Satchel’s mind felt numb. All of his thoughts, like the infinite drops of water that form an ocean, roiled and flowed around one another until they coalesced into a solid, indefinable mass. He sat motionless beside the witch. Basco and Jarek stood just behind him, saying nothing. It was only when his mentor gently nudged him that the young thief stirred. Without a word, he rose and found the old chest next to the fireplace. The thing was covered in soot and mold.

  Satchel was about to open it when he noticed something on the lid underneath the grime. He wiped the lid with a hand and stared, eyes wide. It was the same picture he had seen on the chest in Jacob’s tent back in Ire, the one that had held his boots. He quickly undid the latch, opened the lid and peered within.

  “What is it?” asked Jarek.

  Satchel stared at it for a moment. He then reached in and pulled out the contents. It was heavy; Satchel had to use both hands to lift it out of the chest. It was a breastplate made of thick black leather. The armor was well-kept, but also well-used. Three straps buckled across the abdomen, meant to secure the armor to the wearer. Several wide strips stacked on edges topped by a rounded shoulder piece served as the spaulders. This armor favored mobility and speed over durability and protection. The only embellishment was a silver shield burrowed into the left breast. A maroon band extended diagonally from the upper left corner of the shield to the bottom-right edge. A black eagle sat in center overlapping the red band. A branch of holly ran from the top right outside corner and connected at the point just below the shield to a laurel branch that ran up the left side. Beneath was a banner that read, “FIDES SERVO DILIGO.”

  As Satchel finished reading the banner, Basco’s thick hand snagged the armor and yanked it from Satchel’s grasp. The old mercenary studied the badge with fervor, scanning every little inch he could. When he looked up, his face held a grim expression.

  To Satchel, he said, “This is not meant for you, boy. It is too dangerous.”

  “Itannia said it belonged to me!”

  “She was delirious in her final moments. She must not have realized what she had. This is the seal of the Capestrellis. Anything tied to them is fraught with misfortune.”

  Satchel looked at Jarek, his eyes pleading, but his mentor hesitated.

  The young thief’s face reddened. “So what? It’s not yours to decide how to use it.”

  Basco’s eyes flared. With speed faster than expected, he struck Satchel across the face with the back of his hand, sending the boy to the floor.

  The big man reared back again, but Jarek grabbed his arm and yanked him close. His voice thundered inside the tiny shack. “Don’t you touch him!”

  Basco, surprised by Jarek’s sudden ferocity, said, “But Jarek—”

  The old thief’s mechanical grip tightened, making his former comrade wince. “You do not treat my apprentice that way. He saved us both. To him go the spoils.”

  Basco was indignant. “It should be destroyed, Jarek. Think of what could happen if this thing fell into the wrong hands. The boy can’t handle this kind of power.”

  Jarek’s eyes narrowed. “That boy has proven himself more man than either of us today.” His features softened, as though he had just realized something. “He isn’t Philip.”

  Basco pulled his arm free. “Don’t you dare speak his name, coward!”

  The old thief grabbed the former mercenary by the collar. “You’re the one hiding behind your fear. Satchel has more than proven himself and earned that armor.” He slammed Basco into the back wall of the shack. “It is his, and you will put it down now!”

  For the first time since Satchel had met him, Basco looked terrified. His grip weakened and the armor dropped the floor. Satchel snatched it and looked up at Jarek, his face full of awe.

  “Go on, boy,” Jarek said as he let go of Basco, “it’s yours. And no sobbing!”

  “Y-yes, sir,” Satchel said, clearing his throat. He then undid the clasps and slipped the armor over his head. The armor seemed to adjust itself to the boy’s thin frame; it fit him perfectly.

  “It feels light,” said Satchel, “almost like I’m not wearing it at all.” He looked at Itannia’s dead body, and the moment of elation evaporated. “What do we do about her? She protected us. She told me…well, I’m not sure I understand what she told me.”

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  Jarek rested his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll light funeral torches. Give her a proper ceremony. We can work out what she told you later.”

  Satchel nodded. He gave Itannia one last look before leaving the shack. Jarek prodded Basco to move and the old mercenary wordlessly stepped through the door and down the ramp, shoulders and head drooping. Jarek used his tinderbox and some dry cloth to light a fire at each corner of the hut. Before long, the whole thing was ablaze. The three travelers stood watching as the flames gradually consumed the entire shack.

  Though Satchel was no longer concerned about what might attack them, the trek back through the woods was worse than coming. Despite only knowing her for a brief moment, Itannia’s death saddened him. More than that, what she had told him weighed heavily on him. What could all of it have meant?

  As they returned to the main road, the sun sat halfway between its apex and the horizon. Satchel walked, lost in thought, next to Jarek with Basco sulking behind them.

  After they passed out of sight of the woods, Jarek said, “Now, about what the witch told you…spare no detail.”

