Raith asked Gerta to let his team handle any minor threats to the caravan for the duration of the trip. She was reluctant, but eventually agreed.

  “Only so long as I don’t think it will pose a danger to the caravan. The moment I judge a threat to be something you can’t handle, the Troublemakers take over. Understood?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  So for the next few days, the Myth Seekers gallantly slew all manner of dire ostriches, a couple of scytheclaw tigers, and even some chitinous burrowing monstrosity that Gerta called a merryant, which they all agreed was an absurdly incongruous name.

  They earned a few levels and, more importantly, started to feel like a team again. The wagon train was only two days out from clearing the Ahrnzee Plains when disaster struck again.

  It started with a distant rumble.

  “Was that an earthquake?”

  Raith was taking a turn riding next to Cross, who shook her head.

  “Fenick bison. They travel in herds of thousands and can be pretty dangerous. Not to worry, though. From the sounds of it, that herd is a good way off.”

  About twenty minutes later, the thunder of hooves rattled the ground again, and several of the horses tossed their heads in fear and irritation.

  “That sounded a lot closer than the last one.”

  Raith hopped on top of the wagon to get a better view. Cross hadn’t exaggerated when she said thousands. A swath of hydra grass hundreds of feet wide was trampled flat behind them as they passed by half a mile away. He could see from the path that they had initially been headed the other direction, but something had turned them around.

  Even so, they weren’t headed directly towards the road, so shouldn’t pose a threat to the wagon train. He climbed back down to sit, but it wasn’t five minutes later that they heard the oncoming rumble again. This time he heard Gerta shout.

  “Air patrol, get up there and tell me what’s spooking those bison.”

  Air patrol?

  Moments later he saw a bat dart off, followed by the much slower faerie dragon. Raith felt a stab of resentment at his teammates following the other captain’s orders. He knew it was a foolish jealousy. He hadn’t spoken to Tolliver since Janekstown, and Zinny barely counted as a member of the team. But the feeling was there just the same.

  Cross watched him watching them fly off above the tall grass.

  “Teams aren’t easy.”

  Raith tore his eyes from the flying pair and looked at the wagon driver.

  “What?”

  “I spent nearly thirty years running around with adventurers. Teams argue. They get mad. Sometimes they say and do things that hurt each other. Stick around with a team long enough and conflict is inevitable. Just a part of the mortal condition.”

  “In this case, it’s a bit more complicated than a simple argument.”

  She nodded at this.

  “Just don’t forget that when the real battles come, strands alone may snap, but a braided cord will hold strong.”

  A high pitched screech carried over the wind, and they all turned to see Zinny speeding towards them.

  “It’s hobs! Those grubby bags of sock fuzz are trying to send the herd at us!”

  “Dammit,” Cross said from beside him.

  “Why would they do that?”

  “They know they can’t beat us in a stand up fight, so they’ll just have the bison trample the entire caravan to splinters and then pick through what’s left for anything valuable.” She flipped open the window behind her and called into the wagon. “Hey Priddy Boy, we’re probably going to need you on this one.”

  A low growl preceded the squeal and slam of the door. Black, leathery wings stretched wide as Pridian looked around.

  “What is it?”

  Gerta and her team came galloping up as Cross filled him in.

  “This is going to be all hands on deck. Pridian, do you think your fire is enough to divert them?”

  He shook his head.

  “I can try, but my recovery time between each blast is unlikely to be sufficient for a herd that large. They will be upon us before it replenishes for a second use.”

  “It’s a start. Thea, I want you to work with my [Mage] to set up some barriers to start corralling them away. One single thing isn’t going to be enough, but we may be able to make a bunch of small efforts work.” The look on her face said she wasn’t sure it would be enough.

  Pridian turned to Zinny.

  “After I have unleashed my flame, show me where these hobs are.”

  Raith was both surprised and relieved when the pixie shot him a questioning look. He nodded permission, and she gave a salute.

  “Can Director Sukash use [Wagon Rampart] again?” Raith asked.

