Everyone was slow to rise the next morning. As the sun approached the horizon, a thick mist from the night before like a massive, white veil of cloud and ice covering the landscape seemed to materialize right in front of them.

  “How’s this possible?” one of Elana’s men queried, eyes wide at the strange spectacle all around them.

  “S’bewitched!” Someone said a little too loudly.

  “Be silent!” Elana barked, “Folmsae’s a cursed forest. Ya wanna conjure more evil to us with all that bellerin’?” No one else made a sound.

  The palm trees, the sand, everything was coated with a thin layer of frozen dew upon closer inspection. At the top of the evergreen trees, tiny sparkles glittered in the light while a candy-thin shell of ice began melting away from the heat in the sun’s rays. Kalos had never seen the light of day move so perceptibly with his own eyes as a result of the light shifting through the mist. Cold droplets started raining down all around them from the trees. Suddenly from the other side of the fog appeared the most pristine, blue sky he could have imagined.

  “Let’s get going,” Doogin’s voice seemed to echo like a deep, loud trumpet, even through hushed tones. Everyone anxiously began rolling-up pallets and packing their things away at once.

  #

  After loading the horses and releasing them from their bindings, a few rays of sun finally pierced the heft of the veil, causing the mist to dissipate instantly wherever they cut through like some sort of arcane spell none of them had ever witnessed.

  No sooner had they mounted their horses than when a long, wide arc of brilliant sunlight swept through the mist like a giant fan and carved the veil into several massive sheets of fog. To Kalos it looked as though they were ascending straight into a heavenly furnace and dissipating entirely just above head-height. A long, thin ribbon of heat quickly flooded the group with warmth, causing the brisk moisture to split into thousands of different pieces all at once. The sun continued burning away the unnaturally cold, damp air all around them at an astounding rate.

  “By heaven’s light!” Avestus proclaimed as the path before them opened up in a flash. The trail they had been following appeared instantly as though a powerful visibility ward had just been cast aside in time for their departure. The mists were still burning to nothing in the distance, but if what they saw was any indicator of how much time it would take for the rest of Folmsae to clear-up, it would only be a few minutes more before the entire forest would once again look like a tropical sea of palm trees with no trace of the unnaturally thick veil that had fallen over them late the night before. The ice was still melting slowly, though, causing a delicate shower that would keep going for quite some time. Everyone was steadily getting more wet and cold by the second despite the liberating warmth of the sun that had come to greet them.

  They slowly continued along the trail with Elana in the lead. Everyone was still looking around awestruck, but seemed more nervous than ever. Folmsae had already proven to be a more mystical, dangerous than they feared, and it hadn't even been a full day since they departed from Blefcynn.

  #

  The group traveled in silence for a few hours as the temperature continued increaing. An atmospher of intense, humid heat eventually displaced the morning chill. The journey had quickly become unbearbly warm and immediately started draining their resolve.

  Kalos annoyedly grabbed the cloak he’d been wearing since the previous day and pulled it over his head before draping it over his horse’s neck with a grunt. He rubbed his forehead dry with one sleeve and took a long breath. A brief gust of cool air calmed his nerves a little as it sickled through the palms only to die off entirely after a few seconds.

  Kalos watched as Elana, who was now riding at the head of the group, carefully removed her cloak as well. His heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his chest as her tight midriff glistened in the sun. A sharp jab in the arm snapped him out of his trance before he looked over to find the culprit with a scowl.

  Doogin was staring at him like some grumpy grandpa who’d just caught him trying to sneak a cookie without asking for it first. Somehow, the old man managed to bring his mighty voice down to a whisper that was barely audible even for Kalos.

  “I un’erstand lad, trus’me. I was there at the Glaive two nights ago.” He let the secret meaning of his words sink in before continuing, “But if’er crew sees ya gawkin’ like that, you’ll be two strokes shy of yer final breath in half as many seconds, ya’ hear?”

  Such a thought hadn’t even occurred to him. The frown on his face disappeared as he stole a quick glance toward Elana’s men to see if anyone had noticed him running his eyes up and down Elana's form in the distance. Lugor watched with a curious expression from several paces away. Kalos wasn’t sure if the seaman knew why Doogin had punched him, but clearly Elana’s second-in-command had grown suspicious of them, which was more than enough to prove Doogin’s point.

  “Yes, Sir,” Kalos finally muttered under his breath. He sat up straight and dropped his eyes to the trail, struggling to keep his eyes from looking in Elana’s direction altogether. Somehow his peripheral vision still found her, but at least he wasn’t so obvious now.

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  “Don worry, boy. You’ll ‘ave plenty’o time later. Right now, she’s Cap’n Elana Red Dagger wit a heart’o black and an eye fer vengeance. Just don’t forget’at or she'll remind ya quick fast'n in a hurry.”

  “Cap’n Elana Red Dagger? That’s really her name?”

  Doogin looked at him in disbelief, “Ya must be jokin’ lad. Ya really didn’t know'at after she told ya clear as day? Look to’er blade for heavn’sake!”

  Avestus suddenly apeared next to Lugor and began chatting about some random subject which immediately drew everyones attention who were nearby before sparing a brief glance at Kalos and Doogin. He quickly looked back toward Lugor and laughed at some random comment that was made.

