Part 1

Homecoming

The smells haven’t changed in all the time Yaulvyne has been away from the Lynshiv forest. Flowers just started blooming in this part of the forest, bringing a sweet smell to the air. He had almost forgotten that scent, something that he doesn’t get in the southern lands. Yaulvyne would almost put a bounce in his step because of that one thing but he holds back. He kneels beside a nearby stream and fills his water skin. He takes a big drink of the cool water to try to settle his nervous stomach.

This is the first time he has returned home in almost thirty years and he didn’t leave on such good terms. It disgusts him to return to offer his warning. Well, disgust is an ugly word. He’s more dismayed than anything else. Dismayed that he still has some sense of loyalty to those who shunned him. Dismayed that, even after all this time, he would still follow the oath he swore about fifty years ago.

Yaulvyne’s shoulders deflate just a little. He sits by the stream to watch the eddies of the water swish by. He leans in closer to see his reflection stare back. On his left cheek, a horrible burn has yet to heal, a reminder of why he hasn’t returned up this way. The burn of one who denied the will of the council. He doesn’t regret it, not even thirty years later. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Cursing, Yaulvyne rises and follows the stream deeper into the forest. He’s close to the central city of Ilgnome. If he hasn’t caught the interests of the local guard, he will soon. They usually keep a fair distance from the outskirts, keeping an eye on those who travel the forest. He’s already been approached a dozen times by rangers who watch the hidden paths he traveled.

Out of habit, Yaulvyne reaches into a pouch and pulls out a necklace. Every ranger gets one of these amulets upon graduation. Now that he’s been exiled and turned into Korshinvi, he rarely wears it around his neck. Half the time he wants to get rid of it, the other half he’s glad he kept it. It has saved his life on a few occasions, proving his identity as a ranger despite the scar on his face.

As Yaulvyne pulls the necklace over his head, two rangers rush out of the forest, bows drawn. They call for Yaulvyne to keep his arms out to his side. Not wanting to alarm them, he complies. These two seem a little itchy on the bowstrings. They both shift nervously on their feet, suggesting that they see the scar on his cheek.

One of the two sees the necklace and points with his bow. “Where did you get that?” he demands.

Yaulvyne offers, “I earned it fairly, given by the council of Ilgnome.” “I’ve never seen you before,” he says. “I have,” the other says, dipping his bow a bit further south. “Yaulvyne, a master ranger.” He sneers with disgust, “Korshinvi. Traitor.” He adds the second as an afterthought and with more venom.

The first immediately lifts his bow at full draw, menace on his face. The second relaxes his draw further and pushes the other’s down. “Don’t,” the second says. Irritated, he adds, “He’s one of us, remember? Trained by Darlnyle himself.” Pointing at the necklace, he adds, “Anyone with that necklace is dangerous.”

“More dangerous than you?” the first asks, his voice quivering. With a nod, the second says, “More dangerous than any ranger in Lynshiv.” Watching in silence, Yaulvyne doesn’t want to make a move against the pair. Not because he thinks he can’t win but not wanting to hurt them. It wouldn’t be proper to warn the council after wounding two rangers. Yaulvyne slowly releases a held breath,

blowing the tension from his body. These two won’t attack them, no matter how much the one seems to want to.

“What are you doing here, Korshinvi?” the leader offers. Tilting his head back slightly, Yaulvyne says, “Korshinvi is a title given to me by the council, one improperly bestowed. This,” raising the necklace, “I earned from a life spent serving this forest and everyone who lives here. I hope you two live long enough to earn yours.” He glares at the younger elf, who wilts under his gaze. “You won’t do that if you continue waving your weapons at strangers.”

Yaulvyne turns back to the other. “In answer to your question, I have business with the council, my message for their ears only.” The older one’s eyes narrow, suspicion clear in his eyes. Yaulvyne lets out a sigh, letting out his irritation with this pair. He repeats, “I am a ranger, no matter what other titles I have received later. Just because the council has deemed me Korshinvi doesn’t stop me from doing my duty. When you get older, I hope you learn that.”

The leader stares at Yaulvyne for a good long time. The younger ranger seems nervous as he alternates between lifting and lowering his bow. This one wants to pick a fight but doesn’t want to go against the older leader. Finally, the older one puts his bow away. “Come on. The sooner you deliver your message, Korshinvi, the quicker you leave.”

The younger ranger almost protests but the older one cuts him off. “Do it. I think he’s earned the right,” the older one says.

The older one turns to the city, heading off into it. Without a glance to the younger one, Yaulvyne follows. He hears the young one swear before following. It amuses Yaulvyne that this younger elf has this much loyalty to the council at such an early age. When Yaulvyne started out, his pakeln had to beat such loyalty into him. Then again, he had as much reason to hate them back then as he does now.

Watching these two makes Yaulvyne remember when he was their age, around the time he became a full ranger. He grabs the necklace around his necklace and stares at the face. It has the ranger seal mixed with the seal of Ilgnome. What makes it unique is the other side. He flips it over to reveal his name as well as those of his parents. Parents he never knew. He rubs the names, regret flashing through him at never knowing them. With a sigh, Yaulvyne puts the necklace down his shirt. Better respect the traditions if he’s going to be taken seriously by the council.

Yaulvyne turns slightly as he notices a small cache for rangers. Even this close to the city, rangers keep these hidden caches just in case of invasion. They learned that the hard way over a century during the war. One of Yaulvyne’s first duties when learning the ranger arts was to map these hidden caches. By knowing these locations, a ranger can stay hidden from an invading force for weeks while striking back unnoticed.

He snorts his bitterness. Now that he’s Korshinvi, he’s an outsider and could be seen as an invader of one. Yaulvyne notices that the older looks back at him in annoyance. Yaulvyne rolls his eyes at the ranger. This newer generation seems to be easily offended. If he wasn’t Korshinvi, he’d probably have taken one of these young elves as an apprentice.

The first of the city’s homes start rising out of the forest floor. Gardens disguise the homes, making it look like part of the surrounding forest. The game trails that led

them to Illgnome widen into proper dirt avenues, which eventually becomes stone walkways. The paths through the city lead a complex path through the forest, being built around the forest, not over top of it.

As they get deeper into the city, elves going about their lives stop and stare. As Yaulvyne turns to look at them, some he recognizes, they rush away. He feels sad that those he once defended would shun him like this. Fine, Yaulvyne thinks, it’s not like I’m here for them. The instant he thinks that, Yaulvyne instantly regrets it. Of course he’s here for them, always and forever. To save them, he believes, Yaulvyne has to speak with the council about what’s on its way, in hopes that the council will save their people. Not mine, not our, but their. When did our become their? he wonders.

“We’re here,” one of the rangers says. Yaulvyne focuses past them to the arena beyond them, lying in a sea of trees. If an outsider looked upon it, they wouldn’t be able to distinguish the building from the trees, seeming almost magical in design. Even the entrance seems elegantly built as several trees bend towards each other to form a natural arch. Yaulvyne hears the sound of several voices through the entryway.

He tenses, not realizing the council would be in session today. He figured that he’d have to wait for the more far traveled members to arrive. Or worse, he would hve to speak to a much smaller council before the full council would be called. However, judging from the sound of things, the council is in full session. Steeling himself, he steps toward the entrance.

A figure slips out of the darkness of the trees. Yaulvyne’s hand slips down to the sword hilt at his side, ready for anything. The thought that the council knew he was coming quickly enters his mind. They would probably want to stop him from entering or send him away without even hearing his words. The tension doesn’t go away as the figure slips into the light to reveal the pale Shiyanshinvi. Yaulvyne’s lips twitch as he recognizes that annoyingly playful smile and sparkling eyes. “Picarin,” Yaulvyne breathes, as much with a sense of relief as frustration in his voice. “What are you doing here?”

Picarin flashes a toothy grin. He seems to have lost a couple teeth since the last time Yaulvyne saw his friend. Finally, the Shiyanshinvi has lost some of that infamous luck of his. “It’s been a while.” Seeing Yaulvyne’s growing frown, Picarin says, “You don’t seem too happy to see me. What’s wrong?”

Fixing his friend with an cool stare, the ranger tells him, “Every time I see you, I’m bailing you out of something. I don’t have the time for whatever’s going on with you right now.”

“That’s because you love me so dearly,” Picarin laughs, the twinkle returning to his eye. He goes up to his friend and slaps him on the shoulder.

Yaulvyne shoots him a baleful glare this time, warning his friend that he wasn’t in the mood. “What do you want?” he demands. He adds a warning, “If you’re in trouble-”

“No, nothing like that,” Picarin says, almost sad that he’d be accused of wrongdoing. Trying his best innocent expression, he asks,“Can’t I come to see my old friend?”

Yaulvyne’s eyes narrow, knowing that the Shiyanshinvi’s appearance can only bring trouble. He demands, “How did you know I was here? What’s so important?” Picarin’s face falls once more, wanting to speak but holding back. Yaulvyne knows that

look, has seen it in Picarin’s eyes before. “I don’t have time for this,” he repeats and pushes past him.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Picarin warns, his voice somber. Something in the elf’s voice gives Yaulvyne pause. He looks to his friend, ready to berate him again, but stops. Losing patience with him, Yaulvyne demands, “Why not?”

Shaking his shaggy head, Picarin says, “Just don’t.” Yaulvyne closes his eyes. His head lowers as he considers his friend’s request. The two of them have been together, off and on, for a long time. They’ve shared some good times and a lot of bad times. But they’ve always been friends. He wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t important. Then again, Picarin inherited his people’s nature of being cryptic. Yaulvyne asks in a soft tone, “I don’t have time to play this game, Picarin. Do you remember the last time you withheld information from me?” Picarin winces but says nothing. Yaulvyne waits a heartbeat more before saying, “Fine.”

Yaulvyne turns back to the entrance and heads down the hall of trees. He remembers better times when he would just sit and stare at the beauty of this one place. There was one time he came to the council to find his wife painting a picture of the arena, the council not being in session at the time. She had been waiting for three days to report. This was long before they were married. But seeing her painting that day, Yaulvyne knew that they would be together. Right before she died, she admitted she knew long before then that he was the one. Oh, how he misses her.

That moment passes once he steps into the main arena. The arena rises ten feet above him and thirty feet from end to end in a half oval shape, the side across from him only twenty feet before him. Six tiers rise from the top of the lip, looking down at the center of oval.

In the seats that could fit hundreds, the full council of seventy elves sits. The last time he stood before the council was over thirty years ago, right before his wife died. As much as he despises the council, most of them weren’t involved in that decision. But when one member of the council speaks, he speaks for them all. And once they speak, the whole council has to abide by that decision, no matter how much they disagree with it.

Still clutching his weapon, Yaulvyne’s hand clenches until the blood drains from it entirely. He wants to find the three members the of council that denied him his request to stay in Natoch to find his wife’s murderer. He wants to etch into their skins the brand that he wears on his cheek, denying him a return home and relieving him of his oath as a ranger. With all of them so close together, he can’t make out individual faces. Maybe later, he promises himself.

Yaulvyne closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, centering himself. As much as it pains him, he can’t get emotional when the council speaks to him. He focuses on his duty, which they tried to tear away from him. The quicker he talks to them about the dangers they face, the sooner he can be gone from this place and never return. He’s done more good out there, beyond the borders of the forest “Come forward,” the voice of the council calls. Opening his eyes, Yaulvyne focuses his attention on the wall opposite him. Centered there, he sees a figure he didn’t expect to see. Lean and muscular, an elf stands rigid and at attention in almost military rigidity. Despite the straight posture, he

seems almost relax, ready to move in any direction at a moments notice. As Yaulvyne gets closer to the elf, he sees the red hair and brownish skin, the markings of a Dinashinvi. Standing beside him, Yaulvyne finds out that he recognizes the elf. Haulgri, a monk from the western mountains. He claims to be from a special order of monks, though he has never said why they are so special. Why is he here?

Haulgri doesn’t acknowledge Yaulvyne as he steps beside the monk. Even though the monk is several inches shorter than the ranger, Haulgri has always seemed taller and more dangerous. If they were to fight, Yaulvyne doubts his chances against the monk.

Yaulvyne turns his attention to the council and gives a slight bow, just enough to be respectful. “Forgive the intrusion, lords of Ilgnome, center of Lynshin. I have traveled a long way to bring you a warning,” the ranger offers.

“I’m afraid you have traveled so far for nothing, Korshinvi,” someone says. When the full council convenes, it is hard to tell who speaks. Yaulvyne doesn’t even try anymore, he just stares straight ahead. The council continues, “You may leave now, on your own volition, or on a stretcher without your head.”

He bows again with a little more respect. Yaulvyne had been expecting this but decides to plow on anyway. He’s here and he won’t give in to their threats, no matter how real they are. “If you want my head, all you need to do is ask for it. However, duty prevents me from leaving here without first issuing my warning.”

A murmur spreads through the council, making it more difficult to pinpoint the voice saying, “When you obtained that mark on your face, you forfeited that duty. You have one more chance to leave with your life intact.”

Yaulvyne closes his eyes, steadying himself. Just because they made him Korshinvi doesn’t stop him from being a ranger. He was trained to help people and he vowed to defend Lynshiv, no matter what. That vow could never be tossed aside as easily as the council wants. “On that day, my need for justice overruled my sense of duty. That doesn’t mean I have forsook that duty,” Yaulvyne says, in a far shakier voice than he intended.

A single barking laugh echoes through the arena. “And have you found your justice, Korshinvi?” the council demands. For a second, Yaulvyne thought he could identify the speaker, just by the way the voice spits out the word justice. It echoes around Yaulvyne’s head like it did thirty years ago.

Yaulvyne opens his eyes and stares hard at the gathered council. He tries to meet everyone’s eyes, stare them down. It is his way to force them to recognize his previous actions, to remember just why he chose that path. He offers softly, “This council knows full well what happened that day. My journey has taken me far and wide but my wife’s killer has not been brought to justice.”

“Justice or vengeance, Korshinvi?” Spreading his hands in defeat, Yaulvyne says, “I have pondered that sometimes, late at night when the day has led me nowhere. Those tend to be very long nights and I haven’t come up with a sufficient answer for you.” With a glance at Haulgri beside him, the ranger says, “This can be discussed at another time, if you wish, for it is not the reason I have returned. Even under penalty of death, I stand here ready to do my duty to the council, to Lynshiv, to everyone between the sea and the mountains.” He

considers the monk for a moment, thinking about their last meeting. “But it seems that my trip may have been in vain.”

“Why is that?” There seems to be a curious tone to the speaker. It seems that he may have some allies on the council than he realized.

“I know this Dinashinvi,” Yaulvyne says, indicating Haulgri beside him. “He was the one who first to alerted me to the dangers I intended to warn you about. Dragons have appeared in the west, spreading destruction.” Yaulvyne stops, allowing that to sink in. His guess about Haulgri’s motives prove correct as the council stirs only a little but don’t mutter amongst themselves. Yaulvyne guesses that they had been discussing this before he entered. Pressing on, the ranger offers, “I sought proof of his words over the past several months and found at least two of the beasts living out west. I can’t account for those beyond the borders of the mountains. However, I did find two cyclops villages left burnt to a crisp. No one survived.”

“You have done your duty well, ranger,” the council offers above a hushed whisper. Whoever spoke did so with a bit more respectful tone than they had a moment before, Yaulvyne notes. Yaulvyne also notes that whoever spoke used the word ranger over Korshinvi. He keeps his face neutral but inside he’s relieved. He probably has more allies than he thought.

Taking it as a dismissal, Yaulvyne turns to the door, where Picarin stands waiting for him. His two ranger escorts also stand ready to execute the council’s orders. “Korshinvi,” the council says. “We are feeling generous, given your previous status. You may have five days to return home and gather whatever you wish. If you haven’t left our borders on the morning of the fifth day, we will make sure your head isn’t attached to your neck.”

Yaulvyne watches the two rangers salute the council before exiting the arena. Turning to the council, Yaulvyne gives them a deep bow. “Generous,” he says. “Thank you.” He almost means it since the offer would have been given by that small minority that still support his actions. A very small one at that, he suspects, though he may have made a few allies today. Trying to hide his smile, Yaulvyne heads out of the arena, Picarin beside him.

Once outside, his friend mutters, “That went better than I thought.” Hearing his friend’s voice, Yaulvyne instantly sours. “You knew Haulgri was in there,” he accuses.

With a shrug, Picarin says, “I heard that a red was here, yes. I didn’t know who the red was or what that thing wanted.” Yaulvyne winces at the use of the word ‘red’, there is no love between the Dinashinvi and the Shiyanshinvi. Picarin had some abuse from the Dinashinvi, long before Yaulvyne met him. Seeing Yaulvyne’s wince, Picarin adds, “Didn’t know it was one of your friends. You keep strange company.”

Yaulvyne snorts and gives Picarin an amused glance. “No kidding. I probably have more ghosts as friends than Yawoshinvi,” Yaulvyne says, using the slang word for Shiyanshinvi.

“You’re as much a ghost as me,” Picarin says brightly. “Nomadic and have the ability to anger people on sight. Then again, we try to avoid most unpleasant places, which, I suspect, this was for you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he was here?” Yaulvyne asks, not wanting to be diverted from the topic of Haulgri. It bothers him that the Dinashinvi showed up in Ilgnome, so

far from the mountains. In fact, he was surprised to meet Haulgri in the village outside Natoch eight months ago. Something more must be going on than the dragons he warned Yaulvyne about.

Picarin offers an exaggerated sigh. “Because I knew it would make you angry. You were already so wound up that if I told you your friend was there, you might burst a blood vessel.”

“I would hardly call Haulgri a friend,” Yaulvyne mutters. The two of them usually meet on opposite ends of a battlefield. The only reason either of them haven’t come to blows is that they recognize that doing so would be rather bloody and turn out poorly for both. Yaulvyne doesn’t have any expectations on winning, the monk is frightening in the rare instances they weren’t facing each other. Luckily, Haulgri doesn’t want to battle Yaulvyne, either.

“Good because I hate competition for your affections,” Picarin laughs. Yaulvyne shoots him an impatient look. “Fine, I’ve been having visions again and I don’t know what they mean,” Picarin tells him. “They have been so conflicting that they’re making my head hurt. I was hoping that coming to Ilgnome would make them stop but they’ve only gotten worse.”

Yaulvyne curses. A Shiyanshinvi having visions usually isn’t a good thing, especially those coming from Picarin. He has a tendency to get them wrong. Then again, he has never had so many visions before. At least, if the number Picarin implies is to be believed, given how often he exaggerates. Usually, a Shiyanshinvi gets one or two visions and they stop for a while. Most times, they can control the circumstances of getting a vision, such as physical contact. Picarin has so little talent when it comes to understanding or controlling his visions.

“You better start from the beginning,” Yaulvyne says, grabbing Picarin’s arm and pulling him to a more secluded spot.

A call stops them both in their tracks. Yaulvyne and Picarin turn to see Haulgri striding up to them. It continually amazes Yauvlyne at how graceful Haulgri’s stride is, similar to that of a hunting cat stalking its prey. Instinctively, Yaulvyne clutches his sword, ready just in case Haulgri decides to attack. Realizing that that logic is ridiculous, Yaulvyne releases the blade. Haulgri wouldn’t attack him here, he’s too smart for that.

When Haulgri stops in front of them, his eyes shift to Picarin for a moment. Something passes across his face. Curiosity, perhaps? Yaulvyne tightens his grip on the sword hilt. Haulgri’s eyes shift back to Yaulvyne. He seems almost amused by Yaulvyne’s grip on his sword, which makes him loosen that grip.

“I’m surprised you came here,” Haulgri says, his deep voice near a whisper. “With your mark, I expected you’d stay as far from here as possible. Maybe you should have headed south instead, you could have saved some humans.”

Yaulvyne narrows his eyes slightly. He doesn’t know a single Dinashinvi who likes humans, especially those in the south. It doesn’t help that the Dinashivni empire fell apart after the war, which was caused by the human uprising. Now the Dinashinvi are holed up in their strongholds in the mountains.

“I could say the same about you. Lynshiv is far from the Robtar Mountains. Even finding me those months ago was a bit far for you, isn’t it?” Yualvyne returns. “So what are you doing here?”

“A warning,” Haulgri says, voice dropping further as he taps Yaulvyne’s chest, “don’t get involved in this, you’ve done enough. Dragons are a dangerous business. I’ve seen too many people die because they didn’t know what they were doing. It took a long time before we figured out how to lock them away the last time.”

Yaulvyne flashes a wide, humorless smile. “Right, leave it to the professionals. How many Olnoshinvi died when everyone helped you stuff them into their holes the last time?”

Picarin grabs the ranger’s arm, stopping the ranger’s building rant. “Careful, Yaul, I saw this.”

Haulgri’s eyes turn to Picarin once more. The Shiyanshinvi’s hand drops from Yaulvyne’s shoulder and a foot steps back. Yaulvyne doesn’t need to turn to see the fear in his friend’s face. When Haulgri turns back to him, he says, “You better listen to your pet. They know what they’re talking about.”

With a quick glance to Picarin, Yaulvyne chuckles. “He’s usually wrong.” “Hey!” Picarin protests. Haulgri remains silent for a moment, considering that. He waves a hand, dismissing it like some gnat. Yet Yaulvyne can tell that this information troubles the monk, which concerns him. Yaulvyne has never known the Dinashinvi to be troubled by anything he’s heard.

