When the sunset over Twilight Town dyed Bluestone Alley a warm orange, Abler followed behind Linata with a basket brimming with moon-caps. The bamboo handle had bitten a red groove into his palm—mushrooms were heaped past the rim, and the dew clinging to the rotting leaves on their caps dripped the whole way, dotting the flagstones with a trail of damp specks.
Linata walked slower and slower. Fern scraps caught in her white hair brushed her shoulder, and every three steps she pressed a hand to her lower back. Soil on her fingertips smeared the gray dress and bled into pale stains. “I set the bamboo trays at the corner of the yard to sun this morning,” she said, voice soft and thick with a tiredness she couldn’t hide, the corners of her eyes flushed. “When you tip them out, be gentle. Don’t break the caps. Someone in town said last time that soup from broken mushrooms turns bitter.”
Abler grunted assent, quickened two steps, and took the cloth from her hand—the cloth she’d been using to wipe dirt off mushrooms was still damp. He offered his own kerchief, a coarse cotton square washed nearly white. “Wipe your sweat. Your temples are wet.”
Linata accepted it. Her fingertips brushed his palm by accident; both paused and pulled away at once. She lowered her head to dab her face, the tips of her ears quietly flushing. “Those big ones you picked for me down in the hollow—sun them separately. I’m keeping them for the Mayor’s decoction. His cold-leg is acting up again.”
“Got it.” Abler watched her fold the kerchief neatly and tuck it into her pocket, then reached out and flicked a bit of debris from her hair. “You’ve got a piece stuck there. Looks like a little bug.”
Linata’s face went red to the backs of her ears. She had just opened her mouth when the apothecary door creaked, and a shadow in the courtyard moved first. Andrea had on a gray dress washed to a pale fade, a half-sewn coarse shirt in her hands. She looked like she was mending in the sun, but her eyes had never left the mouth of the alley. Seeing them, her needle paused; her fingertips bent the slightest hook toward the wood-shed, then she ducked her head in a rush, feigned a pricked finger with a soft “ah,” moving as naturally as any ordinary helper girl.
Linata noticed nothing amiss. She only thought Andrea was busy with needlework, kneaded her waist, and headed for the attic. “I’ll lie down for a bit first. My back is really sore. Supper’s warming in the pot—barley cakes from this morning. Remember to heat them.” At the stairs she turned back to remind him, “The evening wind’s strong. Cover the bamboo trays with a cloth so the mushrooms don’t pick up dust.”
Abler nodded along, watching her push the attic door closed. Only when the latch clicked did he turn toward the wood-shed. Andrea had already slipped to its back door, the needle and thread tossed onto the woodpile. When he stepped in, she drew from her bodice a bundle wrapped tight in black cloth. Her hands shook; the cloth trembled with them. “Kalos’s urgent message,” she whispered, voice quivering. “Listen—Goren launched a night raid!”
The black cloth came off to reveal a Messenger Crystal split nearly to shreds, its edges smeared with dark red blood. Heat seemed to throb from the crystal’s face—Kalos had clearly clenched it too hard mid-fight, driving blood into the cracks. Abler’s fingertip had barely touched the surface when a fretful surge of magic scorched him. Then Kalos’s hoarse roar—lashed together with Firebat wails and the crackle of burning timber—hammered into his ear:
“Your Majesty! That old bastard Goren mounted a night raid! He swung five thousand heavy infantry around the rear of our west camp and set our grain carts on fire! He’s still charging the lines—using a ‘Throatlock Formation’ to pen our people in and crush them! Worse—Eroshadow slipped through the miasma at Bleached-Bone Reef in the chaos. Mo’s message says his mental barrier’s about to give. If no one reaches him, he’ll get pinned to the reef by Eroshadow’s poison-needles!”
The crystal’s glow went out with a soft pop, like a snuffed candle, leaving only the blood on its face glinting cold. Abler pinched the shards; his knuckles blanched. Demon-marks at his throat flared and dimmed beneath the coarse collar—he dared not let his magic ripple too far, for fear of drawing the town patrol, and more than that, of waking Linata in the attic.