  Gerta shook her head. The rumbling was getting noticeably louder.

  “Not for a few more days. She’ll try to shore up their defenses as best she can and space out the train, so it’s not such a big target. We’re out of time. Let’s go.”

  Thea jumped onto the horse behind the Troublemaker’s [Mage] and they galloped off. The rest of Gerta’s team circled to the flank, whooping loudly to startle the bison away.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Raith stood there next to Nyhm on top of the wagon, feeling useless as the thundering herd bore down on them. How in the five realms do you defend against something like that?

  [Life in Staccato]

  Pridian had just begun to release a gout of flame parallel to the caravan. It was incredibly impressive and beautiful, frozen in the air as it billowed forth across the hydra grass. If what Raith had seen of the breath weapon last time was any indication, it might send a few hundred careening away. Which was good, but not nearly sufficient to save the wagons.

  The magic users were already tossing down walls at intermittent intervals, and the other four horses were in midstride as they spread out and charged the herd’s flank. They all looked so absurdly small next to the massive sprawl of bison.

  There was no way this was going to be enough.

  If only they had a [Fire Mage] or [Elementalist] along. Fire was really one of the best instinctive fears to play on with animals, but the grass was much too lush for one to catch and spread. Even if it did, that would create an entirely different, and probably more serious, problem for the caravan.

  Wait a minute. There doesn’t need to actually be a fire. The bison just need to think there’s one.

  Setting the world back into motion, he turned to his brother.

  “Smoke!”

  He reached into his pouch and pulled out all of his smoke bombs, thrusting half into Nyhm’s hands.

  “You go left and I’ll go right. If we throw all of the smoke bombs it will look like there’s a massive fire this direction.”

  The elfling nodded and they took off, hurling the bombs as they ran. Billowing clouds of smoke soon rose up from nearly two dozen spots along the roadway. Raith sprinted back to his perch on the wagon to observe his handiwork and was thrilled to see the plan had worked as the bison began to veer away in panic.

  Just as Raith was congratulating himself, a gust of wind took the smoke straight towards the oncoming herd. Although the bulk of them had already changed course, scores were caught in the cloud and became disoriented. The huge beasts began charging in every direction, including the caravan.

  Worse, Thea and the Troublemakers were still out there and now in danger of being trampled.

  “Shit.”

  Even as he swore, several dozen bison burst onto the road several wagons ahead and blitzed right through the tethered horses. The wagon yanked violently to the side as the unfortunate horses were ripped from their bridles in and thrown beneath the stampeding hooves. One of the wheels snapped off, hurling the driver onto the ground and putting him in danger of being overrun.

  Raith leapt from his perch, sprinting towards the fallen caravaner and dragging him away from the panicked beasts. He watched as another group stormed through, this time narrowly missing another wagon as they passed between the spaced out train.

  The smoke was already beginning to clear, and he breathed a sigh of relief as the sound of thundering hooves began to fade. After making sure the fallen driver was alright, he checked on the rest of the wagons. By some miracle of the Weavers, the rest of the caravan had escaped unscathed.

  Out of the five Troublemakers that left, only four returned on their own horses. Pelligrine rode behind Gerta with blood and dirt staining his leather armor. They trotted up to Director Sukash, who was talking with Cross. Pridian and Zinny soon converged on the scene, so Raith and his brother walked over to join them. Thea looked exhausted after what he imagined must have been an enormous expenditure of magic.

  Sukash turned to Raith as he approached.

  “Cross tells me you are responsible for the smoke?”

  He glanced back at the broken wagon, then guiltily at the horseless [Rogue].

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I didn’t account for the wind blowing towards the herd.”

  The Director gave him a curious look and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “You saved the caravan, young man. Our efforts to divert the bison would have been insufficient without your quick thinking. You have my gratitude.”

  A chest rattling grumble escaped the whyver.

  “Your competence in protecting the asset will not go unnoticed, human.”

  With a curt nod, Pridian returned to his lair. They all stared after him until the door slammed shut, then Thea turned to Raith with a tired smile.