“Go back to your justice,” Haulgri finally says, tapping the ranger’s chest. “You’ll live longer.” Haulgri holds the ranger’s gaze for a moment longer before he heads off into the street, where he disappears into the crowded afternoon streets. A few elves watch him go but most ignore the Dinashinvi. Yaulvyne watches him go, catching bits and pieces of red as the crowds start to thicken.

Slowly, the ranger turns to his friend thoughtfully. Something about the way Haulgri spoke gnaws at the back of Yaulvyne’s mind. He suspects that the monk is hiding something. Or maybe it’s something that he left unsaid. In the ranger’s former dealings with the monk, Haulgri has been as cryptic as a Shiyanshinvi having a vision.

Yaulvyne focuses on Picarin, eyes narrowing. The ranger demands, “What did you see?”

Having heard that tone before, Picarin speaks quickly. He tells the ranger different versions of the council, which Yaulvyne asks him to skip ahead. Picarin insists that to understand the other visions, he needs to tell these visions. Besides, he adds, they all came out of order and it has taken him this long to sort everything out into a coherent timeline.

The vision with Haulgri always remained consistent and prominent. Picarin explains that he felt the monk was hiding a great many things but he can’t explain exactly what. Picarin adds that these secrets will be important to Yaulvyne in the coming months, or so he believes.

Picarin finishes off by explaining four things that he believes are significant. First is his childhood home but he doesn’t know why that’s so important. Second, he’s been seeing mountains, which Picarin believes are those in the south. Yaulvyne knows the elf has been close to the west but doesn’t know how the ghost elf could distinguish those from the southern pass. Third, Picarin saw a city climbing up the side of a mountain. When Yaulvyne presses for information about it, all Picarin can say is that he saw homes climbing a mountain like a spider. on its web. Lastly, a human woman.

Picarin gives his friend a detailed description of the woman. Most of the rest is random and contrary imagery, most dealing with the color red.

Yaulvyne thinks about what Picarin says for a long time. Picarin’s visions don’t worry the ranger as much as the ghost elf being this detailed before. Too many visions in such a short amount of time. What could this mean? And of all the Shiyanshinvi Yaulvyne knows, why would Picarin tell him instead of someone more experienced in these things? “You’ve been wrong before,” he says with a snort.

“Come on,” Picarin whines. “There was that time outside Fustran. I was right about that orc.”

Yaulvyne offers him a snort. “Little use you were that day,” he mutters as he turns to the west. When Picarin tries to follow, Yaulvyne offers a baleful glare, stopping his friend in his track. Yaulvyne regrets the look instantly but he doesn’t want to admit it, not after he’s treated Picarin so poorly. He swears he’ll make it up to Picarin later. Right now, he has some planning to do before heading out again.

The path up to the house has become a little overgrown due to the years of neglect. It doesn’t matter, the way up home is still the same. Yaulvyne knows this area so well he could do it blindfolded. He snuck away from his aunt and uncle’s house, who raised him since he was a little boy when his parents left for war. When his parents died during the failed attempt to get back the city of Sin-ster, his aunt and uncle became his guardians. It wasn’t the best childhood, which is why he continuously ran away to his parents’ home.

Yaulvyne steps into a clearing. Five buildings surround a tall, thick tree. Built into and around the tree, Yaulvyne’s home has indeed fallen into some disrepair. It appears that someone has come and did a little cleaning. However, they couldn’t have done anything about the tree rot, which has spread dangerously close to his home. Since he doesn’t plan to return any time soon, maybe a controlled fire to save the surrounding forest would be in order.

Taking the long way up the hill, Yaulvyne examines the other homes. Like his, they don’t look like they’ve been lived in for years. He wonders if his scar has spread its taint to the hill, no one wanting to be associated with a Korshinvi exile who defied the council. When he first met his neighbors all those years ago, Yaulvyne thought they were nice people who spoke highly of his parents. He was young and angry at them and they saw it. They did everything they could to cheer him up, to make him see the error of how angry he was. Not just with his aunt and uncle but with his parents, for them leaving him there.

The home has remained deserted for thirty years. His one regret for becoming Korshinvi is that his home has fallen into disrepair. When he was old enough to stay away from his aunt and uncle, he returned to his parents’ home to make it his own. He almost had it the way he wanted when Darlnyle asked him to become a ranger, to follow in his parents’ footsteps. What convinced Yaulvyne was the story Darlnyle was his parents’ honorable death. It made Yaulvyne feel guilty of thinking that they died cold and alone, having been stabbed in the back by some goblins.

Yaulvyne stops at one point on his walk up. Right here is where Darlnyle told the story. It was near the beginning of the war and Yaulvyne had just been born only a year or two before. Refugees had come from the east, the humans had overthrown the elves and taken the city. The council asked for volunteers, his parents accepted. At first, the council refused but they went anyway. Darlnyle assured him that even he wanted Yaulvyne’s parents to stay. They wanted to do it, the vow of the ranger urged them to action.

The battle didn’t go well. Darlnyle and Yaulvyne’s parents were among the captured. It took them awhile before they had a chance to escape. They almost made it before the humans followed them. There were too many wounded that were slowing the others down so Yaulvyne’s parents made a stand, together, so that the others could live. Darlnyle was quite the storyteller when he wanted to be.

Yaulvyne climbs the path to the door. He hesitates, fear staying his hand. Last time he entered this house, he was still married, his wife Lynshin still alive. His hand shakes for the first time in his life. He pulls his hand away, trying hard to stop his hand from shaking. A tear rolls down his cheek as he remembers her face, her smile, her laugh. He almost laughs himself at the memory of a shared moment, made long ago.

Steeling himself for what he must do, Yaulvyne pushes the door open. The room is flooded with pools of light from breaks in the ceiling. Water stains from the recent rain storms mar the floor and furniture. Whoever maintained the outer shell of the home did a horrible job at it. Despite the water damage, the old smells have come back to him. It reminds him of the very first meal Lynshin made for him after they were married. He remembers it tasted terrible, worse than the bland foods he created on the road. That started a food war to out do the worst meals they had ever eaten. It was one of the best times of his life.

Yaulvyne steps up to a chair, now rotten and collapsed. He remembers a time when Lynshin sat in that very chair, waiting for him to come home. He had just returned from a trip to the east, a trip sanctioned by the council when a ranger returned with the news. Orcs had come out of their marshes and were causing havoc across the human lands out there. Lynshin wasn’t happy that he went off alone against the odds he faced, giving him a long scolding. She was really good at that. Considering how well Yaulvyne did, Lynshin eventually forgave him.

The memories of his wife makes Yaulvyne’s gaze turn to the mantle. A two tiered sword stand sits front and center. Only one sword rests in the stand, a menacing looking piece created for him long ago. The other tier is for Lynshin’s sword, which was lost to her killer. He closes his eyes, remembering that moment when he saw Lynshin’s body. She was killed in a dark alley, having gone out into the city that night. What she was doing down that alley, Yaulvyne will probably never know. What he does know is that her killer stabbed her from behind, right under the ribs and up into the heart. Then the killer took her sword, the only valuable item she held.

The next day, when Lynshin didn’t return, Yaulvyne went to look for her. He was met by elders before he left, his wife’s body had already been found by the authorities. Yaulvyne carefully examined her wounds, memorizing them. When he went to retrieve her sword, Yaulvyne found it missing. He asked the council to let him to go out and find the sword, which they granted. For three days, Yaulvyne searched but couldn’t find it. The council elected to return and demanded him to return with them. He refused, not wanting to leave without Lynshin’s sword and bringing the murderer to justice. The elders gave him a choice - return to Ilgnome or become Korshinvi, an exiled elf unable to return to elven held lands.

Yaulvyne grips the sword at his side, the sword of his father. Like the ranger necklace, each ranger has a sword forged for them. Yaulvyne’s father gave it to Darlnyle for him to pass on to Yaulvyne, when he came of age. Yaulvyne carries around his father’s sword to honor his sacrifice from the war. It is a sword for another age, made before dragons came to this land. Unbuckling his father’s sword, Yaulvyne exchanges it for his own. It hasn’t been used before, not once, since he became a ranger. To hunt a dragon, you must have the correct tools.

Steps behind him cause him to turn, his new sword drawn. “Jus?” a voice calls from the darkness. “Is that you? You’re home early.” A young Yawoshinvi steps into the light, a sharp knife in her hand. Judging by the way she holds it, Yaulvyne doubts she knows how to use it. He turns to her face, haloed by long golden hair. Something about her seems familiar but he can’t put a finger on it.

As her gaze falls on Yaulvyne, sword in hand, she gasps, “Oh dear.” She drops the knife and places a hand over her mouth, shock written across her face. “You’re home.”

Yaulvyne studies her for a moment. Her voice sounds eerily familiar, something out of his past that he can’t rectify. He lowers the blade to get a better look at her. Youthful, she looks no older than sixty. Without her knife, she isn’t much of a threat. She doesn’t look much like a fighter. Judging by her lack of muscle tone, Yaulvyne guesses she isn’t the one who fixed up the house, limited as it is. Maybe this Jus, he thinks. Something about that name sounds familiar, someone he knew long ago.

“Yes, I am. Who are you?” he asks, moving closer. “I can’t believe you’ve come home, Yaulvyne,” the woman says with a smile. “Father still speaks highly of you, you know. And he said you’d come back, he was certain of it. He is awfully proud of you, ranger.”

Father? he thinks. Ranger? These are things he didn’t think he’d hear upon returning to Ilgnome. Not from anyone other than Picarin and Haulgri. A few other rangers, maybe. Then the connection is made, a memory from fifty years ago, when he returned from his walk of solitude, a coming of age for all rangers. After he completed that walk, he becomes a full ranger. He returned to Ilgnome, where he met Darlnyle and a young elf clinging to him. Now that he remembers that little girl, he recognizes her in the woman before him. But what was her name?

With a tilt of his head, he breathes, “Selesia?” Her smile brightens. “You remember, I’m glad.” Yaulvyne tries to return the smile but he just can’t manage it. Why would she come here? She would normally be at home with Darlnyle. She’s also about that age when she would be marrying. Sheathing his blade, he asks, “What brings you way out here? We’re far from your father’s home.”

A dark cloud passes across her face. Selesia says, “I thought it was time to move on, find my own way. I remembered all those stories father told me about you when I was young. Every time you came home, he told me all about where you’ve been, what you’ve done.” She lowers his gaze as she adds, “Especially the more recent stories. I’m sorry.” When her eyes finally return to his, she looks truly sad. “Despite father’s faith in your return, I didn’t think you’d be returning any time soon. I didn’t have many options when I left home so I came here.”

This time, Yaulvyne’s smile is genuine. She met Lynshin on that day long ago, she had returned from her walk of solitude as well. Yaulvyne and Lynshin kept crossing paths during that time and they both decided to return about the same time. Ironically, they showed up on the same day. Yaulvyne guesses that he wasn’t the only one to leave an impression on little Selesia.

“Don’t worry about it,“ he says after a moment. “The whole place is yours, if you want it. I don’t intend to return when I leave, though you may want to concentrate on the tree. It might not last long much longer.”

She looks like she’s about to say something but thinks better of it. She fidgets for a moment before asking, “Never?” The girl blushes a bit.

The smile washes away from his face. Yaulvyne recognizes the look she’s giving him, one that he’s seen once before. Selesia’s definitely going through Hyjoss, the stage all elves go through at her age when she’s most receptive to choosing a life mate.

When Lynshin went through it, she went through considerable amount of stress. Yaulvyne knows that before Hyjoss, he and Lynshin weren’t exactly on friendly terms with one another. She wasn’t too happy at first, neither was he. But we both came around and loved each other so much.

Looking on Selesia, Yaulvyne suspects that his return might have fast tracked Hyjoss in her. Once an elf going through Hyjoss has chosen, it would be difficult to change her mind on the matter. And knowing how Darlnyle can weave a story, Yaulvyne thinks those stories he told his daughter would make Yaulvyne out to be some kind of dashing ranger, rescuing people and demanding no reward in return. He’d be strong, loyal, and fighting evil for its own sake. While he might be all those things on a fundamental level, Yaulvyne’s certain that the stories gloss over all the mistakes he made to get through them.

Not wanting to disappoint her before she gets too wrapped up in Hyjoss, he says, “Listen, Selesia. If your father told you all those stories about me, you’ll know that I’m married-”

“Yeah,” she says sadly. Her shoulders sag a bit as she turns away. “I heard the whole story. I wish I knew her better.”

“Then you’ll know why this won’t work,” he tells her. Selesia’s shoulders slump a bit more at this. He reaches out, his hand hovering over her shoulder. Thinking that it would make matters worse for her, he pulls his hand away. Changing the subject, Yaulvyne asks, “How is your father?”

Shrugging, she turns away from him. “Haven’t seen him in days. There was,” she pauses, “a disagreement within the family. Last time I saw him, father was watching Juslok and me leave the house. I don’t know why he sent us away, though I think it has something to do with Joulhon. They’ve been arguing a lot lately, which has been going on for years now. Father never told me why they’ve been arguing or about what. I think they know when I’m listening, they stop and act like nothing is wrong.”

That’s odd, Yaulvyne thinks. Darlnyle has always been loving to all his children, never choosing favorites. He’s treated them equally, whether they are from his first wife or second. To alienate his two children from Salvan, something big must be going on. Then again, Joulhon has been a little bit selfish, a root of many problems in that household. But why would Joulhon want Juslok and Selesia out of the house? What does he get out of it? He would never do anything without coming out ahead on the deal.

“I don’t understand,” Yaulvyne finally says. “Why would Joulhon want you and your brother gone?”

Selesia sighs and turns back. A deep sadness threatens to burst out of her. Only her dignity, almost regal, keeps her upright, something she inherited from her mother. Yet Yaulvyne can see the gleam of tears in her eyes, ready to roll down her cheeks. “You’ve been gone a long time, ranger. I’ve been hearing a lot of things coming out of the council, most of it not good.” She starts pacing thoughtfully. “Most importantly, members of council have given up their seats to their children. I think they might be trying to force father out.”

“My arrival and his defense of me during council probably strained his credibility,” Yaulvyne says thoughtfully.

She gives him a sympathetic look. “Probably not,” she tells him. “I think Juoulhon wants his seat. He has plenty of friends who have their own seats, inherited from their own parents. Joulhon might be growing impatient for father’s. I’ve heard plenty of jokes aimed his way concerning his own status.”

With a chuckle, Yaulvyne adds, “I bet he didn’t like that.” If there’s one thing Joulhon respects above all else, it’s status. Especially his own.

Selesia laughs herself, which he likes. “No,” she agrees, “he doesn’t. I also think he’s afraid that I will take father’s seat if he leaves.”

“Do you want it?” Yaulvyne asks, surprised that Darlnyle would offer her such a thing. He doesn’t know much of the inner workings of the council nor how the seats are offered when one is vacant. He does know that some seats are past through the family, like in Darlnyle’s case, but how succession is dealt out, he’s not sure.

“No,” Selesia says, appalled that she would even want the seat. She steps up to him, grabbing his arm. “Please, would you go see him before you leave? It would mean so much to him to see you one last time. He is getting old and I don’t think he has much time left.”

“I was just about to go see him,” Yaulvyne admits, looking around at his home one last time. He’ll miss this place. He tries to push that feeling out of him as he turns back to her. “I have plenty I want talk to him about.” He places a hand on her cheek to soothe her mind and instantly regrets it. He momentarily forgot the Hyjoss.

She brightens up at his touch, her smile returns. She hops up and kisses him on his cheek. “Thank you,” she says, nearly bouncing on her heels. She jumps back, clasping a hand over her mouth in horror. “I’m sorry.”

Putting on a sympathetic smile, Yaulvyne says, “Don’t worry about it.” He wants to say more but fears she’ll take it out of context. It feels like Lynshin all over again, but much worse. He can’t get the little girl standing at Darlnyle’s feet out of his mind. Darlnyle is another problem, being his pakeln, among other things. It would just be too wrong to get into a relationship with Selesia.

Coughing out his discomfort, Yaulvyne offers, “Let me get a few things before I head out.”

Selesia turns away and points. “I put some of your things in there, ones that felt out of place.” Yaulvyne senses she’s trying to cover up her own discomfort. He thins his lips as she walks away from him, muttering to herself.

Leaving her to what he can only imagine is a rather intense discussion with herself, Yaulvyne goes to where she indicated. In a side room normally used for storage, he finds his things laid out rather neatly on some shelves. Mostly, Yaulvyne finds some nicknacks that Lynshin brought back with her from her own journeys. Unlike him, Lynshin had the bad habit of accepting the little people gave her in return for her help. All Yaulvyne asked for was a bed and food, just enough not to inconvenience the villages he passed through. Lynshin was lavished with gifts, Yaulvyne got nothing. Which was fine for him, a thank you and goodbye was all that filled his heart back then.

Yaulvyne pulls a particularly simple gift off the shelf. A small clay figure fashioned into Lynshin’s likeness stares at him. This had been a gift to Lynshin after an incredibly hard fought battle against some highwaymen. The potter’s daughter made it for Lynshin, taking great pains to get the details right. It still came off as very amateurish but Lynshin loved it, made it a prized piece of her collection.

Setting it down, he finds the Selesia’s ranger necklace. When she showed it to Yaulvyne, she was the happiest he’d seen her until the day they wed. He doesn’t know how the necklace got here, he doesn’t remember retrieving it from her body. He would certainly have it on him if he had. Maybe one of the council retrieved it, no one else would ever look for it. Only one member of the council saw the body before he did, the one that gave him the Korshinvi brand. Pocketing Lynshin’s necklace, he leaves the storeroom.

Yaulvyne looks around, trying to find Selesia. He hears some dishes being shuffled in the kitchen. He’s grateful that he doesn’t see her, considering her condition. For a moment, he thinks about leaving without saying a word. But that wouldn’t be right, not for Selesia. “Clothes,” he calls.

“Second room,” Selesia says from the kitchen. He turns to the indicated room. A memory from his childhood, one from long ago. More like a vague recollection, actually, something from when he was really young. He went to stay with his aunt and uncle when he was two, maybe three, years old. He vaguely recalls his mother’s face, putting him to bed in this room.

Yaulvyne steps into the room. The room had been cleared out after Lynshin had moved in. She had changed it from his childhood room to equipment storage. Lynshin had a few sets of armor and means to repair them. She wasn’t that good at it but it helped her pass the time between the times they were together. Yaulvyne steps up to a body dummy with some hardened leather draped over it. Lynshin was working on repairing it before they left. He considers taking it with him as another reminder of her. No, he thinks, the necklace will be enough.

Off to the side, Yaulvyne sees a pile of clothing stacked neatly in a pile. He smiles, amused at how neat the pile is. Neither Lynshin nor he would ever put our clothing in such a neat, orderly pile. Yaulvyne kneels and sorts through the clothing, gathering up the few outfits he intends to leave with. The rest can be left. He finds a few other pieces of his that he remembers putting in his room. He takes a broach in the shape of a leaf that Lynshin gave him for their wedding. Yaulvyne pins it to his cloak. He then puts his clothes into his bag before leaving the room.

He steps into the kitchen where Selesia is busy. Her arms fly across the counter, preparing a grand meal. Yaulvyne curses inwardly, not wanting her to go out of her way for him. He reminds himself that she’s going through Hyjoss, that it isn’t her fault. Humoring her might do more damage than staying.

“I’m headed out now,” he tells her. “The sooner I speak to Darlnyle, the quicker I can leave and Darlnyle can focus on more important things.”

“You’re not going anywhere just yet. You’re going to eat something first,” she orders.

Yaulvyne finally smells her cooking and his mouth begins to water. He turns to a pan in the fire, meat sizzling. His stomach growls, causing Selesia to turn and look at him, eyebrow raised. He tries to smile. “Fine,” Yaulvyne sighs. “I didn’t eat earlier.” Walking into the kitchen, he asks, “Can I help?”

She smiles. “Can you even cook?” “I’m a ranger,” he reminds her. “I can make anything edible.” He pulls out a few spices from a pouch on his belt. Sprinkling them over the meat, he adds with a smile,

“With the right spices.” The aroma wafting up from the sizzling meat causes his stomach to growl again.

Selesia offers, “That does smell better.” As much as Yaulvyne hates to admit it, he’s glad he stayed. Spending time with Selesia cooking that meal, he manages to relax for the first time in a long time. Better still, he manages to smile and laugh. Real laughter, coming from gut. He can’t remember the last time he laughed so hard. The last time was probably when he, Picarin, and Lynshin were together.

Thinking of Lynshin, he looks away. Selesia stops talking. “She’s on your mind,” she says after a moment. Rising, she gathers some of the dishes. “You better get going,” she adds, sounding a little bitter.

Yaulvyne rises and stops her. “I can’t help that,” he offers. “Lynshin was my life. When you finally find whoever your looking for, you’ll understand.” When she pushes past him, he decides to change the subject. “You know a lot about Ilgnome.”

“It helps that my father is Darlnyle,” she says, bitterness lining her voice. Her gaze go distant as she continues, “I had a tendency to hold parties at his home. Everyone came. Rangers, councilmen, anyone wanting influence. Some even came, hoping I was ready to marry.”

“I’m sorry,” Yaulvyne says, not thinking of what else to say. “Don’t be,” she says. “I enjoyed the attention at first. By the time it wasn’t exciting anymore, it was too late. People expected those parties and attended anyway despite not being invited. It took Darlnyle to put it all to an end. That was a month ago.”