  Kalos examined Elana’s sheath the best he could without being too obvious. A deep red shade of leather along the weapon’s handle matched the sheen of the case itself. He’d failed to notice the finer details of her armaments when they crossed blades in the narrows two nights ago. The quality was exquisite.

  From under the velvety red sheath shined a highly-embossed, golden hilt with detailed etchings in some unfamiliar pattern. It was one of the most beautifully crafted weapons he’d ever seen. Etched into the sheath was a long, narrow image of a dagger surrounded by groups of brilliant red rubies installed at random intervals. Kalos thought they resembled drops of blood splattered across the casing.

  “She’s the only one who’s ever been able to wield that red dagger despite its many curses. It comes from a long line’o smiths that’ve been craftin’ powerful relics for generations... Not quite as strong as the one ya’ave there a’course,” Doogin smacked Kalos with one hand, where the dagger was hidden in the small of his back, causing him to flinch, “But a lot prettier and wit its own host o’dark magics ta fear for sure.”

  Doogin leaned back in his saddle while puffing out his chest as if to display all the pride he could muster over the superiority of his own handiwork compared to Elana’s prized weapon.

  “You said something about dark magics? Mine has something like that as well?”

  Doogin grinned before glancing over at the boy, as if preparing to boast even more about his accomplishments. When the blacksmith realized that his younger companion was posing a serious question rather than stoking his ego, he cleared his throat.

  “Well, yes…” He suddenly appeared much taller than he actually was thanks to the powerful steed bearing him up at the same eye level as Kalos.

  Doogin whispered, even making an effort to shield his mouth with one of those large, chunky hands of his to prevent eavesdropping, “As you know, dat’s Sultrani Ostele, lad.”

  He lowered his hand before continuing, “Its true origins’r unknown, but the crafters who used it were said to’ve applied some of the most powerful, forbidden techniques ever known ta keep it ‘calm’ while it waits fer new blood.”

  Kalos’ face paled before Doogin quickly shook his head, “Now, now, 'old on lad. Not yers! The blood 'o yer enemies. Ya see, it’s a long complicated 'ting, da history we're talkin'ere.” He shook his head and sighed. He slowly scratched one of his scruffy cheeks before continuing.

  “A’right, we’ll start from the beginnin’ then.” The man shifted in his saddle, tugging his reins to guide the mount a little closer to Kalos' own, “This be dark stuff, so listen close! I’ll nary'repeat it again, ya’ear?

  "Dat metals’said ta be o'er a a’tousand years old. An ancient, vastly evil magician came up with the recipe before Ceirlan was even a kingdom. Supposedly’ it died wit him, too… Perhaps because of him, actually.

  “The true secret of this metal has ne’er been heard by anyone outside the Sultrani King’s inner council. Eh, in my trade, one can’nay learn such secrets wit’out sharing some of the old, though. I got't from a Sultrani bard a long, long time ago who’d heard some of it during 'is travels.

  “He said that ery’time one’o these blades loses its owner, it gets reforged in sacred Sultrani fires to wait fer a new one. Only great’n royal sorts get to use’it, because there’s only enough to make five’r six at a time, and ev’ry generation loses a little more o’ the original batch as new forgins'r applied. Eventually, there’ll only be enough for one small trinket to be made as a memento containing all the glory from previous owners all the way back to the gran’sorcerer himself.”

  Doogin quickly wiped away the moisture that had been collecting at the corners of his mouth as he spoke.

  “Each type has a dif’rent heritage ya see? The one you have’s from a long line’o bladesmen. A little of each owner’s blood is’till in the metal, actually. E’en yours, now boy. Initial affinitys’ the only time it samples its new master’s blood. But it’s like cookin’ an entire patch of funnyweed down to a single drop, provided it didn't fade. Eventually just tasting it would surely kill whoever tried it...” Doogin paused, noticing the confusion in Kalos’ eyes and coughed, realizing the example he used hadn't done its job for his young mind.

  Kalos stiffened at the thought of having his blood mixed into the blade itself along with the blood of a bunch of random people from the past. He suddenly felt very uncomfortable about carrying it around at all.

  “Well, when someone new, who’s still alive, adds’is own blood to it, he becomes its new master and eventually frees all the power wit’in. So long as yer alive, it belongs ta he alone.

  “I simply fashioned it wit you as its master instead of some Sultrani snob. Between you’n me, I tink it’s happy with da change. Truly there was barely enough juice inside to make’t work at all, but ole’ Doogin’s still got it.”

  “What’s going to happen to me, now?”

  Kalos asked only one of the several questions that were piling up in his mind. He could barely keep his head straight despite how queasy he suddenly felt.

  Doogin’s grin faded as he looked around to make sure they were still safe. The only one within possible hearing distance was Elana, who seemed to be focused on the conversation still going on between Avestus, Lugor, and the others. He leaned close to Kalos, speaking in such a soft tone that he thought Doogin’s voice might break under the pressure of his restraint, “Listen, Affinity mus’be made between Ostele weapons and wort’y masters. A great many’ve died tryin’ to get what you have, now. Unworthy men simply can’nay survive the task.” Doogin slowly shook his head as if to reinforce the authority of his words.

  “If yer ever in a real fix, remember dat Ostele a’cepted ya fer a reason. Guidance from yer ancestors and da many great men who wielded it before ya will be there when ya need’em. Yer in good hands no matter what happens next!”

  ?2024, K. M. Plum, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED