two halves of imperial service dared to interact. A hardened veteran who had clawed her way through blood and ash to taste the scarcest semblance of power, breaking bread with nobility shaped by political games and pampered marble towers.

  “I understand. Yet you forget yourself Scrier. The Emporer does not retain control through handouts to rebel hordes or serving as a doormat for whatever beggar dares call up his mercy.”

  Partrich didn’t seem pleased with this.

  “Send 10 carriages and give them more lumber than food; if they ration, maybe only a few will starve. We need to show them the Empire is kind but not more providing than their own hands,” the Archmage listed.

  “Lord Archmage, these people need the food; twelve shipments were the minimum to begin with,” the Elder spoke.

  “Yes, and did I make any lapse in judgment Partich?” Irwain responded.

  Irwain stared with cold unforgiving eyes as the other man stepped backwards and quickly wrote something down on a chart. There was no malice or cruelty in the archmage’s words, only indifference. He scribbled something down on the ledger with a posture that made it seem like he was trying to bury his soul from Irwain’s decision.

  “Sorry, now where were we….yes punishment Jan. Longsa would you be so kind as to explain?”

  Longsa cleared her voice. She had been dining on a simple chicken soup and she stirred it with a spoon as she spoke.

  “This time we're thinking of a community service that will paint you in a far better light within Kags populace, something that will make a name for yourself, something that isn't as mundane as the past.”

  Community service? Like picking up garbage in the park?

  These two were being melodramatic. Jan swallowed. Community service was nothing. He had experienced it countless times in the past. Cleaning gutters or repellant stables with magic even duplicating food for Kag's poor were all too easy feats for someone of his talent. Then Longsa spoke.

  “We want you two arrest the Dawnshire bandit.”

  “What!!” Jan leapt up off the table in fright.

  “We who's we?” Laura asked suddenly. Her hand shook as she spoke; she was genuinely afraid.

  “Laura, you were present at Jan's event and while I give you little credit, you can't get away this time” Irwain added.

  She slunk back in her chair and cast a glance at Jan that was a mixture of shock and horror.

  “You want us to catch the Dawnshire bandit?” Jan mouthed.

  “Okay I'm sorry but this is ridiculous! You are Irwain! I am me! Laura and I have barely gotten into combat once in our entire lives.”

  “With how good at pwol you are, it was clear I was babying you Jan and quite frankly while you will always be my consul. It's about time you started to make a name for yourself. Longsa convinced me that chasing after this lowlife could be the start of a long and rewarding career.”

  Great. Look at what Sill had gotten them into. The rock was still silent and seemingly unresponsive to what happened ahead. His eyes shot daggers into Longsa's face yet the Scrier ignored him.

  “Isn't this dangerous?! Look this isn't some weak grunt with a sword, this is the Dawnshire bandit!” Laura added.

  Longsa replied by throwing a newspaper onto the table. Blocky letters cascaded in large print font over the freshly minted pages. It still had a crisp paper smell with duplication magic likely used to produce enough copies to meet an ever-growing demand.

  Jan’s eyes scanned the page furiously.

  Twelve weeks ago, bad things started happening in Kag. The city was large and complicated enough for organized crime yet this was something different. In Kags winding streets, murder, robbery and gambling were all too common beyond the guards ever stretched watch. Its nooks and scattered streets made up for the perfect maze for which to hide vast enterprises, ill-dispatched ventures or disappear from what few patrols walked the stingy beat. Yet, mass crime at this scale had rarely been seen before and none with such brazen disregard for criminal norms. Imperial payroll carts had begun disappearing. Last week it was ten thousand quands, the week before twenty. It was always the same story. No one could explain why, and even fewer clues were left scattered like cut grass in the dry wind.

  “Thankfully, Kag has just appointed a direct Sheriff for this very matter,” Longsa noted.