  “What do you suppose he does in there all day?”

  ***

  Darius stormed into the Archive’s office, blowing past the beleaguered secretary who raised his voice in protest and scrambled to follow. The highest ranking member of the Loremaster sect was sitting alone at his desk, penning a scroll. He looked up as the red-faced satyr came in and calmly set down the quill.

  “I’m so sorry, sir,” the secretary breathed heavily. “I tried to stop him…”

  The Archive raised a hand.

  “That will be all, Reginald.” Folding his hands on the desk, the old man silently met Darius’s gaze until the door had been firmly shut. “It is obvious that something has gotten you upset, but I advise you to mind your tone before opening your mouth, Senior Loremaster.”

  With a few deep breaths, Darius got the worst of his anger under control.

  “Did you order the assassination of Raith Quirric?”

  It wasn’t impossible that the look of surprise on the Archive’s lined face was feigned. He was a seasoned politician after all, but Darius didn’t think the man was faking it. Even so, the part of him that was relieved was still dwarfed by rage that someone would have his daughter’s childhood friend killed.

  “I have ordered no such thing,” the old man said. He picked up a small porcelain bell on his desk and shook it, but no sound came out. A moment later, Reginald opened the door.

  “Sir?”

  “Get me the High Templar immediately. Tell him to bring Myst.”

  The Order of the Loom did not outsource their dirty work to the Assassin’s Guild. On the unfortunate occasions they must spill blood, usually a rogue godlaced, they sent the Templars to do it. In Beckhaven, Myst was in charge of the martial arm of the Templars.

  “Now tell me, Darius. Why do you ask this?”

  “I was summoned again to Venton’s chambers. He advised he would no longer require me to report on the Myth Seekers, attributing the dismissal to my uselessness. At your request, I have been using my [Skills] to examine his papers to the best of my ability.”

  “And you have done an excellent job. I realize it is not a task you are comfortable with, but your efforts will be rewarded.”

  He had done it for his daughter, not any benefit to himself, but there was no wisdom in pointing that out now.

  “The letter prolifically using the word assassination that I reported last time was no longer there, but I now knew to look for it and had the foresight to think of other keywords that may be relevant. Another was present, this time with the words ‘assassinate’, ‘Myth Seekers’, ‘Raith’, ‘immediately’, and ‘payment’.”

  He had been relieved not to find his daughter specifically named, but that did not mean she couldn’t be hurt protecting her friend. The Archive steepled his fingers as he considered the words.

  “I was under the impression they cannot be located. Was there any indication of where this is to take place?”

  Darius shook his head.

  “Their location is still unknown to me. I do not know how Venton has discovered it. Perhaps he simply knows where they are going. Either way, I tried the names of a number of cities, but none were written on the document. The [Word Search] [Skill] is meant for research, and is ill suited for a spy’s work. ”

  Reginald opened the door and announced the arrival of Commander Myst. She faded through the man on her way in and grinned mischievously as he startled, then sat down casually in a chair. The Archive frowned.

  “Where is the High Templar?”

  Gaging the seriousness of this summons to be greater than she initially estimated, Myst sat forward and adopted a more formal posture. Darius always admired her ability to smoothly transition from laid back to all business. It was part of what made her such a good leader in her sect.

  “Finishing up with a meeting. What has happened?”

  The Archive pulled out a monocle that Darius knew from personal experience was a powerful truth detecting relic. The old man placed it on a peered at the Templar.

  “Are you involved with or aware of any plans to assassinate Raith Quirric?”

  She immediately shook her head.

  “I am not. Neither myself nor anyone under my command has been briefed or assigned to such a task. To the best of my knowledge, neither has the High Templar.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before nodding curtly and removing the monocle. Looking back and forth between Darius and Myst, the old man lowered his voice and bore a grim expression.

  “I am relieved by your words, but I'm afraid I’ve sorely underestimated a growing rift in our Order. We can only pray not too much blood is spilt before it can be mended.”

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