Yaulvyne studies Selesia in a new light. For her to accept banishment from her family after living in luxury for all her youth, she’s staying surprisingly positive. But that has to be just a mask she wears for others. He wonders what she’s like when she drops her guard.

Yaulvyne says, “I’ll go see Darlnyle, talk to him. Maybe he will see reason, allow you to return home. Will you be okay?”

She turns to him, the sparkle that he had seen earlier faded. “Of course, thank you,” the young woman says. She offers him a polite curtsy as an afterthought. “It’s getting late so Juslok will be back soon. I got that meat to share with him, I better prepare something else for him.”

Something crosses her face for just an instant. If he didn’t know better, Yaulvyne would say Selesia is worried about her brother. He never got to know Juslok when he was younger, Darlnyle never spoke much about either Juslok or Selesia. Putting a hand on her shoulder, Yaulvyne offers, “Thank you for the meal, I’m sure Juslok will understand about the meat. This evening will be something I won’t forget any time soon.”

Selesia manages a smile but the sadness remains. She collects more plates and heads to the counter. She stands there, her back turned. He understands that she doesn’t want to see him leave. Yaulvyne grants her request, leaving his home and not looking back. Selesia’s problems bug him as he makes for Darlnyle’s house. All he has is her side of the story, though he should have stayed and talked to Juslok to help fill in the gaps in her story. He doubts that Juslok knows anything more than his sister. Yaulvyne suspects that the answers lay with Darlnyle or Joulhon.

But should he get involved? He needs to leave and go to the Robtar Mountains. Those dragons won’t take care of themselves. And he doesn’t want to stay any longer than needed. He didn’t expect to stay even this long but, with the twin suns going down, he won’t make it very far anyway. And he still needs to see Darlnyle, Selesia or not. Darlnyle is the only family he has left. At least, what he considers family, anyway.

Eyes follow Yaulvyne as he heads through the city. He expected that reaction but it still hurts. He helped protect this forest for a long time before they made him a Korshinvi. Yaulvyne never sought fame or fortune for his work. Yet, they knew him because he was Darlnyle’s protégée. They applauded him, thanked him for his service. Did things for him.

Now they shun him. They turn away from him and rush to find someplace else they need to be. A few follow him, watching him with hands on sword hilts. He should appreciate that sort of attention, at least they are doing their jobs. And they are keeping a respectful distance from him. Yaulvyne keeps his hands away from his own hilt, not wanting to provoke them into action.

When Yaulvyne enters Darlnyle’s estate, they stay back, waiting. With one last look to them, he focuses on the series of homes before him. Darlnyle told him once that this used to be the center of Ilgnome back when it was founded a thousand years ago. Yaulvyne doesn’t know if his pakeln was exaggerating or not. What he does know is that this place is really old, judging from the central tree of the complex. The main house rings the tree. Several other homes rise up out of the forest, each signifying a different branch of Darlnyle’s family. Sadly, the family has been in decline recently, due to illness and other tragedies in the family.

He heads up the footpath to the main building. Normally, he would pass at least one or two servants on their way to the other buildings. It must be worse than he feared. And if it has gotten this bad, he has to be prepared for anything.

Knocking on the door, Yaulvyne has to wait a long time before a goblin opens the door. The thing is clean, for a goblin. The nails are trim, his skin looks roughly bathed. However, his hair still gives off a glossy, oily sheen. He does look well feed and has on well maintained clothing. No matter how bad things seem, it looks like Darlnyle still treats his servants properly, keeping them clean and well fed.

“May I help you?” the goblin asks in accented elvish. In goblin speak, Yaulvyne tells him, “Where is Master Darlnyle? Get him for me.” The language is quite crude, not allowing for polite speech. Half the words are either gestures or grunting noises. However, Darlnyle trained him to speak the crude language and Yaulvyne wants to stay in practice.

Surprised at hearing his native language, the servant smiles. He grunts an acknowledgment and leads Yaulvyne inside with a wave. The entry room is small, able to fit only a handful of guests inside. Yaulvyne knows that this place only has a dozen or so rooms. The largest room is the grand hall at the center of the house with the other rooms spiraling out organically from there.

“Stay here,” the goblin commands in his native tongue. A gesture to the floor indicates the demand.

He has spent a lot of time exploring this place when Darlnyle took him as a student. He didn’t find the underground training hall for six months. Darlnyle explained that finding the training hall was the first part of his training. Every day before that Yaulvyne couldn’t find the hall was frustrating. He wonders if that’s where Darlnyle is there now, waiting for him. No, he thinks, I’m not his student anymore. As much as I love and respect him, I want to get this over with and leave.

Yaulvyne studies the artwork on the walls. They are relatively new since the last time he had been in this building. The art depicts landscapes around the city, scenes he

knows like the back of his hand. They are so lifelike that he can almost hear the water flowing or the birds chirping. A smile tugs on his lips, pleased that Darlnyle would commission such works.

“I wish he would get rid of those,” a voice says. Slowly, Yaulvyne turns to stare at Darlnyle’s second son, Joulhon. Dark haired, lighter skin, Joulhon looks more like his mother than his father. Yaulvyne knew Joulhon when he was training under Darlnyle and has despised him ever since. Joulhon has a cruel streak stretching the borders of the whole forest. Instead of being a ranger, he turned more to business, accounting, and politics. When his mother died and Darlnyle eventually remarried, Joulhon was the first to try to undermine the relationship. Yaulvyne doubts that he accepted his stepmother despite publicly doing so. If Selesia’s tale is to be believed, the problem begins here.

“Why would Darlnyle get rid of these?” Yaulvyne asks, keeping his voice neutral. Snorting with disgust, Joulhon says, “All these were made by my step sister.” Yaulvyne’s eyebrows go up. He didn’t know that Selesia was an artist. But then, they didn’t speak about that. He turns back to the picture in front of him and nods his appreciation. “She’s good.”

“You wouldn’t know much about those, wouldn’t you, Korshinvi?” Joulhon offers. Yaulvyne can hear the disgust in his voice. Joulhon adds, “You’ve been away so long. Why is that?”

Yaulvyne’s hands go to his sides, ready to pull his blade out if necessary. He turns to face Joulhon fully, staring him down with a frosty expression. “Do you have something to say to me, Srochoi?” Yaulvyne asks.

The word gets the desired effect, Joulhon’s superior expression breaks into twisted rage. Srochoi is only used for those who denied any and all women going through Hyjoss, thus remaining single. Whatever Joulhon’s reason for doing so, he shamed and disgraced himself and his family. Yaulvyne doubts that he ever recovered his reputation after that, and Joulhon values reputation above everything. Especially considering his love of politics.

“You little Korshinvi-” Joulhon sneers as he draws the play sword at his side. Even with no desire to learn, his father insisted that Joulhon knows swordplay. Yaulvyne doubts that Joulhon has kept up with his studies. He doesn’t get the blade more than an inch out of the sheath. Yaulvyne’s blade rests at the base of Joulhon’s neck, the draw being so fast that neither elf registered the movement.

“You were saying?” Yaulvyne demands, his voice level. The ranger almost dares Joulhon into doing or saying something stupid.

Joulhon’s face softens a bit, realizing his error. However, his eyes flame, the heat of his hate matching the chill coming off the ranger. Joulhon puts on his best smile, something Yaulvyne relates to a snake. Joulhon steps away from Yaulvyne’s blade as he drops his own weapon back into its sheath.

“My mistake,” Joulhon offers, barely suppressing a growl. “I had forgotten how nimble you are with your sword.”

Yaulvyne’s eyes narrow as he takes a half step, his sword resting at the base of Joulhon’s neck. “I’d be careful how you wag that forked tongue of yours, it gets you into trouble,” the ranger hisses. He tilts his head to get a better look at the scar just above

Joulhon’s right temple. “You seem to have forgotten the last lesson I gave you in that regard.”

Joulhon bares his teeth but says nothing as he struggles to keep control of his anger. The rivalry between them has always been one sided. As much as Yaulvyne hates Joulhon, he’s always suspected that Joulhon felt pushed aside once his ranger training started.

“Be glad I’ve gotten control of my anger,” Yaulvyne mocks. Eyes narrowing, Joulhon says, “My apologies.” His voice quivers in barely suppressed rage. “I allowed my emotions to get in the way of my duties.”

“Indeed,” someone agrees. Out of the corner of his eye, Yaulvyne sees Darlnyle step into the room, followed by his goblin servant. “What’s going on here?” he demands of the pair. His eyes go from Joulhon to Yaulvyne and back again.

“A minor dispute,” Joulhon offers. With a venomous smile, Yaulvyne pulls away his sword but keeps it at his side. “Just resuming our friendship,” he adds. Darlnyle knows that they haven’t liked each other for a long time and has always been there to break them apart. So when Yaulvyne tells him that, Darlnyle knows that his son provoked the confrontation, like he always does.

Darlnyle, gray haired and winkled, steps between Yaulvyne and Joulhon, still looking at his son. “Are you mad?” Darlnyle demands. “You two aren’t young Yawoshinvi any more, he could kill you. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he had.”

Eyes shift between father and adversary, Joulhon looks for a way out. Yaulvyne would be amused by Joulhon’s reaction if he didn’t notice the iron in Darlnyle’s voice. Yaulvyne has only heard that tone once and that was the second day of his training. Darlnyle’s eldest son, Holtonic, had been made Korshinvi. At Holtonic’s trial, Darlnyle stood beside his son. Yaulvyne stood a step behind them, watching the trial in silence. He couldn’t watch as they burned the scar in Holtonic’s cheek. Right before Holtonic left the council, Darlnyle spoke in that tone words that Yaulvyne will never forget - It had better been worth it.

Finally, Joulhon settles on Darlnyle and offers a bowed head. “I ask for your forgiveness, father.”

“It’s not me you should beg forgiveness, son,” Darlnyle sneers, his voice rising. “No matter his current status, Yauvlyne is still a ranger and a guest in this house. And he’s also Prushan, making him your brother.” Darlnyle has always emphasized treating guests with the outmost respect. During Yaulvyne’s training, Darnlye kept saying how Yawoshinvi treat guests, no matter who that was, reflects back on them all.

“Just one of your strays,” Joulhon mutters, a sneer creeping across his face, before he could stop himself.

Darlnyle slaps his son across the face, so hard that Joulhon falls to the ground and smacks his head. When Joulhon looks up, Yaulvyne sees the imprint from where he got slapped. Blood streams from Joulhon’s nose from where he hit the ground, flowing freely. Yaulvyne guesses Joulhon broke his nose, judging from how quickly his nose blackens.

Pointing to the door, Darlnyle shouts, “This is the last time you will disgrace this house, Joulhon. Get gone and far away from this house. The next time I see your face, you might find a blade in your gut.”

The son of Darlnyle scrambles out of the room quicker than Yaulvyne thought possible. Once the elf’s footfalls finally fade away, Yaulvyne sheaths his own blade and relaxes just a bit. Well, that answers that, he thinks. No matter what Selesia thought was going on, it might have been an act for her benefit. But why would Darlnyle risk isolating Selesia and Juslok from Joulhon, whom he can’t banish without good reason.

With Yaulvyne’s arrival, Darlnyle finally has his excuse, even if it is a bit tenuous. Certainly, the council will investigate the charges but will overlook the incident. Probably. Yaulvyne doesn’t know the current state of the council to really know how the would accept Joulhon’s banishment. If Joulhon has any political savvy, then he might have enough to overturn Darlnyle’s judgement. But that could take time, which is something Yaulvyne doesn’t have at the moment.

Darlnyle turns to Yaulvyne, his face falls further than Yaulvyne has ever seen it. His body sags a bit as he leans against the wall. The goblin servant reaches out to help him to one of the room’s few chairs. When Darlnyle sits, he shoos away the goblin, his pride taking over. “I’m sorry you had to see that. As I grow closer to my inevitable meeting with Yylvin, Joulhon grows more impatient. Where did I grow wrong?” he laments.

Yylvin, Goddess of Life and Death. Yaulvyne has only heard the goddess invoked once before when word came that his parents were dead. He remembers Darlnyle coming to his aunt and uncle’s place himself to deliver the news. Yaulvyne’s aunt cried a prayer to Yylvin through her tears. That was the only time that he saw any love or sympathy from his aunt and uncle.

“You did the best you could,” Yaulvyne offers, tilting his head to the side thoughtfully. “The war made us all hard and unforgiving, even to those who were left behind.”

Darlnyle gives his best smile, revealing the missing teeth he lost in that very war. “Yes, it did,” he says sadly, putting a hand on Yaulvyne’s shoulder. “Have you seen your aunt and uncle? I am sure they would love to see you.”

Yaulvyne turns away from his pakeln, not wanting him to see his annoyance with him. Instead of answering, Yaulvyne examines one of Selesia’s paintings. Having another look at them, he half smiles as he remembers his wife trying to paint his own portrait. It didn’t end well, he just couldn’t keep still. Out loud, Yaulvyne says, “Joulhon says Selesia painted these.”

“Yes, she did,” Darlnyle answers, stepping up beside him. “In fact, this one was the last she painted here.” Darlnyle forces Yaulvyne to look at him. “Your aunt and uncle were devastated when you became Korshinvi. Every day, one of them goes to the ranger dens to find out if there’s any word of you. No matter what happened between you, they are still your family.”

With a sigh, Yaulvyne admits, “I really don’t have the time, the business to the west can’t wait. I have only a few tasks left to do before I head back west.”

Darlnyle says, “Dragon hunting is a dangerous game, better left to Haulgri and his people.” Patting his shoulder, he insists, “I gave you a couple days to spend in Ilgnome. Rest a while, even if it is for a few days. See your aunt and uncle, mend the rift between you.”

Yaulvyne shakes his head, not wanting to be distracted by family. “If I’m right, we’re running out of time. Remember, I was in the west, Darlnyle, I saw the destruction.

When I was out there, I didn’t even see any Dinashinvi, who should have been on hand to help the survivors. Those survivors I did find said they didn’t see them anywhere either. If they aren’t protecting their territory, where are they?”

This seems to concern Darlnyle. “Are you certain?” “Of course,” Yaulvyne says, sounding a bit insulted. “I have been around the areas rampaged by the dragons. I didn’t find any tracks of any kind, nothing out of the ordinary.”

The tension seems to flow out of Darlnyle. He leans against the wall, a smile splitting his face. With a chuckle, he offers, “You know as well as I that if a Dinashinvi doesn’t want to be seen in the mountains, they won’t.”

“Hardly the mountains but the foothills,” Yaulvyne points out. “You taught me how to track even in the harshest environments. I think I could find a few Dinashinvi if I needed to but that wasn’t what I was looking for.” He turns to the west, which he could find blindfolded. “I was looking for dragon signs. It seems dragons are a lot more difficult to track in the mountains.”

“Easy lesson to learn,” Darlnyle says, patting Yaulvyne on the shoulder. “The harder one is killing one.” Darlnyle’s eyes drift south to the blade at Yaulvyne’s side. “I see you upgraded your blade.” Darlnyle knows that Yaulvyne wore his father’s blade instead of the one given to him by the council. Though the hilts are similar, Darlnyle knows the difference just as well Yaulvyne. Darlnyle nods appreciatively. “You went home.”

“And found an unexpected guest,” Yaulvyne says, appreciating the change in subject. Indicating the paintings, he adds, “I met your daughter. She didn’t tell me she was so talented.”

Darlnyle’s breath catches in his throat. “You saw Selesia? How was she? Is she alright? Was Juslok there?”

“Selesia’s fine,” Yaulvyne tells him. “Juslok wasn’t there.” “Shame,” Darlnyle says before Yaulvyne could say more. He has a sad, far away look in his eyes. “Smart lad, I would like to see him again.” His voice drifts away as he adds, “Maybe in the next life.”

Yaulvyne’s brow furrows, concerned. If Joulhon was the reason preventing Darlnyle from making amends with his other children, then he should be excited now that Joulhon has been sent away. Maybe he can give his council seat to Selesia or Juslok. “What’s stopping you?” Yaulvyne asks.

Pursing his lips, Darlnyle offers, “It’s complicated. You’ve been away a long time.”

“So I’ve been told,” Yaulvyne mutters as he looks at the painting once more. Lynshin told him once that a painting reflects the painter’s soul. If that’s so, Selesia must have a brighter personality than he initially thought. Looking at Darlnyle, Yaulvyne gets the older Yawoshinvi back to his seat. “Tell me what’s going on?”

Darlnyle’s faces darkens in a way Yaulvyne has never seen before. “I won’t bore you with the mundane,” he says in a tone that brokers no argument. “Especially with things you specifically can’t change.”

Eyebrows going up, Yaulvyne insists, “You gave me a few days, start at the beginning.”

“That’s not why I gave you those couple days,” Darlnyle presses. “Why don’t do what I ask of you for once. Go see your aunt and uncle.”

“I’m not a young Yawoshinvi anymore, nor am I your student,” Yaulvyne retorts. “If something is happening here, let me help. I may be Korshinvi, but I’m still a ranger.” “I recall you saying something similar earlier,” Darlnyle offers, some of the darkness fleeing from his face. He looks away.

Silence stretches between them. Yaulvyne allows Darlnyle the privacy of his thoughts, saying nothing. Finally, his pakeln says, “Perhaps you may be able to help. My,” he pauses, “son has been very eager, as you know. He’s not alone. Some on the council, the younger members around your age, have been calling for a rise in our forces. Not rangers but an army. Your warnings only elevated their need to return to the old ways.”

Yaulvyne frowns. “What exactly are you asking me to do?” Darlnyle turns to him. “If you weren’t Korshinvi, I would ask you to take your father’s seat on the council. Since you can’t do that, then I’d ask you to go to the humans, warn them of the terrors beyond their cities.”

Yaulvyne closes his eyes to focus on the problem. From what he’s seen of the humans between Tainterbane in the northeast and Natoch and Dahl in the south, nothing will make them work together for any length of time. Especially Natoch, which seems controlled more by gangs than the supposed government. Dahl is more afraid of the Dinashinvi that stretches a long shadow from the mountains. Even if Yaulvyne could bring those three cities together, they’d need Dinashinvi help to lead the fight in the mountains.

“The humans aren’t as united as they were a hundred years ago,” Yaulvyne finally explains. “They hide in their cities and most live in squaller. Their armies aren’t as armed as we are.” With a shake of his head, Yaulvyne concludes, “I doubt they will listen to a Yawoshinvi.”

Nodding, Darlnyle offers, “I’ve heard much the same from others who have ventured out of the forest. But, please, indulge an old man. If its as bad as you say, we will need their help.”

“I will do as you ask,” Yaulvyne offers, bowing his head. When he looks into Darlnyle’s eyes once more, the ranger sees something else. Venturing a guess, he asks, “About Selesia.”

Darlnyle rises abruptly. “There’s nothing either of us can do for her,” he declares. Though his voice is harsh, Yaulvyne detects a little sadness around its edges. “Her fate has been sealed.”

“She’s to become Korshinvi?” “That remains to be seen,” Darlnyle offers ominously, “and would be kinder than what I’ve heard. If you value your life, I suggest that you forget about her and her brother.”

Without another word, Darlnyle heads out of the room. Yaulvyne moves to intercept him but the goblin blocks his way. Years of instinct causes Yaulvyne to place a hand on his blade and a sneer on his lips. “Out of the way,” he says in goblin speak.

“Master has spoken more than he should,” the goblin replies in elvish. Gently, he adds, “Go. If he has more to say, he will send for you.”

“Fine,” Yaulvyne tells the goblin. Despite the thing being clothed well and clean, Yaulvyne has a dislike for the creature. Goblins usually have a terrible smell and the lack of that smell unnerves him, making him hate the thing more. He tries to hold back the sneer as he adds, “I’ll be back before I head out.”

“As you wish,” the goblin replies as Yaulvyne leaves.

Swirling the contents of his mug around, Yaulvyne hadn’t drank a drop since getting the drink two hours ago. He thinks over what Darlnyle was telling him and, more importantly, what he was asking of him. It looked like Darlnyle was afraid of something or someone. By his pakeln’s actions, Yaulvyne dismisses Joulhon. Yaulvyne had never seen Darlnyle raise a hand to any of his children, no matter what they had done.

Going through the events of the evening once more, Yaulvyne can only guess that a Shiyanshinvi warned Darlnyle of something. But what? The dragons? No, Yaulvyne dismisses, he spoke openly about his concerns. He only became evasive when they spoke of Selesia. What has Selesia have to do with the future of the Yawoshinvi? And when Yaulvyne pressed, Darlnyle spoke of duty.

Yaulvyne takes a small sip of the wine. Its a harsh concoction that burns on the way down. The bartender claimed it was a recipe that he got from a Dinashinvi before the war. He has been getting stock of the secret ingredient on a regular basis but that had died down about eight months ago. Yaulvyne didn’t want to tell him why, even though the bartender had asked when he came in. He’s a good elf, Yaulvyne thinks, impressed that he would even serve a Korshinvi.

The drawing of the stool beside him draws Yaulvyne’s attention. Picarin sits, looking as miserable as Yaulvyne feels. This surprises him, Picarin is usually upbeat and friendly even in the worse occasions. Something must be wrong if Picarin is wearing his heart on his sleeve.

