The next morning, Basco and Satchel told Jarek about the events of the previous night. Jarek listened, eyes narrowing at their account of Addie’s strange behavior.

  “All right, that settles it,” the old thief had said, more to himself than to Basco and Satchel, “we need to find that old woman.”

  "My sentiments exactly," said Basco.

  After breakfast, they gathered the packs that Orvis had prepared for them. Basco told his manservant to watch over Addie and make sure she did nothing to harm herself or others. Basco, Satchel, and Jarek then set out for the city gates.

  Along the way, Satchel asked, “Where does magic come from?”

  Jarek blinked a few times and then said, “That’s quite a question.”

  “I was up late thinking about all this, and I realized that I don’t know much about it.”

  “You’re better off finding someone who still practices. Everything I know comes second-hand." Seeing the disappointment on Satchel's face, he then said. "Of course, I can tell you what I've learned. The elves are somehow tied to the magic in the world. Now that there are few left, magic is nearly gone from this world.”

  Satchel nodded. Jarek’s history lessons about the elves had been some of the most fascinating and saddest parts of his education. At one time, elves of all kinds existed. Some were evil and menacing, some small and devious and still some were beautiful and mysterious. Often, they were compared to gods.

  Each race was unique in its own right. Wood elves tended to be more mischievous and tribal. Dark elves skulked in the deep recesses of the world, though a few broke away from that culture and became heroes. High elves were as elegant and beautiful as they were dangerous and powerful. They were the most adept magic users, though all elven races used magic in some form or another.

  Most of them died when one of the hegemon’s racial paranoia got the better of him and he hunted them down.

  “What about the Vai’Aneen?” asked Satchel.

  Jarek cocked an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you’ll need to ask someone else about them. They’re so steeped in myth and mystery it’s hard to tell fact from fiction.”

  Satchel walked in silent thought for a moment and then said, “I think I’d like to meet an elf one day.”

  Jarek gave him a smile. “Maybe you will.”

  Dew still clung to the grass as they passed the archway of the southern gates. The young thief breathed in the morning air. It was colder here than in Ire, but Satchel didn’t mind. He watched the birds overhead and admired the rolling green hills that stretched out westward. To the east, the open fields turned into thick forests with trees taller than any he had yet seen.

  As the sun reached its zenith at midday, Basco, who’d had map in hand for most of the trip, stopped abruptly and said, “Now we head east.”

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  Satchel saw nothing about the landscape that made it stand out, but he and Jarek followed Basco without question. They approached the edge of the wood and walked between two trees just wide enough for a single person. As Satchel stepped into the wood, the light dimmed. The few beams of sunlight that pierced the thick foliage high overhead did little to provide light. A strange stillness hung in the air the deeper into the forest they went.

  “Stay close,” said Jarek, “and stay quiet.”

  They walked for what seemed like hours. Satchel was not sure when it happened, but at some point, fog appeared, and the air became colder and damp. Satchel stayed near the two men as they moved silently through the forest. The ground became softer the further they walked. The smell of rotted wood filled their nostrils. No wind blew through the trees, not even a light breeze. The eerie silence grew, punctured only by the occasional animal cry. But the animals here sounded nothing like those Satchel knew.

  He almost ran into Jarek when the older thief stopped abruptly. Just ahead, the trees gave way to a wide area with tall grass and reeds that shot up here and there. Though the trees had cleared, the light was still low thanks to an overcast sky. Puddles of water could be seen through open patches in the fog. The few noises the forest made before were now completely gone as if this place swallowed all sound.

  Basco motioned for them to stay low. At one point, he stopped and motioned to something in the distance. Roughly a hundred yards away, a decrepit wooden shack supported by stilts rose up from the ground. Its wood had grayed with age. Black stains seeped up the sides, and moss grew on the supporting legs. A little ramp led out of the shack onto the ground.

  Basco leaned back and spoke with Jarek in whispered tones. Satchel didn’t hear any of it because he was too focused on the fear that had slowly gripped him. This swamp, with its pervading stillness, wasn’t anything he had ever seen or imagined. It frightened him.

  Jarek turned to Satchel and mouthed the words, “Stay here.”

  The young thief gave his mentor a worried look.

  The response was a cold expression that said, “Stay put, or I’ll break your legs.”

  Satchel sat back, crestfallen.

  Moving only as quickly as they dared, Basco and Jarek crept through the tall grass. The low-hanging fog shrouded them, obscuring them from Satchel’s view.

  A twig snapped somewhere behind him. His head whipped ‘round to look in the direction of the noise. Simultaneously, his heart rate spiked. After a few long seconds, he neither heard nor saw anything more.

  Probably a bird or rabbit, he thought to himself.

  Another snap. Leaves shuffling. Satchel’s breath caught, and he froze. He forced himself down, crouching as low as he could next to a nearby log. The sounds drew nearer with each passing second. His heart pounded harder and harder in time with the noise. A fresh wave of fear shot through him. He wanted to bolt, to run away.

  But he knew he had to stay still. The thing was getting nearer by the second. Finally, it sounded like it was right next to him. At any moment, he expected the thing to appear and attack him. He dared a peek over the log and caught a brief glimpse of it. The thing was short and black, thin at the top and wide at the bottom. Before Satchel could make out much more, it disappeared into the tall grass and fog.

  Relief washed over him, and he let out a long breath.

  Then he realized that the thing moved in the same direction as Basco and Jarek. Satchel sat there for several long, agonizing moments as the sound of its movements quieted to nothing.

  Jarek had told him to stay put, but if this thing was dangerous, it might catch the pair unawares. Yet, it made so much noise that surely they would be all right. They were both capable fighters. Satchel would have just been in the way if he stumbled into the middle of a fight. Still, surprise was on the side of the creature if it attacked.

  A high-pitched shriek cut through the silent air. Basco and Jarek’s shouts intermingled with the shriek. A scuffle of some kind ensued. And then quite suddenly, the sounds died away, and the swamp fell silent fell once more.