  Satchel nodded and recounted Jarek everything the witch had said.

  Jarek’s face became grim as Satchel spoke. “I don’t like this. Not one bit. I never did trust fortune tellers, but that black cloud was something else. It held little regard for the gods. Might have even been one itself. Mark my words, nothing but disaster lies ahead for all of us.”

  “I thought gods were supposed to help us.”

  Jarek sighed. “Some of them, yes. Most prefer to let us make our own choices and only get involved when the outcome would otherwise be against their will.”

  “That seems so selfish. If something bad is going to happen, shouldn’t they help us?”

  “Satchel, I don’t claim to know their minds. They’re gods. They all were involved in the creation of this world, even the worst of them. The best we can do is trust in the All-Father to keep them all in check.”

  Satchel cocked an eyebrow at his mentor. “I thought you didn’t trust anyone but yourself.”

  Jarek frowned. “It is true that the only person you can ever really trust is yourself. But the All-Father, he’s the one that created everything, including the other gods. Seems better to trust him rather than not.”

  They walked on in silence for a few minutes. Then Satchel said, “I still don’t understand, but I’ll trust him if you do.”

  Jarek smiled and fatherly affection came through his eyes. This time, however, he didn’t push it aside or hide it. Satchel felt more loved than he ever had before.

  The boy looked away and cleared his throat. He then asked the overriding question that all others seemed to feed, “What am I supposed to do?”

  “That’s something you have to discover for yourself. Even if I knew, if I were to tell you, it wouldn’t mean much now, would it? You’re lucky to have a witch narrow down your choices. Most folks have to make it up as they go.”

  “Even you?”

  Jarek laughed. “Even me.” He glanced off to the horizon. The lower edge of the sun lay hidden behind the rolling hills. “She told you to look for Loth, right?”

  “Yes,” replied Satchel.

  “Right. We’ll look for him first thing when we get back. It seems odd to me though.”

  Satchel nodded in agreement. He then asked, “Jarek, why did the witch seem upset with you? Did you know her?”

  Jarek hesitated. “Let’s save it for later. It is a long conversation, one for only you and me.” He glanced over his shoulder at Basco.

  Satchel did the same and saw distress still hung on Basco’s face. The young thief slowed so that he walked next to Basco and asked, “Can you tell me about Philip?”

  The old scholar gave Satchel a weary look and said, “Are you trying to be cruel, boy?”

  “No, really, I want to know. Was he the one in the painting in my room at the manor?”

  Sadness filled Basco’s eyes, as though memories he’d pushed aside long ago came back. The sadness spilled over into his voice.

  “Yes, he was. Philip was my son. But he meddled in things that he shouldn’t have.” Basco sighed. “He found a Capestrelli artifact, an old tinderbox that burned brighter than any other. Supposedly, the flint never wore down, and the charcloth never ran out nor held water. Philip became obsessed with the artifact and tried to unlock its secrets. I had grown concerned and confronted him about it. We got into an argument, and he stormed away, back to his precious tinderbox.” He bit his lower lip, fighting back emotions. “The next day, an explosion shook the house. I ran to his room, but all that remained were charred walls and ash. Philip and his tinderbox were gone. His mother, bless her soul, died of grief a few months later.”

  “I’m sorry. I had no idea.”

  Basco’s resolve returned a little. “It’s in the past. Nothing I can do about it now.”

  They walked in silence for some time before Satchel asked, “Who were the Capestrellis?”

  Basco blinked and then said, “That’s a question with a very long answer.”

  Satchel looked up at the darkening sky. “Well, we have a long walk ahead.”

  For the first time since that morning, Basco smiled. “True.” He took in another deep breath, seemed to collect his thoughts a moment and then said, “The Capestrellis are a fascinating subject in history and one not many scholars agree upon. I’ll begin with what is known definitively. They were an ancient and powerful family. They practiced magic on par with the elves. Some even posit that they had elven blood flowing in their veins.”

  Basco looked at Satchel’s eyes and seemed to notice the genuine wonder and awe in them. The old mercenary’s face softened, and he managed another little smile.

  “I ask your forgiveness for my behavior earlier,” he said. “I let my anxieties get the better of me.”

  Satchel returned the smile. “It’s all right. I think I understand you a little better now, Basco.”

  “Thank you, lad. That means a lot.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  The scholar adopted a straighter back and more upbeat gait. “Now, back to the Capestrellis. Remember that information is somewhat limited, but you see...”

  Jarek glanced back at the other two and grinned. His smile faded as he delved into his thoughts.

  How do I tell him? he thought. I’ve avoided it for this long. Daft old woman. She was right. I have been stupid.

  He stared at his mechanical left arm for a while and then glanced back once more at Satchel and sighed. Right then and there, he resolved to tell him when they got back to the manor.