Picarin pulls out his own mug and taps the bar. The bartender fills up the mug with the same Dinashinvi wine that Yaulvyne had been nursing. With one gulp, Picarin drains the mug and taps for another. Yaulvyne watches his friend for a moment, wondering where he got the mug. Picarin has very little in life, mainly his prized Kunshink, which he swears he purchased. Most other things he has, Picarin has an annoying habit of ‘finding’ them somewhere, usually in the homes of others.

“I thought you’d be gone,” Yaulvyne ventures, deciding to ignore his friend’s thievery.

“Yeah, me too,” he croaks. Picarin glances his way before turning back to his own drink. “I figured someone had to keep an eye on you.”

Once the refill returns, Yaulvyne covers the top. Picarin wouldn’t stick around unless there was something to gain. He’d never say if there was trouble with his friends, no matter how much he would protest otherwise. Picarin is about as reliable as a goblin. “Trouble?” Yaulvyne demands.

Picarin turns a sober glance Yaulvyne’s way before pulling his mug out from the ranger’s hand. He takes a long drink before slamming the mug down on the bar. “I think you’re rubbing off on me, Yaul. I went hunting for trouble.”

That is out of character for the little thief, Yaulvyne thinks. “What happened?” the ranger asks in a soft, sympathetic tone. He knows he’s been rough on Picarin lately, been rough too many people of late. The only person who has had him at ease has been Selesia. Maybe he should heed Darlnyle’s warnings and leave her alone before he loses his edge.

Instead of answering, Picarin asks, “What about you?” His eyes head down to Yaulvyne’s blade. Like Darlnyle, Picarin recognizes the difference between hilts. “Oh. I see you made it home.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Yaulvyne says, concerned for her friend. “What did you find?”

“Nothing really,” Picarin says with a shrug. “I met a Dinashinvi and had a vision of fire. I followed him and his Yawoshinvi friend, where they met with Darlnyle.”

Confused, Yaulvyne asks, “What? How long ago was this?” “After you left to your home,” Picarin answers, his face winkling in concern. “Why?”

Yaulvyne curses colorfully, which causes Picarin to raise his eyebrows. “What are you up to?” Yaulvyne mutters. “What are you hiding?”

“What are you talking about?” Picarin asks, confused. Instead of answering, Yaulvyne drinks what’s left in his mug. Could Darlnyle be planning to burn the forest down instead of allowing the council to achieve its goals? If the forest burns, it would accelerate the creation of an army, not stop it. But why pull in a Dinashinvi? And who is this Yawoshinvi companion Picarin mentioned? Despite his questionable relationship with Haulgri, Dinashinvi and Yawoshinvi don’t generally travel together.

“Yaul?” Yaulvyne turns to Picarin, his mind emptying. “What?” “You know something,” his friend accuses. “Don’t hold out on me.” Anger rising, Yaulvyne snaps, “You’re one to talk.” He tries to calm himself and offers a weak, “Sorry.” He taps his mug on the bar. After the barkeeper refills his mug, Yaulvyne explains what’s been happening. He offers a short version of his time at home and his conversation with Selesia, not wanting to give Picarin any ideas about his relationship with her. He emphasizes Selesia’s recent past, what he comprehends anyway, so that when he gets to Darlnyle, Picarin would understand why he’s concerned.

It takes a long time before Picarin responds. “Selesia has been living at your place.”

“Yes,” Yaulvyne says, taking a sip of his drink. “No wonder it looked a little better,” Picarin says, relieved. At Yaulvyne’s confused look, Picarin clarifies, “Every couple years I would return to clean up a little. I’ve actually been trying to help the rot that has claimed the tree. Spent a small fortune.”

Yaulvyne shoots him a skeptical look. Picarin would never be so free with his coin, even if he had a small fortune. Not even for Yaulvyne.

“Fine, not a fortune,” Picarin dismisses with a roll of his eyes. With a quick smile, he adds, “But I intended to. It’s the thought that counts, right?”

Snorting, Yaulvyne can feel the anger that had building escapes. As angry as he can get with Picarin, Yaulvyne can’t stay that way for too long, especially when Picarin shows off his jovial side.

Lifting his cup up to his lips, Yaulvyne mutters, “Sorry for earlier.” “What was that?” the Shiyanshinvi asks, leaning closer. Yaulvyne shoots him a dirty look before draining his mug. The ranger tilts his head, a thought coming to him. “Do you know anyone in town?” Yaulvyne asks.

Picarin thinks about that for a moment. “Other than you, no. There may be some Shiyanshinvi in town, I’d have to look. Why?”

“They usually know more about what’s going on than most,” Yaulvyne mutters. To his friend, he asks, “Try to find out what Darlnyle is hiding, would you?”

“This is dangerous, Yaulvyne,” Picarin warns. “I’ve learned the hard way not to meddle in a ranger’s business.”

Indeed, Picarin would know. The scar on his face is a testament for how nosy he can get. Once, fifteen years ago, Yaulvyne found him outside a small druid grove. When Picarin’s face healed, he told Yaulvyne how he got off track from a group of Shiyanshinvi he’d been with. Picarin notice a Yawoshinvi ranger that had been in his group, tagging along and offering some protection. The ranger went off into the wood. Picarin’s natural curiosity got the better of him and he followed. Well, the meeting between the ranger and the druid was supposed to be secret, as most of these things generally are among the druids. The ranger burned the side of Picarin’s face. Yaulvyne’s treatment helped, mostly, but the scar will never fully heal over.

“Only Shiyanshinvi, okay?” Yaulvyne reasures him. “You can handle that. I’ll take care of the rangers.”

“You sure they won’t chop your head off?” Picarin mutters into his own mug. “They might see you as any other Korshinvi, even those you once called friends.”

Yaulvyne admits that Picarin has a point, even though he won’t say that. “Let me handle that. Meet me at my place in the morning, we’ll talk about what we found out, okay?”

With a wave of his hand, Picarin drinks down what’s left in his mug. Yaulvyne waves over the bartender and gives him enough to make the Shiyanshinvi comfortable for a while. Hopefully, it will pay for the mug Picarin stole, as well.

Yaulvyne pats Picarin on the back and exits the tavern.

It takes a little time to get to the northwest part of Illgnome. This is one of two places that rangers get together and exchange information. This close to his family home, some might be sympathetic to him. Might being the operative word. The young ranger from earlier just saw him as Korshinvi, the older would not be so forgiving. They know his reputation, understand the loss of him leaving the brotherhood of rangers had done to them.

Yaulvyne clutches his blade as he steps through the forest. He can feel eyes on him, the heat of their collective anger threatening to burn him out of existence. If he didn’t need to talk to a ranger about Darlnyle, he wouldn’t have bothered coming here. He hopes that someone will talk to him before they kill him.

As he steps into the glade, a half dozen Yawoshinvi stand waiting for him with their blades drawn. This is going to be harder than I thought, Yaulvyne thinks as he spreads his hands wide. He doesn’t want to provoke them any further than he already has. He stands at the edge of the glade, waiting to be invited as is the custom for arriving foreign rangers, even though he isn’t foreign.

Behind him, someone pulls his blade from its sheath. Yaulvyne doesn’t resist, knowing he will get the sword back. He thinks, there’s no telling what they’ll do to him. No Korshinvi ranger has ever returned to Ilgnome. They’ll either let him live and demand him to leave, possibly giving him the sword back, or they will kill him.

The silence stretches uncomfortably between them. Yaulvyne’s eyes shift between the gathered Yawoshinvi. He can see their uncertainty written on their faces. They don’t even know what they want to do with him since his return is unprecedented.

Since they see him as foreign, he will act like it. “I need information,” Yaulvyne demands.

A hand clasps his shoulder from behind him. Yaulvyne turns to see an older Shiyanshinvi smiling back at him. A smile quirks on his face in return as Yaulvyne recognizes Pilesos, a friend. The Shiyanshinvi has been given honorary status by the rangers due to all the help he’s given over the past century. Pilesos has even helped Yaulvyne on more than one occasion. He even was the first elf to help Yaulvyne after becoming Korshinvi. Of the three races of elves, only the Shiyanshinvi don’t turn their kin into Korshinvi. Maybe it’s because of their nomadic ways, they need all their members of their group to keep them going.

“Welcome back. With a new scar, I see,” Pilesos says. Yaulvyne’s lip twitches as he suppresses his anger, knowing that Pilesos did that intentionally. Still, he hates drawing attention to the Korshinvi scar, even though it is visible to everyone.

However, Yaulvyne isn’t the only person that gets agitated. The six rangers lift their blades threateningly, ready to skewer Yaulvyne. He braces for them to charge him, shifting himself just slightly to defend himself. He doubts that he could fend off all six trained rangers. He could probably take two of them before being overwhelmed. Maybe three.

“How dare you,” Pilesos says to the others. “This Yawoshinvi has done more in his lifetime than any most of you put together. He’s gone from the mountains in the west and south to coast the north and the orcs in the east. You have stayed under the Lynshiv canopy, though some have gone as far as Hylsowll.” At their uncomfortable glances, he says, “I’ve worked with all of you, I helped shape the current methods which you now teacher your own balvai. No matter what is happening between you

personally, you are all rangers. And this ranger has come here looking for help. Yet you are ready to kill him quicker than a Dinashinvi loosing his temper.”

The rangers shift nervously, shamed in their actions. Some even look away. One steps forward, his face harder than it was moments ago. “This Korshinvi walked away from us, not the other way around.”

Yaulvyne tilts his head back slightly. “You know me, Kuljiln. No matter our disagreements, we worked together because we respected each other. You also knew Lynshin, loved her as much as you did our late night debates. In my place, could you really say that you would have chosen differently?”

Kuljiln’s face softens just a bit. “No, I would not. Forgive me for questioning that,” he offers. “But that doesn’t mean I excuse you turning your back on us.”

“I have not one day forgotten my oath to protect Lynshiv or any Yawoshinvi, inside or outside the forest,” Yaulvyne responds. “Every day I have to choose between my wife and the rest of my people.” Stiffening his back, he adds, “It is the Yawoshinvi and all Olnoshinvi everywhere this side of the mountains that I have returned. I stay because of my loyalty to my pakeln.”

The rest of the rangers huddle together while Kuljiln says, “I respect Darlnyle, he’s done a lot for us. I am more concerned with why you’ve returned.”

Yaulvyne can almost feel Kuljiln want to say Korshivni but being reminded of their relationship has softened it just enough to be civil. Yaulvyne can feel his lips curl slightly upward at the small victory. “Have any of you gone out west? Beyond Hylsowll.”

Kuljiln turns to the huddle and whispers. Time stretches and Yaulvyne shoots Pilesos a glance. The Shiyanshinvi gives a slight nod, confirming that they haven’t gone very far. When Kuljiln turns back, the others turn with him. “What are you saying?” Kuljin demands.

“The dragons are returning,” Yaulvyne warns. “Impossible,” one of them retorts. “They’re locked away. Where’s the proof?” Yaulvyne stares hard at him. “I’ve seen the smoldering ruins of cyclops villages. I’ve seen the dead bodies of cyclops, torn apart and singed by something too large and dangerous not to be a dragon. Finally, I’ve seen the prints.”

When the elf tries to respond, Kuljiln holds up a staying hand. “We shall take a look to verify what you’ve said here. I suggest you return to your duty.”

“And Darlnyle?” Yaulvyne asks as the other rangers disappear into the woods. Kuljiln says, “I think his son has seen to his fate.” His tone is sad, almost melancholy. “I don’t think there’s anything that can be done for him.” He turns and disappears before Yaulvyne can even question further.

Yaulvyne’s sword appears before him, hilt up. He reaches out and grasps it as the sword falls from the outstretched hand. When Yaulvyne can see who held his blade, the ranger has already disappeared into the forest, leaving him alone with Pilesos.

Forcing a smile, Yaulvyne clasps Pilesos’s shoulder in return. “I would like to say that that went well.”

“Come, let’s talk elsewhere. Away from prying ears,” the Shiyanshinvi offers, shooting the ranger a warm smile. “Unlike my friends, we can talk.”

A glance to the surrounding forest, Yaulvyne can still feel the hatred wafting out of the trees at him. Nervously, he says, “That might be a good idea.” They step out of

the glade as he sheathes his blade. He catches some movement as the rangers follow them out of the small forest. They won’t relent until they return to the city proper.

“Don’t worry about them, things will change,” Pilesos offers. “Give it a couple years.”

Yaulvyne looks into Pilesos’s eyes, which sparkle. He’s seen that look in Picarin’s eyes often enough that Yaulvyne suspects a vision. “Have you seen something?” the ranger asks, concerned.

With a mischievous smile, Pilesos offers, “Call it a vision if you want, I prefer to call it experience.” He pats Yaulvyne’s shoulder, leading him into the city proper. “Have the dragons really returned.”

With a nod, Yaulvyne says, “Dragons are stalking out west, the carnage is real. I don’t know how many have been wandering around out there, at least two. I found two different sets of scales, peeled away in separate tracks. I came to warn the council.”

“Always the ranger,” Pilesos says. “That’s why I like you.” He looks back at the forest, where it stays for a few heartbeats. Yaulvyne follows his gaze to see Kuljiln standing watch. Pilesos adds, “I think they know, too, but they don’t know what to do. They don’t want to admit it, either, fearing what might come because of it. Any ideas?” Yaulvyne thinks that over for a moment. “No,” he says with a shake of his head. “Maybe, if the council would listen to me.”

“Your arrival might get them to listen,” he tells Yaulvyne. His voice goes distant and eyes become unfocused as he adds, “They will move when red flows.” His eyes come back into focus. “I see you drowning in red, Ranger. You’re in danger, a lot of danger, which you can’t escape from. You’ll rush into it with zeal.” He looks back to Kuljiln. “They won’t help, I’m sorry.”

With a chuckle, Yaulvyne says, “You aren’t first one saw me surrounded by red.” When Pilesos offers a questioning look, the ranger clarifies, “Picarin.” With his own glance to Kuljiln, Yaulvyne says, “If they won’t help, fine. I’ll do this on my own.”

Pilesos pats him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about it, they might not help you but you won’t be alone. Accept it when it comes, no matter what it looks like.” He slaps Yaulvyne’s back. “Good luck.”

Yaulvyne watches him walk off. Pilesos and Picarin are night and day when it comes to prophecy. Where Picarin’s is random and unfocused, Pilesos offers cryptic and annoying prophecies. However, one thing remains certain, there will be much red in his future. Whether that’s Dinashinvi or blood, Yaulvyne can’t tell. Perhaps knowing too much about the future is a bad thing. He’s always heard Shiyanshinvi tell him that, maybe there’s some truth in it.

One thing is for sure, Yaulvyne won’t be getting any help from this group of rangers. Now that they know he’s here, word will soon spread to the other meeting places. If he received such a terrible reception here, Yaulvyne wagers that he will get about the same reaction from the others, if not worse. With a look at the darkening sky, he doubts he’ll be able to find another group. Its been a long day anyway.

After Yaulvyne left, Picarin decides to play his Kunshink. The bartender doesn’t seem to mind as he pulls the instrument off his back, the crowd starts growing at the songs he starts singing. Picarin gets to keep any coin that gets tossed his way, his tab more than settled by Yaulvyne. So, he plays some fun and ruckus tunes for the crowd.

Near the end of his set, a ranger enters the tavern, the blade at his side giving him away. The ranger is a tall and broad Yawoshinvi with dirty blonde hair, a touch of blue tinging his bangs. Picarin wouldn’t have cared about him if the ranger hadn’t stopped and stared at him. Good thing I’m such a great musician, I didn’t flub that song, he thinks as he turns away.

Finishing the song, Picarin says, “Thank you, that’s all for today.” The crowd starts to protest. Picarin begs their forgiveness, truly happy that he has a crowd happy for once. He usually gets thrown out, usually because the crowd would riot otherwise. Picarin just can’t help pulling out a couple of obscene or subversive songs into his set. Too bad I couldn’t get to those tonight, he thinks with a smile.

When Picarin passes the ranger, he grabs Picarin’s wrist and stops the Shiyanshinvi in his tracks. “Where are you going, ghost?” the ranger demands.

A flash of danger comes to Picarin. Not from the ranger, something else. Picarin tries to ride the sensation to figure out where the danger is coming from but pain shuts down his visions. As Picarin turns his attention back to the ranger, he realizes that the pain comes from his wrist.

“You’re that Korshinvi’s friend, aren’t you?” the ranger demands. Before Picarin can answer, the ranger says, “Of course you are. Give him a message, will you? Tell him to leave Lynshiv, he’s not wanted here.”

The ranger’s grasp has become so tight that Picarin drops to his knees. The closest Yawoshinvi in the tavern rise to their feet, ready to help him. Picarin waves them away, not wanting them to get hurt. This ranger has a foul enough temper that he might get provoked into harming others. He must have noticed them as well because he releases Picarin’s wrist.

Picarin clutches his wrist, massaging life back into it. Putting on his best smile, Picarin says, “You could have asked nicely.”

Leaning in, the ranger thumps Picarin’s chest. “The Korshinvi leaves tonight,” the ranger sneers before leaving.

The crowd starts muttering Korshinvi as well, making Picarin wince. Why can’t I have one evening at a tavern without rushing away at the end? Rising, Picarin heads away from the place without looking back. He doesn’t notice where he’s going, so engrossed he is with his sore wrist. When Picarin nearly runs into the tree and nearly falls on his ass, hands grasp his shoulders to prevent him from falling.

Picarin turns to see a Shiyanshinvi woman, smiling back at him. “Troubled?” she asks, her voice sweet. She turns her head slightly left, then right. Smile widening, she adds, “Yes, you are, with a great many things. You just don’t want to admit it.”

He feels anger rising in his stomach, which he stifles quickly. Picarin doesn’t like it when he is angry, it always upsets him and he gets a vision later, which leads to a gigantic headache. Focusing on the woman before him, Picarin says, “Do I know you?”

Shrugging, she says, “No, I don’t think so.” She looks at his clutched wrist. “Let me help you with that.” She clutches his wrist, a warmth flows into his arm. The pain in

his wrist releases slowly as the bones reknit themselves back together. When she finally releases him, his wrist feels better than it has in years.

Flexing his fingers, Picarin notices he’s still missing part of his ring finger. He shows her his fingers and asks, “Could you help me with this one?”

She offers a sad smile. “Alas, no,” she offers. “Only minor wounds.” Putting her arm through his, she says, “Come on, I’d like you to meet some friends.”

Picarin looks over his shoulder to see the ranger watching them. “Sure,” the thief says, turning a lopsided smile to her. “I’ve got nothing else to do.”

“You sure about that?” she asks, lifting her eyebrows. Muttering a colorful curse that makes her smile, Picarin remembers what Yaulvyne asked him to do. At least he doesn’t have to look to far for another Shiyanshinvi. Maybe she will know something about Darlnyle, though judging from the dirt stains on her clothing, he doubts it. Most Shiyanshinvi keep their clothing relatively clean once they get into town, almost to the point of obsession when they see a body of water. There are exceptions, of course, Picarin among them, but he’s a rarity among his people. Still, it doesn’t hurt to ask.

Picarin’s new friend leads him deep into the forest. He continually looks over his shoulder, paranoid about the angry ranger. If he were any normal Yawoshinvi, Picarin doubts they could track their progress through the forest. But rangers have an uncanny ability to find their way through even the thickest paths.

“Where’re we going?” he asks. “Somewhere even your ranger friend won’t go,” the Shiyanshinvi responds. Rubbing his wrist, Picarin mutters, “Not my friend.” She laughs, a musical tone that Picarin enjoys. She pats his arm but remains quiet after that. They walk in silence for a little while. Picarin thinks of a way to broach the subject of Darlnyle.

“Can I ask a question?” he asks when the silence finally makes him uncomfortable. When she nods, he asks, “Do you know Darlnyle? He’s a ranger and Pakeln to a friend of mine.”

The Shiyanshinvi gets a far away expression, one he recognizes described by Yaulvyne when he gets a vision. When she comes back, she says, “He’s not important, not for what we have to tell you.”

Suspicious, he pulls her to a halt. She looks back at him, her face impassive. “What do you want from me?” he demands.

“Please,” she insists, “not here. I fear what I unleashed.” She gives a worried look back the way they came.

Eyes narrowing, Picarin hisses, “You sent him?” She winces. “I didn’t know your friend was the Korshinvi or that he’d take it that far.”

“If you wanted to talk to me, all you had to do was come up to me.” The distance look returns. “You wouldn’t have come, not with me.” She stands there, her mouth moving but no words coming out. Picarin has seen this once before, a vision so deep that it has control of the receiver. He experienced it, too, a long time ago. He wonders what she’s seeing.

Remembering the time he witnessed this happening, Picarin strikes the woman across the face. Its supposed to pull someone out a vision, though he doesn’t know

exactly how. Maybe it’s the pain that jars the seer out. But the woman continues to mutter to herself. Cursing, Picarin tries again, this time harder. The only affect it has on her is to knock her to the ground and give her a bloody nose.

Picarin looks around, not knowing what to do. He closes his eyes to summon a vision, any vision, that could help him. Nothing comes. Disappointed, Picarin opens his eyes and puts an arm under her, lifting her up just enough that she can be on her feet. Her body must have enough sense about itself that, when they move, she walks. He heads in the general direction that they were going. The trail gets smaller and smaller, in so much as they walk sideways. It is awkward going and he has to stop several times, not only to get his bearings but to catch his breath and check the Shiyanshinvi.

After what seems like an eternity, Picarin leads the woman break through into a small clearing. A path leads into the clearing, wide enough for the wagon sitting in the center of the clearing. A dozen Shiyanshinvi huddle around a fire, two fowls cooking over the flame.