“Goren planned this long ago.” Andrea’s voice was crushed low, almost against his ear. She flicked back a strip of black cloth at her wrist to bare a fresh bandage beneath. “The hidden sentry I sent this afternoon reported Goren short five thousand in his camp. I thought he was going to blockade the trade road—not ambush Kalos. Now Kalos is attacked front and rear—Goren’s heavy infantry on one side and Eroshadow’s covert operators on the other. He can’t spare anyone to pull Mo out!”
Abler leaned against the cold woodpile and drew a long breath, the air full of sawdust and a faint smoke—grain burning in Kalos’s camp, carried along the crystal’s magic. His mind ran fast. Andrea couldn’t leave; she had to steady the Mayor and Hawk in Twilight. If the Valo Duchy patrol came, only she could handle it. The Emberflame Army hidden in Black Raven Forest could not move; any movement exposed Twilight’s hand. Hawk and his Town Guard were even less reliable—send them to the front and they’d be the first to defect.
“We have no one to send.” Despair edged Andrea’s whisper. She gripped Abler’s arm hard enough to drive her nails into his skin. “Any darkguard we dispatch dies for nothing. Kalos is tied down. Mo… Mo is done.”
Abler opened his eyes. The red in them lost its usual mildness, leaving only the Demon King’s edge. He crushed the crystal shards until his fingertips ached and bled, as if the pain sealed his resolve. “We’re not without someone.”
“Your Majesty?” Andrea froze.
“I’ll go.” Abler’s voice was low, but the iron in it allowed no refusal. “You stay in Twilight and do three things for me. First, tomorrow morning tell Linata I’m going to town to buy herbs and will be gone two days. Second, keep eyes on Hawk and stop any tricks. If a patrol comes, say I’ve gone to the next town to gather medicine. Third, send Kalos one message a day—tell him I’m on my way to Bleached-Bone Reef and he must hold for two more days.”
“You can’t go!” Andrea caught him at once. “Goren’s men have set checkpoints on the trade road, and they’ve loosed Shadow-Tracker Hounds. If you’re exposed—not only will you fail to save Mo, you’ll doom Twilight. Linata—”
“I’ll handle Linata.” Abler cut in, softening a shade. “I won’t travel as the Demon King. I’ll go as a merchant of the Valo Duchy. Goren’s men only check transit papers. I have documents we took from Raymond—I can pass. As for the hounds, get ‘Scent-Hiding Herb’ from Linata’s stores, grind it, and dust me with it. It masks demon scent.”
He walked to the depths of the shed, crouched, and lifted a loose flagstone. Below lay the short blade he’d brought out of Demon King City. Its scabbard was dull black iron, unremarkable, but sharp enough to split heavy armor. He hooked it at his waist, then drew out a strip of black cloth to bind the demon-marks at his throat. “I leave before dawn. Don’t see me off. Linata mustn’t spot it.”
Watching his practiced hands, Andrea knew his decision was set and further pleading was useless. She bit her lip and finally nodded. “I’ll ready the transit papers and Scent-Hiding Herb. And… I’ll pack Linata’s Antitoxin Powder. Eroshadow’s needles are vicious.”
Soft steps sounded outside the shed. Both went still. Abler moved to the door and peered through the crack. Linata stood at the corner of the yard with a light jacket in hand—she’d clearly heard movement in the shed and come to bring clothes. He gestured quickly that all was well and lowered his voice. “The wind’s up. Go on upstairs. Don’t catch cold.”
Linata blinked, glanced at his taut face, then at the shut shed door. She didn’t press. She laid the jacket on the stone table by the door. “I boiled ginger tea. It’s in the kettle in the kitchen. Remember to drink. Nights are cold.” She turned back to the attic, her steps as light as a feather. Only as she went did she steal one look toward the shed, worry she didn’t voice caught in her eyes.
Abler looked at the jacket and something pulled tight in his chest. He knew Linata had sensed something wrong and simply chose not to pierce it—she always did that, a gentleness that ached.
“I’ll prepare now,” Andrea said, snapping him back. She clenched the cloth in her hands. “Please… bring Mo back.”
Abler nodded and slipped into the night.