  A wave of relief spread across the two scribes' faces. At least they wouldn’t be alone, and this meant they would likely pull grunt work as part of a major operation. Laura picked up the newspaper and combed through it’s pages to rest upon a small column describing the new lawmaker’s appointment. Her thumb rested on the corner and smeared ink while she spread the pages so Jan could see. The words seem to coalesce in a lengthy splotch of action, almost fighting in desperation over what daring syllable could draw the most outlandish claim towards the Sheriff’s exploits. Whatever author worked for the Sam Herald had a little too much fun with this interview.

  Youngest Sheriff in Kag History Appointed to Crack Dawnshire Mystery

  Veteran, Scholar, Champion: New Hope Against Kag’s Criminal Undergrowth

  Brilliant, beautiful and daring…. the Youngest Sheriff in Kag History has been appointed to solve the increasingly elusive Dawnshire mystery. Latest from Kag’s Ministry of Justice, Veteran from the Smearling Front…..Lower House Noble Stops Local Thief….. Expert in deduction, combat, hardened battle commander and academic, judicial scholar, six times Pwol champion, seven times fencing Kag champion….awarded Bronze Quand in service to the city…..arrested sixteen seuyutan gang members with nothing but table leg over stolen produce worth forty thousand quands….. Results expected and general public glad to see well-earned choice for political service, contrasting historical appoint for cons…..if brave honourable lawmakers like this continue to be appointed, this newspaper sees no reason why the streets of Kag will not prosper in an………..and the Dawnshire bandits are sure to hang for their tormentous crimes.

  This was getting ridiculous. Jan scanned for keywords, too lazy to actually read the full article itself as he tried to work out which absurd accomplishment the scrawny, undeserving and clearly embellished page would attribute next. Whatever author had done the interview certainly liked their adjectives but their style wasn’t half bad. Still, there was no mention of the Sheriff’s name, which was odd. If only half of these exaggerations were true, which they often were, then whoever this person was may actually be able to handle the Dawnshire bandits themselves. He half expected the pages to grow legs and sprint around the room in circles like a broken cuckoo clock, shouting out obsequious serenades at the young consul.

  “I gave them the order myself last Tuesday, and we served together on the eastern border. You’ll be in safe hands,” Longsa added.

  The two seemed overtly pleased with their decision.

  “She knows her stuff, and all you two have to do is follow her exact orders and you’ll be fine. If I am correct, she should deputize you as constables of the ministry.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, Jan, you may know her, I believe you two go to school together?:

  Laura finally flipped the page and overcame another lengthy swirl of writing to finally observe a black and white painted picture of the Sheriff’s face. In an instant, she slapped the newspaper closed before Jan could see, causing him to lean back in shock.

  “Oh no”

  Irwain leaned over and turned the page. He stared at it with complete misunderstanding, with not a single hint of recognition towards the significance of what lay infront.

  “There she is, and she’s one of Kag’s finest academics, scholars and citizens. A fine mage too, in fact I wouldn’t be surprised if some day she became Scrier herself.”

  Horror struck Jan’s frail skeleton as his eyes widened to an unearthly size. The inky picture almost taunted him from its position on the table’s edge. His eyes flicked to the caption and confirmed the atrocity that had been thrust upon them by a cruel and fickle god.

  It’s mocking margins and tantalizing words coalesced into almost a paper creature of it’s own desire, spouting as many facts as it could to torment Jan’s soul. Her perfect dark hair and pitch black eyes complemented pale skin. A gilded set of glinting armour hung from the Sheriff’s chest as her palm rested on a sword and her hand summoned a lick of fire. She had posed well, so well Jan imagined even the poor artist who was indentured to spend hellish hours enduring her self-infatuated conversation would have been impressed. A few sparse medals highlighted themselves on the black and white page. It was a thin line of accomplishments, yet still absurdly impressive for someone so young. Even her face was twisted into the shape of an immaculate smile full of confidence and hedonistic pride.

  “The new Honourable Sheriff of Kag,” Irwain repeated simply.

  Aloat Barka