“Help,” Picarin manages, shifting the woman in his arms. He can barely keep her on her feet.

Two Shiyanshinvi rush to grab her out of his arms while a third approaches. Shiyanshinvi tend to be slender but the ghost elf before Picarin is rake thin. His clothes hang loose on his frame, showing skin pulled so taught that his bones push dramatically out of his skin.

“What happened?” he demands, his voice surprisingly strong. “She’s lost in a vision,” Picarin offers, pointing at the woman. He turns to her and asks in a softer voice, “And her nose?” “Last time I saw this happen, the Shiyanshinvi was woken with a hit across the face,” Picarin offers. When the Shiyanshinvi turns back, Picarin shrugs and offers, “I tried twice, nothing seemed to work.”

“What did she say?” he asks. Picarin looks over to her this time. “She wanted to tell me something, got a ranger to chase me out. She was telling me why she couldn’t just come and talk to me herself but fell into this,” he says, gesturing to the woman.

The Shiyanshinvi frowns slightly, not happy with what Picarin had just told him. “Give me your hands,” he asks.

Picarin looks at the Shiyanshinvi, his hands out and palms out. What little time he spent among his own people, Picarin has never been asked to hold hands. He’s been told that anytime a Shiyanshinvi wants a vision specific to someone, they just touch them. Maybe this is a sign of respect, from one Shiyanshinvi to another, he doesn’t know.

“What about her?” Picarin asks. “She’ll be fine,” comes a call from one of the other Shiyanshivi. Hands shaking, Picarin reaches out and places his palms into the Shiyanshinvi’s hands. The ghost elf doesn’t close his hands, doesn’t move at all except to say, “May Yylvin guide us,” and closes his eyes.

Picarin tries to look away from the Shiyanshinvi, to look at something other than that rake thin ghost elf. Something holds him in place. Then he senses an oddness closing in around him, probing the edges of his mind. He can’t help but recall the last twelve hours, from meeting with Yaulvyne to Haulgri, from the mystery Dinashinvi to the

bar. Picarin feels the tears well up in his eyes from not being able to blink. That allows him to pull away from the Shiyanshinvi, which makes the memories stop. The last thing that went through his mind is his meeting with the woman.

“What did you do?” Picarin demands, gasping for breath. He pulls his knife and puts it under the Shiyanshinvi’s throat. The others rise to defend their leader but he stops them with an upraised hand. Picarin makes his demand again, pushing the knife hard enough to break the skin.

“Kill me if you want but that won’t change a thing. You won’t save Darlnyle,” the Shiyanshinvi says softly. Motioning to the carriage, he says, “There are others you can save, Picarin, namely your ranger friend and his woman.”

“What woman?” he asks instinctively. Inside, he knows exactly who he’s talking about.

At the same time, one of the other elves says, “You can’t be serious. We need the cart.”

“We’ll find another, their need is greater,” the leader offers. “Take the cart, Picarin. It will serve you well.”

The words echo through his mind as he starts feeling a little sleepy. Picarin shakes his head and stumbles into a nearby tree. When his head finally clears, all the Shiyanshinvi are gone, the food along with them. Picarin offers the evening a rather colorful curse as he hobbles to the cart, dragging himself into the seat. He can’t seem to keep his eyes open.

The door swings open to reveal a tired Selesia. She stares out at Yaulvyne and wipes out the last vestiges of sleep. It takes a few heartbeats before her eyes to focus and find him. “Yaulvyne?” she asks through a yawn. “What time is it?”

“I’m sorry I woke you,” Yaulvyne offers. “I thought knocking would be better than walking in, scaring you and your brother.”

Selesia wipes away the rest of the sleep from her face. She turns slightly, looking for something, before opening the door wide. “Juslok hasn’t come home yet.” She gestures to an empty couch. “He usually sleeps there, stumbling in from wherever he goes most days. He doesn’t say where he goes.”

Even though Selesia tries hard not to sound worried, Yaulvyne can see it written on her face. Juslok has probably kept her up most nights. By the looks of her, Selesia needed that sleep he just disturbed. He suddenly regrets coming back. Considering all that he found out today, Juslok might be in more trouble than a fun night on the town. “I’ll put out word for him in the morning, if that will help,” Yaulvyne offers. “I think I still have a friend or two in Ilgnome.”

“No,” she sighs, shoulders deflating. “If he’s not home by morning, I’ll go and look for him. I think I might know where he is.” She turns back to face him, the worry written on her face. Yaulvyne doesn’t envy the burden she carries. “He’s my brother, not yours.”

Bowing slightly, he tells her, “As you wish.” Selesia tries to smile as she asks, “What can I do for you, Ranger?” She motions inside and steps aside.

As he enters the house, blood rushes to his face as he notices the slip of her robe slide off her shoulder. It’s been a while since he’s been this close to a woman. Taking a deep breath, Yaulvyne says, “I will be staying in town for a couple days. Mind if I stay here a while? I’ll take the couch.” Seeing her face tighten, Yaulvyne offers, “Or the floor.”

Selesia blinks in surprise, not expecting the request. “Of course,” she says. “Please, take your room. I’ll take the couch.”

“Please, don’t go out of your way just for me. I’m used to the floor, too much time on the road.” Yaulvyne adds the last with a smile, which elicits a smile from Selesia. He nearly collapses in front of the couch. He didn’t realize how tired he was until now. He offers a yawn to the dying fire. He takes a nearby log and tosses it onto the fire. He stirs it until the fire blazes brighter. “Again, I apologize for the interruption.” She kneels beside him. “It’s your home, not mine,” she says. Flashing a smile, Yaulvyne reminds her, “I gave the place to you, remember?” “Oh, yes. I forgot,” she says, placing a slender hand to cover her mouth. “I must have forgotten, forgive me.” She lets out another yawn but straightens, trying to stay awake. When she looks at him, she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She opens her mouth to say something but closes it just as fast. She reconsiders again and asks, “Did you speak with my father?”

With a sigh, Yaulvyne looks at her, a sad look clouding his face. He did find someone who would speak to him at the second ranger glade, someone who still owed him a favor. The ranger spoke of Darlnyle distancing himself from the very rangers he helped nurture over the past decade. Most rangers can’t even approach him at public functions, at least those they storm in upon. In private, he seems indifferent to those

that petition him for aid. “We’ll speak about that in the morning. There’s still a couple of things I don’t understand. I need time to piece together what I’ve learned.”

“Please,” she says, grasping his hand. “Tell me, is father in trouble?” Leaning back, the ranger thinks about the question. Is Darlnyle in trouble? Judging from what little he’s learned, he doubts that. Even though he has plenty of enemies, none would go openly against him. That wouldn’t stop them from operating in secret. “I’m not sure,” Yaulvyne admits. “I hope to learn more tomorrow. Now please, go to bed. We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Just tell me - is father okay?” she presses. Looking into her eyes, Yaulvyne knows that she won’t rest easy until he answers that one question. “He’s fine,” he assures her. He doesn’t want to lie to her but saying any more would border on that.

She brightens at that, the smile returning to her face. She hugs him around his neck. “Thank you,” she says, sniffing. “I’m so worried about him since I left. Since he’s been arguing with Joulhon so much lately, I’m afraid that Joulhon would hurt him.” With a big sniff, she adds, “Or worse.” She shakes her head in his shoulder. “I was hoping that Darlnyle would finally stand up to Joulhon, teach him a lesson.” Her face drops a bit. “I don’t like seeing them arguing, Yaulvyne.”

The reminder of arguing makes him wince, not wanting to tell her about what happened at Darlnyle’s home. Especially with how much disdain Joulhon had for her artwork. However, no matter how poorly Joulhon must have treated her, Yaulvyne doubts that Selesia has nothing but love for her step brother.

Yaulvyne hesitates before putting his arms around her. He can’t help but think about Lynshin as he holds her. It’s been too long since he touched a woman like this. “Darlnyle will be fine,” he finds himself saying. “I’ll look in him again before I leave. Promise.”

“Thank you,” she mumbles into his shoulders. She leans back and, upon seeing a snot blot on his shoulder, wipes it off. “I’m sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear all that. Thank you for listening to me. You’ve known him a long time and I was hoping he’d open up to you, tell you what’s really going on.” She stops herself, looking up into his face. She’s about to say something more but stops herself and her face falls a bit. She rises and offers him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, I’m babbling. I tend to do that when I’m nervous.” She stops herself again and goes a little red. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She does a little curtsy for him before heading off to her room.

Yaulvyne watches her disappear into her room. He sighs as he turns to the fire, placing another log onto it. The fire blazes but it doesn’t warm the cold dread rising in his heart. Something’s not right in Ilgnome and no one seems to want to talk about it. Either they don’t know what’s going on because they’re too ignorant, like Selesia, or can’t because they fear for their lives, like Darlnyle. Putting together his conversations with both father and daughter, Yaulvyne suspects that Darlnyle was ordered to keep quiet. They don’t want Yaulvyne poking around for the next few days and stir up the public against the council. But what could be so important to keep it secret from its rangers? They seem just as in the dark as Selesia, which Yaulvyne finds disturbing.

Leaning back, Yaulvyne tries to calm his mind. Too many questions. One question leads to two, which leads to four. It doesn’t seem to end. He tries to cycle the questions back to the original - What is Darlnyle hiding? Since Darlnyle won’t talk and

the rangers are being left in the dark, who could he talk to? Only one person comes to mind. Haulgri. The Dinashinvi came here for something and it wasn’t to inform the council about dragons, he’s fairly certain about that. When the two of them met months ago, Haulgri told him about the dragons being let loose. Haulgri knew about him being Korshinvi but he also knew Yaulvyne would go running back to Ilgnome, despite that stigma. They know each other well enough that that would be clear. So, why is Haulgri here? There’s only one way to find out.

But that can wait until first light, Yaulvyne thinks as he closes his eyes to rest. He doesn’t know how long he slept before his eyes pop open, a feeling of something out of place haunting his dreams. Rising, he looks to see a dark figure standing in front of the dying fireplace, a sword in his hands. Yaulvyne’s hand clutches at his hilt, the feeling of the wrapped hilt a comfort to him as he waits for the figure to move. When the figure turns to look at him, Yaulvyne manages to make out Haulgri’s face in the light. Haulgri looks back at the blade and twists it around, inspecting it like someone would a piece of meat.

“I didn’t think you’d stay after the warning I gave,” the monk says. “Your people are in incredible danger from above yet you stay here. If you’re that determined to fight dragons, shouldn’t you be heading out?”

Yaulvyne considers his response, sleep forgotten in the presence of the dangerous Dinashinvi. He hears no trace of mockery in the monk’s tone but Yaulvyne still gets irritated by his level tone. “Something came up.”

Haulgri turns, his face unreadable in the dying light. He holds out the sword and gives it a practice swing, testing the balance. Even though everything about the swing is awkward, he still grips it as if he was born with it in his hand. “You’ve given up your sword. But,” he points to Yaulvyne’s hip, “you wear another. I didn’t think Yawoshinvi so liberal with its treasures.”

“Certain jobs require special tools,” Yaulvyne responds, not knowing where the monk is going with this. He releases the hilt of his sword, not wanting to give the monk the wrong impression. Besides, he isn’t in a position to draw the blade before Haulgri skews him with his father’s sword. “Dragons aren’t normal foes, don’t you agree?”

“Yes,” Haulgri says, drawing out the word as if tasting it with his tongue. Replacing sword in sheath and, together once more, places it back into the display. The silence stretches between them with only the fire making a crackle.

“Can I help you with something?” Yaulvyne asks, patience with the other elf growing thin. “Or can this wait until morning?”

In response, Haulgri tends to the fire. After a long time, the fire brightens. “What would it take to convince you to flee here?”

“What are you talking about?” Yaulvyne demands, annoyed by the question. Haulgri knows that he doesn’t back down from a fight. Retreat, maybe, but never flee. “I have a duty to the council of Ilgnome and the people of Lynshiv. They’ve given me liberty to recuperate here for a few days before I resume that duty.”

Haulgri holds out his hand, stoping him. “A duty you’ve been relieved of, remember? Being declared Korshinvi is very specific, even among my people. What’s keeping you here in the valley? You could go anywhere, live a new life. Maybe somewhere beyond the Robtar, in the west.”

A memory flashes through his mind of a group of elves who did just that. He wonders what ever happened to them, specifically that one sad elf he met. She seemed more scarred than he does now. Yaulvyne looks away as he says, “You know the story of my wife.”

Haulgri waves that away. “Again, you speak of duty, this to your wife’s murderer. She was killed by a human, yes? He’s more than likely dead by now, don’t you agree?”

Anger rises in him like the fire. Yaulvyne turns back to Haulgri, his eyes blazing. “Until I find her sword, I won’t stop hunting him down to find it,” Yaulvyne hisses.

Haulgri tilts his head back in thought. A few heartbeats later, he turns to the room where Selesia sleeps. “Maybe I can convince her to leave. Does she seem more reasonable to you?”

“Don’t you dare,” Yaulvyne threatens, rising. “You won’t go near her, ever.” Meeting him, Haulgri asks, “Why not? What is she to you?” Yaulvyne opens his mouth to say something but stops himself. He doesn’t want to reveal to the monk that she’s going through hyjoss, making her have feelings for him. Nor does he want to tell him of his relation to her, that Yaulvyne is Prushan, or adoptive son, to Darlnyle.

Thinking of his pakeln, Yaulvyne offers, “She’s the daughter of Darlnyle, a council member and master ranger. She wouldn’t want to leave if her father is in peril. Is Lynshiv in that much danger?” he presses. Of course, he knows what Haulgri would say, the dragons may be coming this way when they’re done doing whatever they’re doing. There would be nothing that he nor any of the elves of Lynshiv could do against those dragons. A hundred years ago, they were all able to work together, united against a common threat. Now, there is nothing to stop even one dragon from rampaging across the countryside. He’s seen the results of that firsthand.

Instead, Haulgri surprises him by asking, “What did your friend the ghost tell you? Anything interesting?”

The question catches Yaulvyne off guard. He watches Haulgri for a moment, suspicious of how polite he sounds in reference to Picarin. Maybe the monk doesn’t want to offend him, being this close, though he doubts he can draw a blade before Haulgri could defend himself. Finally, Yaulvyne says thoughtfully, “Nothing useful. He tends to be wrong.”

“Tends to be wrong?” Haulgri echoes. Then he presses, “What if he’s right?” “What are you getting at? Do you know something?” Haulgri paces in front the fireplace. “As much as I despise them, ghosts have their advantages. I have consulted three different ghosts, all of them said the same thing. Dragons are coming.”

Thinking about everything he knows of the Shiyanshinvi, any vision they have could change the future if revealed. But if multiple gray elves share a common vision, that could be prophetic. However, he’s never heard that happen before. Maybe he should speak to Picarin in the morning to try to confirm that.

But that’s something for another time. Watching the pacing Haulgri, Yaulvyne suspects that the monk is hiding something more. Of all the conversations they’ve shared, Haulgri is always deliberate in his thoughts. Until now, he’s never been this agitated.

Remembering something that Haulgri told him decades before, Yaulvyne asks, “Doesn’t the Dinashinvi have people watching over the dragons?”

Haulgri stops to stare. He looks like he’s about to deny it but catches himself. He must have remembered that same conversation. “Gone,” he says, surprising Yaulvyne. “Destroyed in the first attacks. There might be a few left, like me, who escaped the destruction. I only wish that I could have been there to die with my brothers.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Yaulvyne says, knowing full well that such sympathies would be lost on a Dinashinvi like Haulgri. “Why didn’t you tell me that when I last saw you?”

“I told you as much as I understood at the time,” Haulgri retorts. And everything he was willing to reveal, Yaulvyne adds silently. The monk continues, “The rest, you found out by yourself in the west. While you were out doing whatever you were doing, I found out how much devastation they caused.”

“How many?” At Haulgri’s confused look, Yaulvyne clarifies, “How many dragons are loose?”

Haulgri looks into the fire, staring at it for a long time. Yaulvyne waits, knowing that it is hard for the monk to reveal anything to him. He wonders what Haulgri went through to be so secretive.

“Five have escaped their prisons,” he finally admits. “That leaves three more in the south. As far as I know, the leader is still trapped.”

Darlnyle made sure that Yaulvyne knew the history of the dragons during the last war. His pakeln made sure he knew how many there were, though he didn’t say exactly where they were hidden. Yaulvyne doesn’t know if Darlnyle was entrusted with the locations, despite being in the south when the dragons struck. Darlnyle explained his injuries happened before the dragons came so he wasn’t participating in the fighting with the humans. Yet, when Darlnyle spoke of the dragons, he spoke from intimate experience.

“What are you asking?” Yaulvyne demands. Annoyed, Haulgri says, “I told you. Leave, and take as Olnoshinvi as possible.” “And go where?” Yaulvyne shoots back, trying to keep his voice low. “Where can we hide from dragons, they can go anywhere, they’ll find us. I’d rather fight.”

“Then may Dinago be with you,” Haulgri says sadly. He steps toward the front door.

“Wait,” Yaulvyne says, catching his arm. Haulgri glances down at his hand then back up, his usually neutral face going ice cold. Yaulvyne ignores him, pressing on, “Have you spoken to Darlnyle? If anyone would understand what can be done, it would be him. He helped seal the dragons away a hundred years ago.”

Haulgri stares hard at him for a long time. He pulls out a gold medallion and presses it into the ranger’s hand. “If he was there, then give this to him. If he was there, he’ll know what this is,” the monk offers. He shrugs off Yaulvyne’s arm and leaves.

Yaulvyne barely registers his departure as he stares at the medallion flickering in the light. He bends closer to the light, illuminating it further. The face he’s looking at has three dashes inset into the surface. Turning it over, the dashes are there with a line going through it. Yaulvyne frowns, not understanding the markings.

“I’ve seen that before,” Selesia says. Yaulvyne turns to see the woman standing at his shoulder. He’s surprised that she came up to him without him noticing. She might have been listening to their conversation. How much did she overhear? He doesn’t want to upset her with talk about dragons. Focusing on what she said, Yaulvyne asks, “You know what this is?”

“Father has one,” she says with a nod. “He showed it to me when I was a little girl but he didn’t tell me anything about it.”

Yaulvyne plays with the medallion, flipping back and forth to study the scratches more closely. How could Darlnyle show her this but not him? That makes no sense to him. If this medallion could be used to to defend the forest, no, the entire valley, then Darlnyle should have told him, not Selesia. She isn’t a ranger, has no martial skills at all. He rises to meet her, his face grave. “Are you certain Darlnyle didn’t tell you anything about this?” he asks. “It’s very important. “Nothing,” she responds, shaking her head. Closing his fist, Yaulvyne says, “About time I got some answers.” As he turns toward the door, Selesia follows. Holding out a hand, Yaulvyne says, “No. I don’t want you to get involved in this. It might get,” he pauses, “messy.”

“I’m already involved,” she shoots back. “I overheard your conversation, at least some of it. Are dragons still around? Will they come here?”

Yaulvyne looks at his closed fist. “I don’t know. Haulgri would know better than I would and he didn’t seem to let on either way. They may come here, I’m not sure. I was young when the war began so I didn’t get to fight. Your father told me the tale of what happened back then, of the destruction they wrought. It took the combined armies of both human and elf to drive them back. Even some Shiyanshinvi got involved, from what Darlnyle told me.” Looking into her concerned eyes, he says, “Fine. If you want to see your father, come on. I’m sure he’ll welcome you home tonight.”

Even through the trees, Yaulvyne can tell something’s wrong. There are no night time animal sounds. Even at this hour, even a capable ranger could hear something moving out in the woods. As they get closer to Darlnyle’s home, Yaulvyne can smell faint traces of smoke. Cursing, he runs up the path towards the complex. Selesia follows a few moments later, caught off guard by the ranger’s sudden flight.

As they break out of the narrow path and onto the complex’s grounds, Yaulvyne stops, his jaw drops. The whole tree system that comprises Darlnyle’s home is in multiple states of burning down. The center of the fire seems to have been the main house, which now sits in a pile of still smoking rubble. The fire spread out from there, hopping from building to tree to building.

Who could have done this? And why? His thoughts go to Haulgri first. Yaulvyne dismisses the notion as quickly as it enters his mind, the monk was at his place long enough that he couldn’t have done it. It takes time to walk that far and the damage to house is still burning hot.

Yaulvyne motions to an onlooker. “Are there any survivors?” The elf shakes his head.

Selesia catches up, chest heaving. She manages to gasp in surprise at the sight of the burning home. Yaulvyne looks to her, the pain of seeing her home on fire written on her face. He instantly wishes she hadn’t come. He steps between her and the fire, saying, “Go home, I’ll meet up with you later.”

Her lip trembles a bit as the tears come to her eyes. Yaulvyne pulls her close but she pushes away from him. “No,” she says, some iron in her voice. “I want to find father.”

Yaulvyne looks at her, seeing her father in her for the first time. “Okay,” he says. He points over to a thick group watching the fire. “Let’s try over there.”

As he heads off in that direction, Selesia asks, “You think father’s over there?” “I don’t know,” he says. They rush over to the crowd, where elves rush off with buckets of water. He’s happy that the bucket brigade is still around. Darlnyle told him that it was set up when he was being trained as a ranger. If the council is in as much disorder as Selesia claims, a ranger run group might be run out of town. Maybe they still hold onto some of the traditions.

When they get closer to the crowd, Yaulvyne notices a small knot of people off to the side, most lying down and not moving. Bodies, dead bodies. Yaulvyne can’t help cursing. Behind him, Selesia asks, “What?”

Holding out a hand, the ranger orders, “Wait here.” “But-” “Do it,” he demands harshly. Yaulvyne walks over to the bodies. The fire makes it easier to identify the dead. He sees house servants piled off to one side, dumped unceremoniously as they were pulled from the fire. The few not in the pile are still alive save one. Yaulvyne’s shoulders slump as he recognizes Darlnyle. He kneels to get a better look at the body, hoping he will find nothing more than death by smoke inhalation. Throat is still intact but a puncture in the kidney and under the arm confirm his suspicion.

Yaulvyne looks around. He waves over a ranger and demands, “Have you located Joulhon?” At the ranger’s perplexed look, Yaulvyne repeats, “Joulhon, Darlnyle’s son.” He keeps his voice low, giving a glance at Selesia as he speaks.

The ranger thinks about that and looks around. His face screws up as he turns back. “He was here a little while ago. I think I saw him with his father when I arrived.”

Yaulvyne frowns. Why would Joulhon respect his father like that? “I suspect he ran when he saw me coming, maybe feeling a bit guilty.” Dropping his voice even lower, he says, “Darlnyle was murdered.”

The ranger looks over at Selesia. With a slight nod, the ranger matches his tone, “I saw the wounds. He was dead by the time I checked him, though his body was still warm. I think he was pulled out before the fire fully erupted.”

Taking another look at the body, Yaulvyne can see no ash marks on him nor does he stink of smoke. “I think you’re right. Good catch. You said Joulhon was by his father’s side when you saw him. Do you think he pulled Darlnyle out of the fire?”

The ranger thinks on that for a while. “Maybe, I didn’t see actually see either come out of the house.” Shaking his head, he asks, “You think Darlynyle’s own son murdered him?”

Not wanting to admit he was here earlier nor what happened between Darlnyle and his son, Yaulvyne says, “Possible.” Leaning closer, he adds, “More than possible.” Louder, he asks, “Anything I can do?” Pointedly, he looks toward the sick.

Noticing the scar on his cheek for the first time, the ranger leans back, suspicious. Yaulvyne pointedly lifts the necklace, covering his field of vision. The ranger thinks it over, eyes moving between scar and necklace. Finally, he says, “Yes.” He waves Yaulvyne over to one of the servants.

Yaulvyne leans in to the ranger before he leaves, whispering, “Can you move the body. I don’t want her to worry too much, this was her home, too.” The ranger nods as Yaulvyne gets to work on the elf. Selesia hovers over him at the edge of the crowd. Once Darlnyle’s body is safely hidden, Yaulvyne waves her over. She recognizes the elf, giving him a soothing words while Yaulvyne treats him. He seems to have the worse burns of the small group laid out. Yaulvyne pulls out a salve that he keeps for just such an occasion, applying it to the worse burns. He has to be a little conservative with it, there’s at least two others with burns. When he has that elf stabilize, Yaulvyne turns to the next elf. Yaulvyne and Selesia work like this until they run out of the sick. Yaulvyne gives her a smile, which makes her visibly blush in the morning sky.

He turns to the fire, which has now under control. The ranger from earlier comes up beside them. “Thank you for your help,” the ranger says. “Both of you.”

“You’re welcome,” Selesia says brightly. “Haylon, isn’t it?” “Yes, ma’am. You remember,” Haylon says. Turning to Yaulvyne, he asks, “Sir, can I talk to you. In private.”

Nodding, Yaulvyne follows the ranger away. “What can I do for you, Haylon?” he asks.

“You are Yaulvyne,” he says. It wasn’t a question. “I knew Darlnyle. My pakeln was a friend of his so I frequented his home on a few occasions.”

Yaulvyne looks back to Selesia, who’s watching them. “So I gathered,” he says, turning back.

“If even half the stories Darlnyle said about you are true, I feel I can trust you. Especially after tonight.” He looks at Selesia this time, a sad look on his face. “Can you get her out of Ilgnome?” he asks.

“Her brother’s missing,” Yaulvyne informs. “She won’t leave without knowing what happened to him.”

Haylon shakes his head. “No, he’s not,” he informs, an ominous tone lacing his voice.

Dread rises into Yaulvyne’s chest. “Great,” he responds. “Who’s left?” “As far as I know, Joulhon and Selesia,” he offers. “Darlnyle’s staff is dead or gathered over there.” He waves to the crowd behind Selesia. “I’ll make sure they get somewhere safe. Darlnyle might have distanced himself in recent years but he still has a few friends left.”

Yaulvyne nods absently, looking out to the ruined grounds. His hand absently goes to his pouch and finds the medallion. In all the confusion of the morning, he had forgotten the thing. He turns back to the ranger. “Haylon, beecause you’ve shown me trust and kindness, I’m going to return that trust.” He shows the medallion to him. “Have you seen this before?”

Taking it, Haylon studies the medallion closely. It turns it around for some time before he returns it. “Yes, I think so. The last time Darlnyle’s doors were open to rangers, he and my pakeln were speaking quietly, passing something golden between them. The shape is about right but they were pretty good at keeping me from seeing it properly. My pakeln didn’t divulge anything to me after that night, I’m sorry.”

Putting the medallion away, Yaulvyne says, “I’ll make sure Selesia gets out of here, after I find out what happened here and deal with Darlnyle’s body. Get word to anyone you trust and get out of here, head south to Dahl. And if you see a Shiyanshinvi named Picarin, you can trust him, he’ll give you aid if you say you’re a friend.”

“Dahl?” Haylon snorts. The city is a human city south of here, close to the Robtar Mountains. “Why?”

“That’s where we’re headed. I may need your help, eventually.” “And Darlnyle?” Haylon’s voice drops as he adds, “And Joulhon?” “Today, we hunt,” Yaulvyne says in the same whisper. He places a friendly hand on Haylon’s shoulder, who returns the gesture. With a nod, Haylon blends into the surrounding forest. Yaulvyne turns to Selesia and says, “We’re going.”

“But father,” she says. Her voice tells Yaulvyne that she saw her father’s corpse. “I’m sorry but we have to go. I think you might be in danger,” he tells her.

She seems shocked by this, never giving thought to being in danger. “By whom,” she demands, her voice nearly breaking.

With a quick glance to the shell of her former home, he considers telling her everything. But it doesn’t seem right to tell her of the fight that he and Joulhon had just last night. Then again, she does need to know what kind of danger she faces. “Joulhon,” the ranger says, keeping his voice low and watching the morning shadows.

“That’s insane,” she says, taking a step away from him. “Joulhon is many things but he would never threaten me.”

“Your father was murdered, Selesia, bleed to death. I saw the wounds myself. What’s worse, Juslok was also found dead. You and Joulhon are all that’s left here in

the city.” He stops, letting that all sink in. “I’m not going to take any chances with your life so I’m taking you out of Ilgnome.”

Selesia shakes like a leaf in the wind. She clutches herself but is unable to stop. “Juslok’s dead?” she whispers. Yaulvyne reaches out for her and pulls her close until she settles down. Putting an arm around her shoulder, Yaulvyne guides her back to the house. Still in shock, she doesn’t even fight back.

Half way back, Selesia comes out of her shock. She stops, forcing Yaulvyne to stop with her. “Do you really think Joulhon killed father?”

Yaulvyne considers that for a moment, especially the last time he saw Joulhon. But if he tells her about that right now, it might cause her to retreat inside herself again. Then again, that doesn’t answer the question, exactly. Could Joulhon kill? Probably not, Yaulvyne doubts that Joulhon even knows how to use a weapon, let alone kill someone as skilled as Darlnyle. So why was Joulhon at the house during the fire?

“I don’t know,” Yaulvyne finally offers. “Come on, let’s go home.” They walk in silence for a while. At one point, Selesia rests her head on his shoulder. Yaulvyne is suddenly self conscious about his arm around her shoulder. Considering her father just murdered and her half-brother might be involved, he sets aside his discomfort in exchange for hers. He allows her the troubled thoughts because his are much worse. For a moment, he wonders if holding her is as much for his benefit as it is for her.

Before the house comes into view, Yaulvyne gets an odd feeling. He drops his arm from Selesia’s shoulder and grasps his sword’s hilt. “What’s wrong?” Selesia asks.

“I don’t know,” he says, cautious. She clutches his arm as he inches out of the wood to his family’s complex. Everything seems normal as he scans the area. His eyes drift up the hill to the main house. In front of the door sits a cart, someone moving out of the house.

“Stay here,” he orders. “No,” she says, still hanging on to him. “You’re not leaving me.” Looking at her, Yaulvyne sees that same steel in her face that he heard earlier. “Fine,” he says. “Follow my lead, step where I step.” He pulls out his knife and sticks it in her hand. “Just in case.”

They head up the hill, slow going with her inexperience. She does well despite stepping on a few loose stones. Yaulvyne keeps low despite the grass being kept trimmed. Once the crest the hill, the ranger spies the figure around the other side of the cart. Yaulvyne motions for Selesia to go around the other side. He doesn’t watch if she follows his orders, he just moves around the corner of the cart.

On the other side, Picarin finishes strapping down some rope. Straightening, Yaulvyne hisses, “Picarin, what are you doing here?”

The Shiyanshinvi jumps at the sound of his voice. Picarin turns to his friend and says, “Don’t do that! I’ve had enough excitement already.”

“Who’s this?” Selesia asks from behind Yaulvyne. The ranger shoots her a sneer before turning back to Picarin. “Where’ve you been?”

Picarin steps up to Yaulvyne and says, “Helping you. You won’t believe the night I’ve had. A ranger hurt me because of you, then some Shiyanshinvi did something to me,” he says, his voice trailing off. Suddenly, he says, “Yaulvyne, it’s Darlnyle, he’s in trouble.”

“He’s dead,” Yaulvyne hisses back. “Someone killed him and I need to know who it is. Any ideas?”

Face falling, Picarin says, “I’m sorry, Yaul, I had no idea. They said that I couldn’t save him, put me to sleep somehow. I didn’t see any poisons-”

“You knew?” Yaulvyne says, voice rising.

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Picarin retorts. “They did something to me. I couldn’t have helped even if I wanted to.”

This makes no sense. First Haulgri gets involved, then Shiyanshinvi he doesn’t even know get involved. Haulgri, he understands. Yaulvyne has known enough Dianshinvi, know that they get involved in things that generally don’t concern them. But Shiyanshinvi are the complete opposite. They try their best to stay out of local events, even if they have visions. To have them interfere like this, it must be big.

Yaulvyne looks at the cart, eyes narrowing. “Where did you get this?” he demands.

With a theatrical sigh, Picarin says, “The Shiyanshinvi gave it to me, said it will serve me well, whatever that means.”

Pointing to Selesia, Yaulvyne orders, “Get inside, you’re both leaving.” “What about you?” Selesia asks. Yaulvyne looks back the way they’d come. “Someone has to make sure Darlnyle’s murderer is brought to justice. I’ll meet you in Dahl.”

“Dahl?” Picarin asks, surprised. “Oh, no, I’m not going anywhere near there.” The ranger shoots his friend a suspicious look. “Why not?” “Remember a certain vision I’ve been having? Dahl’s dangerous and it’s at the base of the Robtar. If there’s dragons around, don’t you think that they’ll hit there first?”

“All the more reason to go there,” Yaulvyne insists. He turns to Selesia, saying, “Get in.”

Picarin doesn’t give up, grabbing his arm roughly and turning him back. “This can only end badly. For all of us.”

“You have a better plan?” Yaulvyne demands. “East, away from here. There has to be elves out there, right?” With a shake of his head, Yaulvyne explains, “I have my duty. To Lynshiv, to the council, and-” he pauses, looking to Selesia pointedly, “to my wife. This isn’t over.”

“You’re insane,” Picarin mutters. “You’re going to get us all killed.” Yaulvyne smirks. “I’ve said that to you many times before.” “Lynshin said it to you, too,” Picarin reminds. They both hang their heads a moment, remembering the good times when they all were together. Selesia is smart enough not to say anything during their moment. “Fine,” Picarin finally says, drawing Yaulvyne out of his own memories, “Dahl. When can I expect you?”

The ranger rubs his chin. “I don’t know. With Darlynle dead, no one will oppose the council if they decide to send me away. I’ll have to act quick.” He points to a trail leading south. “That’s the quickest way out of Lynshiv by cart. Don’t push the horses too hard but make haste.”

Picarin steps close. “Don’t trust Haulgri, or any Dinashinvi. Remember - red surrounds you.”

“When a ranger is surrounded, that’s when he’s most dangerous,” Yaulvyne says, smiling. He hasn’t forgotten that old adage, something Darlnyle told him over and over during his training. Clasping Picarin’s shoulder, he offers, “I should be only a few days behind you, my friend.”

Picarin returns the gesture with a slap on the shoulder. “Give Darlnyle’s murderer one from me.” With that, he hops into the driver’s seat.

Turning to Selesia, Yaulvyne says, “Looks like I’m going to leave you, Selesia. Picarin will take care of you.”

“Save Joulhon, if you can,” she pleads. Yaulvyne tries to smile down at her. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the dark cloud pass over Picarin’s face. “I’ll do what I can,” Yaulvyne promises, something he knows he can’t keep. “If he’s innocent, I’ll make sure he meets you down south.”

This seems to make her happy. Yaulvyne helps her into the cart and watches it roll down the hill. He hopes that Picarin can keep her safe. It takes them a while before they get out of sight.

Once they get out of view, Yaulvyne turns to the house. “Time to get to work,” he mutters. He heads inside and prepares to burn down the house. He rationalizes it as he’ll never return to Ilgnome. This was going to happen once, they would never let him back into the city, especially after what he’s about to do. When the council finds out, they might even kill him. They certainly can’t make me Korshinvi twice.

Inside, the memories flood back. Memories of Lynshin and his parents. Every place he turns, he sees another memory. He hesitates in his resolve. He closes his eyes against the memories, shutting them out. He stands there, breathing in and out, calming his mind. Finally, he opens his eyes and starts setting the fire. Hopefully, Darnyle’s enemies will be confused if they plan to come after him.

When the house is burnt down and put out, he heads back to the burnt out husk of Darlnyle’s home. Most of the spectators have cleared the area by now, only a few late comers paying their respects. Some of the surviving servants stay, crying over the remnants of the home and the death of the patriarch. His heart goes out to them. When they see him enter the grounds, they come over to thank him for his relationship with Darlnyle. They add that Darlnyle spoke highly of him, always. He thanks them but excuses himself as he sees a few rangers watching from the trees.

“We have hidden away Darlnyle’s and Juslok’s bodies,” Haylon tells him once he’s close. “Word has gone out to the surrounding forest, informing them of Darlnyle’s death. We will give them a ranger’s burial in three days.”

Yaulvyne grasps Haylon’s shoulder. “Thank you, Haylon. You’re a true friend.” He looks over at the other rangers gathered, some of whom were there earlier. They nod appreciatively and Yaulvyne returns the gesture. He’s glad they aren’t as ostracizing him and driving him away. He feels welcome.

“That means a lot, coming from you,” Haylon returns. “We put out word for your Shiyanshinvi friend. If he’s still in Lynshiv, he will be brought back.”

“No need. I ran into him at my home, he knew that I needed him,” Yaulvyne informs them. A couple of the rangers chuckles, all of them knowing the reputation of the Shiyanshinvi. “I put Selesia in his care.”

Haylon frowns. “Can he be trusted?” The reputation of the Shiyanshinvi coulds his judgment.

“Of course,” Yaulvyne responds. “I’ve known him for most of my life and would trust him with it.”

Silence spreads across the gathered rangers as they consider his statement. No one sane would trust their lives to a Shiyanshinvi, no matter how close they are to one. Yet no one counters his claim, probably out of respect for him.

“What’s the plan?” one asks.

“First, we need to find Joulhon,” Yaulvyne explains. “He probably hasn’t gone far. Even if he didn’t do this, he still needs to be found. I have some of my own questions for him.” They shift nervously at his tone, some shiver at how eager he is to kill.

“What about Jalvina, Holtonic, and Sornio?” another ranger asks, referring to Darlnyle’s surviving children.

“Jalvina’s safe. She married a ranger from a northern village, she hasn’t been down this way since before the war,” someone volunteers.

“I saw Holtonic about a month ago out west,” Yaulvyne says. “He was tracking,” he pauses, “a criminal.” One ranger nods knowingly. Yaulvyne makes a note of that one, wanting to speak privately to him. “As for Sornio, he’s Korshinvi. Darlnyle kept it silent, this happened before I was declared the same.” He pauses, letting the reminder of his status settle in. When no one says a word, he adds, “He’s been down south for several years.”

“Speaking of that,” someone says. “What are you doing here?” The knowing ranger interrupts, “He has special permission from the council. In light of Darlnyle’s death, I think they’d forgive him sticking around for a few days longer. Provided it takes longer than the approved time period.”

“Or kick him out immediately,” the questioner retorts. “When I got into the city last night, all I heard was whispers about the Korshinvi. Now that I know you’ve returned, I understand their animosity. You’ve caused a lot of ruckus in such a short amount of time. Then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

The crowd parts to allow Yaulvyne to get a good at the elf. He recognizes Kolshivin, a ranger whose as every bit Yaulvyne’s rival for achievements out in the wild. It’s been a friendly rival, but extremely competitive, until he was declared Korshinvi. Yaulvyne doubts that Kolshivin was happy about the decision.

Kolshivin steps up to Yaulvyne and stares hard at the scar. “That doesn’t suit you,” he spits. “It certainly wasn’t an improvement, you were already ugly.” A smile cracks his face as he clasps Yaulvyne’s shoulder. “Welcome back, it’s long over due.”

“Thank you,” Yaulvyne responds, feeling relieved. There doesn’t seem to be any disappointment or anger in Kolshivin’s voice, just a sort of eagerness.

“It’s disappointing to see you under such circumstances,” Kolshivin says. “Darlnyle was one of the best, behind me, of course.” The smile and arrogance drop from his face as he asks, “Do you really think his own son was behind this?”

Thoughtfully, Yaulvyne says, “Truly, I can’t say.” He relates to them what happened yesterday during his meeting with Darlnyle, leaving nothing out. They hang on his every word, interrupting only when clarification is needed. When he’s done, the gathered rangers remain silent for a long time, digesting all they’ve heard.

“Joulhon,” Kolshivin says, “never liked him anyway.” Yaulvyne rolls his eyes. Of course he’d say that, always wanting to one up the conversation. He says, “Let’s meet here every night to share information. If you find Joulhon, bring him with you.” Each ranger goes his own way.

Kolshivin stays behind, watching them go. When they’re finally alone, Kolshivin asks, “Why did you leave us? Everyone knows you’re Korshinvi but I never heard why. What happened?”

So, word never spread, Yaulvyne thinks silently. He nods thoughtfully, they had their rivalry but they also had each other’s respect. “Lynshin,” Yaulvyne says simply. “It

was our last mission for the council. Someone murdered her, a human, in a back alley in Natoch. I wanted justice, the council didn’t agree.”

“I’m sorry, I truly am,” he says sadly. With a smile, he adds, “If it wasn’t you, I’d be competing with her. She was one of the best. Not better than me, of course, but certainly better than you.” He must have seen that he didn’t appreciate that, so he asks, “Did you ever catch the bastard?”

“Not yet,” he returns, clench his fists. “If I’m ever down near human lands, I’ll take a look for you,” Kolshivin says. “Any idea who this human is?”

A fire blazes inside Yaulvyne as he looks into Kolshivin’s eyes. He understands what Yaulvyne went through all those years ago. Yaulvyne has a new respect and admiration for Kolshivin. With a smile, Yaulvyne says, “All I know is that he has her sword.” He clasps his shoulder and says, “I appreciate the offer. Let’s focus on Darlnyle first. I think justice will be a bit easier with him, the trail is fresher.”

“Agreed,” Kolshivin says with a smile.

Kolshivin steps into the glade where they’re keeping Darlnyle’s corpse, a safe place where rangers keep the honored dead waiting for cremation. He remembers being led here when they brought his pakeln back from his last mission. That was fifteen years ago. That wasn’t a good day.

Bowing his head, Kolshivin offers a quick prayer to Yatsu and Yyvin. He doesn’t really believe but feels that Darlnyle would have appreciated that. Besides, he isn’t comfortable with what he’s about to do. Kolshivin leans into the body, examining the wounds. Before they parted ways, Yaulvyne told him about the wounds on Darlnyle’s body. Leaning in, he sees the obvious wounds. The way the cuts were made, they were done from behind. But why go for the kidney? Why not the throat? And under the left arm? That would be a very painful death, bleeding out like that.

With both wounds being on the left side of the body, his mind starts to stir. Remembering a murder he investigated five years ago, Kolshivin pulls out his dagger and pokes at the wound. Judging from the entry wound, Darlnyle wasn’t killed with a long blade. Besides, going in from the back like that, it wouldn’t be anything long than a dagger. Kolshivin plays with the wound, reentering the kidney wound with his own blade. The blade that entered Darlnyle was a bit thinner than the standard dagger, judging by the size of the hole and the damage. It was a quick and painful strike, probably lethal.

Rubbing his chin, Kolshivin thinks that Darlnyle was killed exactly like that body five years ago. Back then, the suspect was Pyhiln. Everyone knew it but no one would speak out against the assassin. But why would he be here? Pyhiln keeps moving, usually among the humans. They give him the thrill he’s looking for. What would bring him this far north?

“Good question,” he mutters to himself. “What is?” Kolshivin turns, his sword out before he realizes that he drew it. His eyes focus on a Dinashinvi standing a few feet away. Relaxing but keeping the sword drawn, Kolshivin asks, “Who are you?” You never know what a Dinashinvi will do, if provoked. Then again, the Dinashinvi could have taken Kolshivin at any time without him knowing it. A very dangerous elf, indeed.

With a wave of his hand, the Dinashinvi says, “That’s unimportant.” Indicating the body, he asks, “Find anything?”

Tensing, Kolshivin responds, “Why do you care?” “I knew Darlynyle,” the Dinashinvi offers as he steps up to the dead body. “He was a good elf. I would like to see his murderer brought to justice.”

Kolshivin studies the Dinashinvi again, not knowing what to expect. He doesn’t look like he was at a fire only a few hours ago, saving people. He doesn’t even look like someone who would care about a Yawoshinvi life, let alone a ranger. So, how does he know Darlnyle?

He lowers his sword slightly, maneuvering it to pierce the Dinashinvi if needed. Slowly, he says, “I’m working on it. How do you know Darlnyle?”

With a sidelong glance, the Dinashinvi instead asks, “Any leads?” “Maybe,” Kolshivin says, stepping up beside him. He doesn’t trust this Dinashinvi, too many bad encounters with them. He’s overdue for another bad memory. “Thank you for your concern, let us handle this.”

When he turns to leave, the Dinashinvi asks, “Have you seen one of these?” As Kolshivin turns back he sees a golden medallion in the Dinashinvi’s hands. He steps up to the medallion to get a better look. Three slashes decorating one side of the medallion, simple but elegant. Kolshivin knows plenty of coins, symbols, and organizations around the region yet he doesn’t know this one. “No,” the ranger says. “Is it important?”

With a shrug, the Dinashinvi says, “Probably nothing. I saw it fall out of a pouch.” Kolshivin looks between the elf and the corpse. The only pouch he noticed was on the opposite side of Darlnyle’s body, close to the rear. There’s no possible way that medallion fell out of that pouch. Unless it wasn’t in the pouch. The Dinashinvi must be testing him for something, but for what?

Taking a closer look at the medallion, he remembers a time twenty years ago out west. He had been following rumors of a Dinashinvi scouting party. A group of cyclops engaged them but he was too late to do anything. The cyclops won that engagement and looting the bodies. One thing that was left behind was a coin similar to this. Kolshivin pocketed it and hasn’t thought about it since then.

The Dinashinvi pockets the medallion, smiling. “I hope you find whoever you’re looking for.”

He moves to leave but Kolshivin grabs his arm. The Dinashinvi glares at him but Kolshivin puts his blade to the elf’s side. “You’re not leaving just yet, I’ve got a few questions. Who are you?” he demands.

The Dinashinvi narrows his eyes. “You may call me Dulnagri,” the elf offers. “Okay, Dulnagri,” Kolshivin says. “How do you know Darlnyle?” “I’m a monk and I’ve had a few masters over the years. One of them knew Darlnyle, they fought in the war a hundred years ago. I happened to be in town and heard of his death from a friend.”

Kolshivin considers that for a moment. “I thought you said you knew him,” the ranger retorts.

“Only by reputation,” Dulnagri returns. “Of course,” Kolshivin says. Releasing him, the ranger demands, “The medallion. I’m sure Darlnyle’s descendants would like it back, one of the few things we can still give them.”

Kolshivin looks into the Dinashinvi’s eyes, watching the wheels turn behind those dark eyes. This would not be an elf to match wits with, Kolshivin thinks. Finally, Dulnagri pulls out the medallion and drops it into the ranger’s palm. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” the Dinashinvi says. “Can I go?”

With a slight nod, Kolshivin steps away and lowers his blade. Dulnagri walks away, not looking back. Once he disappears, Kolshivin lets out the breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He lifts the medallion up again and looks at it. This one is different - three concentric circles. This is identical to the one he found all those years ago.

Did Dulnagri steal his and give it back to him? Kolshivin reaches into his pouch and finds it where it’s supposed to be. He compares the two medallions, the one from Dulnagri looks newer, more polished. Kolshivin wonders what this medallion means. Two different Dinashinvi, the same medallion. And what about the one Dulnagri stole?

Offering one final prayer to Darlnyle, Kolshivin rushes through the forest. It doesn’t take long before he emerges from the forest to the main road. He looks both ways but doesn’t see a hint of red. He offers a rather colorful curse, which draws the attention of some morning travelers.

“Ranger, help,” someone calls. A young elf rushes up to him and says, “There’s trouble at the tavern.”

Kolshivin looks beyond the elf to the tavern up the road. There seems to be some ruckus going on over there. What did Dulnagri say? Something going on over there? Even if that Dinashinvi didn’t say anything about it, it was Kolshivin’s job to look into it. He offers the young elf a smile and heads over to the tavern.

The tavern is an outdoor affair with only one small building that serves as an open bar and kitchen. Concentric circle tiers radiate from the bar, serving as seating. This makes the tavern a popular place for those wishing to meet from opposite sides of the city, considering its central location near the council.

Down in the center, close to the bar, a Yawoshinvi is shouting at the top of his lungs. “That’s when I set fire to the place, it spread quickly. I never saw fire move that quickly.”

“Did you, now?” Kolshivin says, smiling. He recognizes Pyhiln instantly, from his dark clothing to boisterous attitude. Despite his occupation, Pyhiln likes attention. However, considering he just killed a man and burnt down a house, Kolshivin thought he would be in hiding. But to be out and about, and being this flamboyant, is completely out of character for him.

“Ah!” Phylin cries. “The noble warriors have finally come to take me away.” He pulls out a thin dagger and waves it about. “I’ll take you all on, all three of you.”

Kolshivin narrows his eyes. The assassin moves like he’s been drugged than having a few drinks. He’s glad he has his blade ready as he advances. “And why should I take you away?” Kolshivin ventures. “Have you done something wrong? Other than disturbing these nice people.”

Phylin looks around at the other elves, who watch wearily. The goofy smile turns sinister, which he turns to on Kolshivin. “I think you know,” he says, pointing a shaking finger and wobbling backward. “You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t do something.” He stumbles forward and narrows his eyes. “Don’t I know you?”

It’s Kolshivin’s turn to smile. “And what would that be?” he asks, ignoring his question.

Lifting his arms up wide, he cries, “I killed the greatest ranger alive. Well, he’s now the greatest dead ranger now, isn’t he?”

The crowd rises around them, shock and disgust written over everyone’s face. They mutter amongst themselves, appalled that someone would admit such a thing. Pyhiln turns to them, anger flaring as he calls, “Yeah, I killed Darlnyle. I would do it all over again, too.”

Giving into their anger and grief, the crowd floods forward and starts beating on him. Kolshivin fights his way toward Pyhiln, calling for the crowd to calm down. By the time the ranger finds Pyhiln, he’s bruised and bloodied. Kolshivin drags him away from the crowd, some have started to calm down. “Go home,” the ranger calls. He repeats his cry until the crowd disperses.

Pyhiln pats Kolshivin’s chest weakly. “Good thing you’re on my side,” the murderer says.

“Not for long,” the ranger offers, dragging him away.

Clutching the hilt of his blade for comfort, Yaulvyne steps into the forest once more. He’s surprised at himself that he would return so quickly after he was run out the night before. But he has to go in once more, inform the rangers of Darlnyle’s death. Maybe they’ll be more receptive to him this time. Besides, there’s something that Kuljiln said about Darlnyle and Joulhon.

Yaulvyne walks into the forest. Unlike last night, he doesn’t feel like he’s being watched. This could be bad, there’s always supposed to be sentinels. He tightens his grip on his blade as he enters the clearing. Only one person waits for him - Kuljiln.

“I thought you’d return,” Kuljiln says, his hands loose at his side. “Then you know why I’ve returned,” Yaulvyne says, trying to keep his voice neutral.

Kuljiln steps closer. “You should have left when you had the chance. I warned you about Joulhon.”

“Did he do it?” Yaulvyne demands. Considering this, Kuljiln offers a shrug. “To be honest, I’m not sure. But if you’re here, that means you’re sticking your nose in places that it doesn’t belong.”

“My pakeln is my business,” Yaulvyne retorts. “If you know something, it is your duty to tell me. A ranger is dead, murdered. This affects us all.”

“There’s more to this than Darlnyle’s death,” Kuljiln says. Pulling his blade, he offers, “Last chance to leave Ilgnome.”

“Don’t do this,” Yaulvyne says, drawing his own blade. “Just tell me what you know and I’ll leave.”

“No, you won’t,” Kuljiln responds. He rushes at Yaulvyne, his blade up and ready to chop him in half.

Sloppy, Yaulvyne thinks as he waits for the ranger to get close. Yaulvyne is already moving before Kuljiln to swing the blade. Yaulvyne’s own blade flashes, flat part of the blade making his opponent’s go horribly wide. He shifts his foot and positions himself to his next hit, a punch to the Kuljiln’s gut with the hilt. Kuljiln doubles over and drops the blade as Yaulvyne strikes again with his hilt, this time at the base of the neck. Kuljiln falls flat with a grunt. Yaulvyne kicks him onto his back and straddles Kuljiln’s stomach.

Pulling his dagger, Yaulvyne presses the edge against Kuljiln’s throat. The ranger stares up at Yaulvyne with a hateful stare but remains unmoving. At least he knows when he’s beaten, Yaulvyne thinks. “Now, do you want to try this again?” Yaulvyne demands.

“The council won’t stand for this,” Kuljiln replies. “They’ll kill you.” Yaulvyne presses the dagger just hard enough to draw blood. Kuljiln winces but says nothing more. “No, they won’t. If they do, they will have a revolt on their hands. Too many people know who I am.”

“Darlnyle was bigger and look how they treated him,” Kuljiln laughs. Yaulvyne’shand twitches, drawing more blood. He so much wants to kill Kuljiln but that would deprive Lynshiv of one of its protectors. Instead of slitting his throat, Yaulvyne rises, dagger and sword in hand and ready. “Go, before I change my mind,” he sneers. “If I ever see you again, this will end differently.” Kuljiln rises with a sneer. Reclaiming his sword, he rushes out of the glade.

When Kuljiln finally disappears, Yaulvyne looks around. He hears something off to the side so he turns his sword in that direction. A group of Shiyanshinvi stumble into the glade, seemingly lost. One of them turns to him and alerts the Shiyanshinvi next to him. The second Shiyanshinvi turns and her eyes go wide. The others turn as the second elf rushes over to him.

“You’re here!” she exclaims, pleased. “We aren’t too late. Have you battled the other ranger yet?”

Yaulvyne steps away from her but she follows him step for step. “Who are you?” he demands as he shifts his blades in her direction.

“Put those away,” another demands, a male Shiyanshinvi approaching them. Something in his mind makes Yaulvyne think that’s a good idea. He starts lowering them but stops. Yaulvyne lifts them up again, pointing his sword at the male and keeping the dagger on the woman. “No,” Yaulvyne sneers, resolve solidifying. “Who are you?”

The male stops, shocked. He turns to the woman, who also seems a bit surprised. “I told you,” the woman points out to the man, “it won’t work on him. You better stop.”

Yaulvyne can feel the pressure recede. He shifts slightly so he can watch the other elves in addition to the pair. He repeats his question a third time, pointing both blades on the man.

“My name is Falhaln,” the man answers, “this is Vygil. We are,” he pauses, looking to the woman, “acquainted with your Shiyanshinvi friend.”

This strikes Yaulvyne across the face. Picarin wasn’t lying about the Shiyanshinvi. “What did you do to Picarin?” he demands. “Why did you stop him from warning me about Darlnyle?”

“Because you would have been killed, too, if you had been warned,” Vygil says. “You are too important to stoping the dragons.”

Eyes narrowing at the woman, Yaulvyne chides, “You certainly talk a lot for a Shiyanshinvi. No riddles, no talking in circles?”

“Go south,” Falhaln tells him. “Find Haulgri and stop them.” Turning his ire on the Shiyanshinvi, Yaulvyne bites, “That’s funny. I was told to not trust Haulgri. And who are they?”

“The Heart beats,” Vygil says, her voice going monotone. When Yaulvyne turns back to her, he finds her staring off into nothingness. “Blood runs away from the circles three. Beware.” She goes limp, collapsing to the forest floor. One of the other Shiyanshinvi rushes to take care of her.

Yaulvyne turns back to Falhaln. “What did she mean? Who’s heart beat?” With a shrug, Falhaln offers, “You wanted riddles.” Yaulvyne steps away from the Shiyanshinvi. Waving his sword, the ranger orders, “This place is sacred to my people, only rangers are allowed.”

Falhaln bows deeply. “I apologize, we didn’t mean to offend,” he offers. He leans down and helps his friend pick up Vygil.

Silently, they march away. Yaulvyne watches them go, thinking about what the Shiyanshinvi said. Normally, he would listen to what a Shiyanshinvi says, including Picarin, but he can’t leave now. Not with Joulhon on the loose. Perhaps the fate of Ilgnome and the whole Lynshiv forest may be on the line.

Besides, he needs to see Darlnyle laid to rest. That is the most important thing right now.

Yaulvyne moves across the Darlnyle’s estate, walking slowly to take in the sight to clear his mind. He fears Kuljiln is right about the council, fearing that they would come after him. Not that he would mind the challenge, just now. Not with Darlnyle’s body still warm.

At the top of the hill, he looks out over the estate. He sees a few walls still standing, burnt but otherwise still intact. It saddens him to see the place in such a state. He doubts Joulhon was involved in the burning even if he was involved in the murder, it wouldn’t be in Joulhon’s best interest.

Someone calls his name, breaking his musings. Yaulvyne turns to see Haylon walking up to meet him. Yaulvyne heads down the hill, saving him from making the full climb. “Thank you,” Haylon says in a huff. “You saved us the trouble of finding you. We’ve got him.”

“Joulhon?” Yaulvyne asks. Haylon nods in confirmation. Yaulvyne barely registers it, rushing past the other ranger. There was no need to rush but he feels excited at questioning Darlnyle’s son.

Breaking through the tree line, Yaulvyne sees a couple of rangers surrounding a lone figure, kneeling on the ground, hands bound behind him. He’s still dressed as he was last night when Yaulvyne saw him. Yaulvyne smiles, glad that Joulhon has his clothing dirtied.

“Did he admit anything?” Yaulvyne asks as Haylon steps up beside him. “No,” he says. “All he said was that he returned to his home last night to beg his father for forgiveness.”

“Then how did he know that his father was dead?” “Good question,” Haylon says, patting Yaulvyne’s shoulder. Yaulvyne nods and steps through the ring of rangers. Joulhon looks up at the ranger, his eyes blazing with hatred. So much for intimidation, Yaulvyne thinks as he gets a better look at his bonds. They are tied tight but Joulhon shows no signs of discomfort. Good, Yaulvyne thinks, I like a challenge.

With a pleasant smile, Yaulvyne says, “Hello, Joulhon. I’m glad my presence still offends you. That will make my job a whole lot easier.”

“Do whatever you want, it doesn’t matter. The council won’t protect you, Korshinvi,” Joulhon sneers. Joulhon tilts his head, trying his best at a haughty expression. “Father told me how often you disobeyed the council. Whatever you do to me, banishment will be the least of your concerns this time.”

“So I’ve heard,” Yaulvyne returns. “I’ve already had my life threaten today. I don’t need their protection.” Stepping closer, Yaulvyne grabs him by the hair and yanks it back. “Neither will they protect you. You forget that your father was one of us, first and foremost. Any justice given out for his murder will be ranger justice.” His smile turns almost malicious. “By law, the council cannot interfere here.”

Joulhon’s eyes go wide, showing his fear. “You’re supposed to uphold the law, not deal out justice,” Joulhon stammers. “You’re a ranger, it goes against your code.”

Yaulvyne spreads his lips into a devilish grin. “Ah, but I am also Korshinvi. When the council turned me into Korshinvi, that means that I’m not bound by any elvish law. These rangers here,” Yaulvyne spreads his other hand, “will simply walk away, leaving us all alone.” At those words, the rangers walk away, far from them both. “They can’t help you now.”

The realization of what’s about to happen hits him like a tidal wave. Joulhon’s eyes go even wider as his bowels unload. “With my father dead, I take his seat,” he calls to them desperately, though his words come too late. He continues to cry, “I speak for the council. You hear me! I speak for the council.”

Leaning in so close that their noses touch, Yaulvyne says, “It’s just you and me, Joulhon. Do you honestly think I care?” When all Joulhon manages is to smack his lips together like a fish out of water, Yaulvyne continues, “Who killed your father? I know it wasn’t you, you lack the courage and the strength to take on your father. You also lack any sort of skill.”

Joulhon’s lips flap for a moment longer. When he finally gains control of his lips, he says, “The red, the one that spoke to the council yesterday. I hired him.”

Yaulvyne knows it for the lie that it is. Joulhon wouldn’t know that the two of them share a history together, stretching back more than seventy years. With a quick flip, Yaulvyne’s dagger finds his hand and slices across Joulhon’s exposed stomach. The prisoner gasps as a little piece of skin flaps to forest floor. “Want to try that again?” Yaulvyne demands.

“It’s true,” he hisses. Yaulvyne lets out a sad laugh, something that causes Joulhon to look his way. His jaw clenches a bit, seeing what’s about to come next. With another flick of his wrist, Yaulvyne takes another piece of skin. This time, he makes sure to dig a bit deeper. He sneers, “I’m really good at this. But then, I’ve had practice only on orcs. I might hit something important next.”

“I’m not lying,” Joulhon says through clenched teeth. “Of course you’re lying,” Yaulvyne says as he cuts another slice of skin. He knows that the wounds are getting to Joulhon now as he wails against the pain. “Your father was killed by a blade, done from behind. Probably someone very professional. Though Haulgri is very good at his job, he never carries a single blade. It’s beneath him.” Yaulvyne lifts his dagger between them. “You see, I know Haulgri. And I know you.”

It is then that Joulhon truly understands that he is about to die unless he starts speaking the truth. Yaulvyne can see it in his eyes, a look he’s seen many times before. “One more time,” he asks, “who killed your father?” He punctuates the question by tapping the dagger against Joulhon’s cheek.

“Pyhiln,” he screeches. “I distracted father while he snuck up on the old man.” “Why?” Yaulvyne inserts the tip of the dagger into his right nostril, ready to slice the cavity.

Joulhon’s eyes shift left and right, looking for a way out. Sweat runs down his forehead, pooling into his eyes. Finding no escape, he says, “Pyhiln knew I wanted his seat, made me an offer. I couldn’t resist.”

Yaulvyne searches his memory. Pyhiln is a sneaky little assassin, learned his trade during the war. He became really good. When the war ended, he sold his sword to the highest bidder, usually humans down south. In fact, last Yaulvyne heard, Pyhiln was operating out of Natoch. It wouldn’t take much for Haulgri to go claim him before coming north. But why? What would Haulgri gain for coming after Darlnyle?

Putting that out of his mind for a moment, Yaulvyne turns back to Joulhon. He flashes a bright white grin as he asks, “And Selesia? Did you get her and her brother disowned?”

“I didn’t want those two bastards to gain anything from my father,” Joulhon admits freely. He sounds almost proud of himself. “I’m surprised father agreed to send them away. I’d rather have it a little more permanent.”

Yaulvyne doesn’t like how he said that but catches himself before cutting another piece of Joulhon. “Did Pyhiln also kill Juslok?” he demands.

“That fool has been coming to see father every night,” Joulhon says with a slight smile. “It was easy to track him and kill that bastard boy.”

Yaulvyne takes a steady breath, trying very hard not to kill Joulhon right there. “With your other siblings gone and you now Korshinvi, Selesia gets that seat,” the ranger sneers back.

“You fool,” Joulhon spits back. “The council doesn’t want Selesia taking Darlnyle’s seat even if she could. Second marriage children are exempt from claiming family seats.” He pauses, letting that to sink in. A smile splits Joulhon’s face. “You didn’t know that, did you, Korshinvi?” He starts laughing hysterically. “If you hadn’t pursued your vengeance, you might have gotten the seat. Purshan are considered part of first family.”

Yaulvyne loosens his grip on Joulhon’s head, only for an instant. Of course he would have gotten Darlnyle’s seat, if he wanted it. But it was never his seat to claim, nor did he want it. Besides, if he wanted on the council, his family had their own seats that he could claim. Looking into Joulhon’s eyes, Yaulvyne twists his hair again. “Why did you burn the home down?”

“Pyhiln’s idea, destroy the evidence.” What evidence? Joulhon never followed in his father’s footsteps so he didn’t know anything about Darlnyle’s secrets. But did Pyhiln? Probably not, but they wouldn’t know that until they found him. That means there’s probably a third in this group. Again, Yaulvyne thinks of Haulgri, who knows a secret of Darlnyle that he didn’t know. But why tell him about the medallion only to get Pyhiln to kill Darlnyle and destroy the evidence? And what evidence do they want to stay hidden?

Shaking Joulhon’s head, Yaulvyne demands, “What evidence?” Seeing an upper hand, Joulhon spits in Yaulvyne’s face. When he wipes the spit away, Yaulvyne notices a wad of blood mixed in. Joulhon smiles, a bit of blood staining his teeth. A few slices of skin cures Joulhon of his attitude problem.

Yaulvyne repeats his question. When Joulhon is capable of speech, he says, “I don’t know, he never said and I never asked. It made no sense to me but I didn’t care, father’s death allowed me to get the seat.”

Taking a chance, Yaulvyne sheaths the dagger and pulls out Haulgri’s medallion. “Ever seen this before?” he demands.

Joulhon’s eyes narrows a bit. “Where did you get that?” he demands. Yaulvyne yanks on his hair and then punches his wounds. “I ask the questions. Have you seen it before? But then, you just answered that, didn’t you? What is it?”

“Some Dinashinvi group,” Joulhon hisses, “something associated with dragons. That’s all I know. Honest.”

Dragons. Why does it always come back to dragons? Putting away the medallion, Yaulvyne says, “I believe you. One last thing - Where do I find Pyhiln?”

“You’ll never find him,” Joulhon says with a demented smile. “He’s long gone.” Sounds from behind them makes Yaulvyne’s head turn. Kolshivin enters the glade, a prisoner tied up behind him. “Is that Pyhiln?” Yaulvyne asks.

“Yep,” Kolshivin says. “I took a look at Darlnyle’s body. Only one blade makes that kind of wound and that comes from Pyhiln here. I’ve tracked this little vermin before but I’ve never caught up to him before. Since he was still in the area, it didn’t take long to find him.” With a big smile, Kolshivin says, “Looks like I missed the fun.”

Matching the smile, Yaulvyne says, “Late as usual.” “I’ll leave you to your fun,” Kolshivin says as he ties off Pyhiln. “No,” Yaulvyne says, getting an idea. “Ranger justice is over, time for elf justice.” Looking at Kolshivin’s still grinning face, he asks, “You have one, don’t you?”

Kolshivin’s grin widens. “Stopped by on the way here.” He pulls off a small brand from his side. On one end has a shape that matches the scar on Yaulvyne’s cheek. Hefting it, Kolshivin says, “I heard a rumor that this one gave you your beauty mark.”

Turning to Joulhon, Yaulvyne says, “Fitting. Wouldn’t you say, Joulhon?” “No,” he says, shaking in his grasp. He tries to push away but Yaulvyne’s hold is too tight. Yaulvyne drags his prisoner next to Pyhiln and ties them both together. Pyhiln looks accepting of his fate through the visible beating he took at Kolshivin’s hands. Now tied to Joulhon, Pyhiln flashes annoyance through his otherwise stoic face.

The other rangers build a small fire to heat the brand. Kolshivin and Yaulvyne force their prisoners to watch the fire’s buildup, all the while Joulhon offering protests to this kind of treatment. He is a council member now, after all. What Joulhon doesn’t know is that council members have been branded before. If only he’d listened to Darlnyle’s stories.

The rangers build up the fire a bit before dipping the brand in to be heated. Once they get a glowing red hot end, Yaulvyne presses the brand into Joulhon’s cheek first, almost matching the placement on his face. Oh, how Joulhon screams. Yaulvyne pities the elf’s suffering, remembering his own branding. Yes, Yaulvyne screamed, his throat just as soar as his cheek. But at least he accepted it on his feet, not on his knees like Joulhon.

Not wanting to deny Joulhon the pain that his father must have felt, Yaulvyne keeps the brand on a little longer than he should. Smoke rises off the elf’s cheek, searing it like a cut of meat. When the brand is removed, the elf has a flaming red cheek with a vivid scar on the side. Black flakes fall off his face, revealing the brand beneath. There is very little blood, the brand so hot that the wound cauterizes.

Yaulvyne replaces the brand to heat it back up to a bright white. In honor of his long chase, Yaulvyne passes the brand to Kolshivin. Kolshivin’s usually happy face all but disappears for the occasion. He takes no pleasure when he presses the brand into Pyhiln’s cheek. The assassin screams, not as loud or long as Joulhon. He faints long before the brand finishes its work. Kolshivin seems a little disappointed in his show, the only emotion that he allows to show.

Once Pyhiln wakes, the pair are untied and set free. Seeing the group of rangers surrounding them, they stumble their way out of the glade, never looking back. The duo

may be many things, but being stupid isn’t one. They know that if they stay here any longer than necessary, they won’t live long.

With their prey punished and gone, the gathered rangers merge back into the trees without a word, not even a goodbye. Within a span of two heartbeats, only Kolshivin stands alone in the glade with Yaulvyne. They stand there in silence, Yaulvyne thinking over the sin he committed this afternoon. When Yaulvyne looks to Kolshivin, he can tell that his friend is thinking the same thing. They crossed a line that shouldn’t have been crossed, especially Kolshivin. What was I thinking, Yaulvyne thinks, cutting into Joulhon like that.

Tapping him on the shoulder, Kolshivin offers a wine bag. Kolshivin always enjoys a little wine, though Yaulvyne never saw him drink to excess. He said he drank just enough to take the edge off whenever he got too sharp. Just this once, Yaulvyne agrees with that sentiment. Taking a long pull of the wine, Yaulvyne allows the drink to dull his senses before passing it back. Kolshivin smiles and replaces the top. “You looked like you needed it,” he adds as an afterthought.

With a sad smile, Yaulvyne responds, “Yeah, I think I did.” One thing still ways on his shoulders. Will he be as volatile when he finds Lynshin’s murderer. Now that he’s been this raw with Darlnyle’s murderer, who was like a father to him, what will happen when he has that human bastard in his hands? Maybe Joulhon is right on one point - Lynshin’s murderer might be dead.

“Did he confess?” Kolshivin asks, drawing him out of his musings. “Who? Joulhon?” Yaulvyne says absently. “Yes. Before I arrived, he spun a wild tale. When Haylon told me what he said, I got him talk.” “How do you know what he said was true?” “Because I know what Joulhon looks like when he lies,” Yaulvyne retorts. Shooting his friend a questioning look, he asks, “Did Pyhiln confess?”

“Did he ever,” Kolshivin responds with a laugh. “When I found him, he was bragging about it. He didn’t deny it when I found him, I think he wanted to be caught.”

“Why would he do that?” Kolshivin’s face screws up just a bit. “Who cares? He’s caught, justice served. Right?” He shifts, uncomfortable with that line of thought. A guilty conscious, maybe? Then he adds, “Besides, even if he didn’t do this particular murder, he’s done plenty of other things that deserve that mark. Believe me.”

Yaulvyne eyes Kolshivin’s awkwardly shifting eyes, he suspects that his friend isn’t being totally honest. Not the first time someone close to him has kept something from him. Given what just happened, Yaulvyne doesn’t want to pursue the matter. Whatever is troubling Kolshivin, Yaulvyne hopes he’ll confess it sooner rather than later. For now, he places a hand on his friend’s arm and offers a simple, “Thank you.”

Understanding his meaning, Kolshivin says, “Darlnyle had plenty of friends, which I count myself among them.” Returning the shoulder clasp, he says, “See you in two days.” He walks off in a direction, the woods swallowing him moments later.

With a grateful smile, Yaulvyne disappears himself.

Sitting at a tavern across from the council arena, Yaulvyne watches the council file into the arena. Some pause and stare back for a moment. These are the members that Yaulvyne needs to watch out for. He suspects that if the council comes after him, these council members would be the ones leading the charge against him. Fortunately, it looks like they don’t have a majority as the last council member enters the arena.

Yaulvyne waits a long time before a lone figure walks up the path to the council. The ranger recognizes Joulhon despite the wrappings covering his face. He snickers at Joulhon’s discomfort as he stops at the entrance, leaning heavily against the nearest tree. Yaulvyne whistles, getting Joulhon to look his way after a moment of searching. Even this far away, Yaulvyne can see the fire burning in the other’s eyes. However, he clings to the entrance and backs into it, feeling his way down the hall so he can keep his eyes on Yaulvyne.

A smile stretches on Yaulvyne’s face, glad that Joulhon hasn’t forgotten what happened not too long ago. It had taken Darlnyle’s son a day and a half to get the council to return to the hall to hear what happened to him. They probably would have done so anyway, considering the loss of one of their members. Whether they know the specifics is anyone’s guess, which is why he’s been hanging around the council in the first place. Yaulvyne knows that he’ll be asked to speak in front of them once more, this time in a position of power. He knows what to expect from the council now and he has justice on his side. Yaulvyne suspects that they will be more angry at Joulhon, not for murdering his father but because he got caught.

The twin suns don’t move too far before Joulhon leaves the council chamber, his shoulders hung. His face is unwrapped, exposing the angry scar that Yaulvyne gave him. As he marches past where Yaulvyne sits, Joulhon stops. “Are you happy with yourself?” Joulhon demands.

Yaulvyne looks up into those eyes to see the fire in them burning low. The ranger doesn’t feel so proud anymore for what he did to Joulhon. Not for giving him the scar but for the torture that Yaulvyne had to dish out to him. The only benefit from what happened the other day is that Darlnyle’s death has been avenged. Now that he sees Joulhon standing beside him, totally defeated, Yaulvyne understands the consequences of his actions. What Joulhon did was completely unforgivable and now he has to face those same consequences.

“No matter what you think of me,” Yaulvyne says purposefully, “you brought this on yourself. I doubt murder wasn’t your only avenue to the council.”

“You don’t understand,” Joulhon says, some of the bite returning to his voice even if it seems a bit weak. “You’re a ranger, all you do is follow orders.” Joulhon tries to straighten but the pain in his gut doubles him over. Joulhon shoots Yaulvyne a tired and mean look before he shuffles off on his way. Yaulvyne doesn’t watch him go, the memory of those last embers dying out behind his eyes tells him enough.

Soon after, the summons comes from a young elf. Instead of looking at his scar, the elf stares in awe at his necklace. “They are ready for you, ranger,” the elf says.

Draining the last bit from his cup, Yaulvyne pats the boy’s shoulder and heads into the council arena. Standing in front of the council, he waits awkwardly for them to ask a question or demand an explanation. They sit there, waiting for something. To bide the time, he glances around the arena, his hands limp at his side. Spread out around the walls, rangers stand ready to follow any orders the council gives. Any

hostile move by him would give them a reason to beat, maim, or even kill him, and they do look interested in doing just that.

When Kolshivin walks up beside him, he offers Yaulvyne a smile and a nod. Of course they would want to speak with Kolshivin, he is in much better standing than Yaulvyne. The other rangers present in the aftermath of Darlnyle’s death probably don’t have as much sway with the council, either. Or maybe their longtime rivalry, which was legendary over thirty years ago, may make the council think that they were never really all that friendly.

“We’re happy you both have joined us today,” the council. “We regret the loss of Darlnyle and appreciate what you have done for Ilgnome and all of Lynshiv.” After a moment, they add, “Both of you.”

Kolshivin and Yaulvyne both offer a respectful bow to them. When they rise, the council continues, “Ranger Kolshivin, begin by telling us what happened.

With a quick glance to Yaulvyne, Kolshivin offers, “Forgive me, wise members of this body, but my testimony before this council would pale in comparison to what Yaulvyne could tell you. He was there in the beginning where I came in late.”

“That remains to be seen,” the council says. “Proceed.” Kolshivin bows again before beginning his account of the events. Yaulvyne waits for Kolshivin to tell his side of the events. Yaulvyne gives him credit, Kolshivin weaves his story so well that it forces the council would be forced to speak with Yaulvyne before they are ready. When Yaulvyne is finally given permission to tell his side of events, he fills in all the information that Kolshivin neglects to mention.

Once the tale is told, the council mutters among itself for a long time. When the council finally has something to say, it doesn’t surprise Yaulvyne when they ask, “What of Selesia? You mentioned that she is safe but have failed to mention what happened to her?”

“Her safety is out of your hands,” Yaulvyne informs them. “All you need to know is what I have told you. When I feel that she can return to Ilgnome, she will but not a moment before.”

“That’s not for you to decide,” the council says. “Selesia is still a prominent figure in the community. She must return to Ilgnome with haste.”

Yaulvyne smiles. “When you restore her to Darlnyle’s seat, then I’ll be more than happy to send her home. She has earned the right to sit among you, has her father’s courage and wit. If you’re willing to give her that seat then I’d be more than happy to find her and send her home.” The council mutters amongst themselves. When it dies down, Yaulvyne waits for them to say more but they remain silent. “I thought as much.” He turns to leave. Kolshivin follows his lead and turns.

“You haven’t been given permission to leave,” the council cries. “Neither of you.” Yaulvyne smiles and turns his head to see several of the rangers following them, their blades still in their sheaths. None of the remaining move to stop him, in fact they seem to salute Yaulvyne as he and Kolshivin move towards the exit. “Seems like some of your rangers have lost faith in you,” he calls over his shoulder. “I think you should consider your future actions carefully.”

With that, the tunnel swallows them, blocking off any response. Neither speak until they some distance away from the council. Those that followed them out offer the

pair their own salute before melting into the city. Yaulvyne and Kolshivin offer return the salute, even long after they disappear.

Yaulvyne turns to Kolshivin and lays a hand on his shoulder. Yaulvyne says, “Thank you for staying at my side on this one.”

“Hopefully this won’t be the last,” Kolshivin returns. “It’s been good to see you again.”

Yaulvyne frowns. “I doubt I’ll return this way ever again. My path leads me south to Dahl.”

“I remember you saying that. What’s in Dahl?” “I’m not sure,” Yaulvyne admits. “Something Picarin told me, a vision.” Kolshivin barks out a laugh. “A Shiyanshinvi vision. That can’t be good.” “He’s usually wrong,” Yaulvyne mutters, dread creeping into his voice. With all that’s been happening, he doesn’t know anymore.

“Picarin has led me a wrong a few times too, remember?” Kolshivin says, still laughing. Slapping Yaulvyne on the shoulder, he says, “See you tomorrow.”

With a smile, Yaulvyne says, “Until then, my friend.”

As the first rays of the morning suns break across the horizon, Yaulvyne steps into the clearing that has been the home for Darlnyle and his son Juslok. He appreciates the work the others did building their funeral pyres. Darlnyle lays on a tall pyre, his body barely visible over the rim. Beside Darlnyle, Juslok lays on a smaller one, only coming up waist height. Both bodies have been cleaned and wrapped in ceremonial outfits, white linen with a sash at the waist. They found Darlnyle’s sword in the rubble, which now rests across his chest.

One by one, rangers step forward to speak about Darlnyle. They each speak about their fondest memories of the great ranger. Finally, it is Yaulvyne’s turn, going last in honor for being the closest to Darlnyle. “I have much to say about about Darlnyle. Friend and pakeln to me, adoptive father. Kind, gentle yet stern. Patient yet demanding.” He pauses, trying to think of more. “Everyone has shared such good stories about him, I am grateful you all have these memories of him. I won’t bore you with any of my stories, I feel we’ve honored him enough today. From this moment on, lets honor him and his legacy.”

Someone starts clapping, which spreads to the entire group. Yaulvyne appreciates the sentiment with a silent nod. He steps up and grabs a torch from one of the mourners. More torches are lit and passed to the gathered rangers. It falls to Yaulvyne to claim Darlnyle’s blade. He reaches out and puts it next to his own before turning his torch to the pyre. The others reach out, doing the same.

The funeral pyres flare into the morning sky, becoming a third sun for the gathered rangers. Someone breaks out into song, a ranger melody calling to Yylvin to claim the spirit of the dead and return it to Yatsu. The song speaks of the journey the soul will take in the afterlife in the Tree of Life. It ends with a plea to both Yatsu and Yylvin that the soul get reborn, to continue the journey it set out in this life. When the song is over, the two pyres have burned down to ash. They wait for a heartbeat longer before leaving in twos and threes. Within moments, only Yaulvyne, Kolshivin, and Haylon remain.

“What now?” Haylon asks. “South,” Yaulvyne says. “To Dahl?” Kolshivin prompts. Shaking his head, Yaulvyne says, “Further, to the mountains. If what I’ve heard is correct, we have a problem, a big problem. Dragons are out there and they need to be dealt with.”

“Dragons,” Kolshivin says with a whistle. “What do you want us to do?” Haylon prompts. “Gather as many rangers as you can and see what you can do out west. If any Dinashinvi still live, gather them together and find a place to hide. We’ll meet up near the elbow.”

“And the dragons?” Kolshivin asks, concerned. “What if they are there waiting for us?

With a slight smile, Yaulvyne offers, “Don’t die.” They both nod seriously and hurry off after their companions. With one last look at the ashes, Yaulvyne shoulders his bag and turns south.

In a tree above the ceremony, Haulgri watches them burn the old elf. He allows himself a rare smile. The ranger fell right into his plan by dealing with the old one. Now Yaulvyne is focused on the mission he’s been given.

Provided that the ghost Haulgri spoke to was correct. Over the past few days, the ranger’s words echo through his mind. His ghost friend has been wrong before. How many times? How many visions? Is it just the ranger’s ghost? Very interesting questions. Too bad he doesn’t have the means to answer them, his access to the Shiyanshinvi went west.

Can’t do anything about it now as the rangers disperse. Haulgri waits as Yaulvyne stays behind with the two others. He notices that one of them is the ranger he spoke with at Darlnyle’s body, tricking him to take the other medallion. If Yaulvyne has taught him anything about rangers, this other one will pursue answers to that medallion. Keep his friends busy elsewhere while Yaulvyne, he suspects, heads after his ghost friend’s vision.

Once the trio separate, Haulgri stays in his tree. These rangers are a tricky bunch, they might still be in the surrounding forest. Haulgri counts to one hundred, then two, before he drops out of the tree. He noticed that Yaulvyne heads south. Haulgri nods to himself, pleased that the ranger is following the path he laid out. Haulgri turns a west, deciding to give Yaulvyne a wide berth while making his own way south. Don’t want the ranger to see him get passed.

Picarin watches Selesia from across the fire. No matter how hard he’s tried, he hasn’t gotten her to talk all that much. He has to push her to do even the simplest chores. This doesn’t sit well with Picarin, who has always relied on Yaulvyne to do these things. Now that the roles are reversed, he feels a little guilty on doing that. He’s only glad that he knows how to take care of himself, albeit poorly.

“He’s gone,” Selesia says. Blinking, Picarin looks at her, taken aback by her initiating the conversation. “Who’s gone?”

“Father,” she croaks. “Ah,” he says, thinking of what to say. Picarin stirs the fire a bit, not knowing to say. Most of what he knows comes from Yaulvyne. “Last time I saw your father, Yaulvyne had returned from his Walk of Solitude. Darlnyle was so proud of him, probably more than I was. Darlnyle was virtually beaming.”

“I remember,” she says. Picarin’s brow rises but says nothing. She adds, “I was really young. Seven, I think. That’s when I first met Yaulvyne.”

Picarin racks his brain. He remembers a child clinging to Darlnyle, a mere wisp of a girl shadowing her father. “That was you,” he says slowly. “Wow, that’s surprising. I never thought about that little girl. I wonder if Yaulvyne remembers.”

Her shoulders slump a little further. “I doubt it,” she moans. Picarin never thought she could become any sadder until now. He looks across the fire at her, tilting his head left and right. Flushed cheeks, a certain level of fixation. Yep, she’s going through hyjoss. Picarin doesn’t know what’s worse, traveling with a woman going through hyjoss or having her fixate on Yaulvyne, of all people. He chuckles softly.

“What’s so funny?” she says, a little hardness edging into her tone. “Nothing,” he offers as he rises. He claims his Kunshink and tunes it. “Have I played for you?”

Selesia eyes it for a moment. “I didn’t know you played. That’s a difficult instrument. Where did you learn to play?”

“Self taught,” he says proudly. He strums out a short little ditty, one that brings a smile to her face, if for a moment. “See? I’m good, aren’t I?”

“I’m impressed,” she offers. “I have heard plenty of Kunshink players, only a few are better.”

Picarin smiles. “High praise, considering I liberated this from a professional.” It doesn’t take long for Selesia to get his meaning. “You stole it?” With a chuckle, Picarin says, “Stealing is such an ugly word.” He continues playing. “Even thieves have to do honest work every so often.” Picarin glances at her. “Which reminds me. What can you contribute, once we get to Dahl?”

Selesia winkles her nose. “Contribute? I don’t understand.” Setting down the Kunshink, Picarin explains, “Dahl is a human city. They don’t rely on the coins that Ilgnome uses so you can’t use Darlnyle’s money. I could probably get us a small place in the slums but we won’t have much for food. I can only pull so many coins per day, not enough to feed two. So, what can you do to help earn money?”

She looks away, not answering. Picarin sighs, “Ah, well, we’ll figure something out.” He goes to the cart again and grabs Yaulvyne’s sword. Presenting it to her, Picarin says, “And you’re going to need to know how to use this.”

Selesia turns to him and, upon seeing the blade, says, “I know how to fight.” Raising an eyebrow, Picarin challenges, “Show me.” “No,” she says, making a face. “I don’t have to show you anything.” “Princess,” he says patiently, “Dahl isn’t a nice place. I’ve been there only once and I swore never to go back.”

“Then why are you?” she protests. Picarin takes a deep breath, trying to control his rising anger. “I do it for Yaulvyne.”

At the mention of the ranger, Selesia blushes. “Your loyalty is commendable,” she says softly. “Why shouldn’t I give anything less?” She rises and accepts the blade. “Where do we begin?”

I hope Yaulvyne doesn’t kill me for this, he thinks.