Bear Knight: Lightraider Academy, #2

THE PRISONER

TANELETHAR

Forest. Fog. Darkness. I don’t remember where I am. I don’t know this place—this place where the creatures brought me the first time I died.

I don’t remember my home, my old name. I remember little that is good. Only her face. Her laugh. And it is this, more than anything, that haunts me in this place of ghouls. I remember wanting to protect her. My purpose was to protect her.

Yet I’m here, in the dark. And that means I must have failed.

This thought makes me tighten my grip on the curved sword I stole from the barracks’ stores—a trainer, blunt-edged and little use against the ore creatures here. An iron orc’s hide is too thick for a trainer. But this weapon will make short work of a goblin’s mushroom flesh. My body may be weakened after countless days of moldy bread and black water, after so many nights of delirium, but I can still chop through fungal sinew and brittleknit bone with an iron stick.

A wanderer floats past the barracks window, lantern held out with its cloaked arm. I duck, then peek. The sphere of orange light around the creature is small and dim. Sometimes I think those lanterns serve no other use than illuminating the drawn, crumbling faces and empty eye sockets under the wanderers’ hoods. All the same, I stay put. I’d rather not get caught.

The moment the wanderer drifts out of sight, I roll over the windowsill. My landing makes not the slightest sound, a skill my body carried over from an old life, though my mind cannot recall its intended use. Was I a hunter? A thief? One day I will learn the answer—if my store of lives holds out.

One, two, three, four. I count my footfalls, running in a crouch. At night, the fog obscures all, both sound and sight. The endless black pines remain shadows until I’m close enough for their needles to prick my skin. Discovering the paces and courses leading out of the camp has cost me dearly. I’ve lived a dozen short lives—a dozen or more. Each brought me closer to escape, but each death brings me closer to the final sleep from which I won’t wake up.

Something screams.

Ignore it.

My first landmark looms ahead. The camp fence is tall, but I loosened a plank on my second venture from the barracks. The barkhides and their masters haven’t found it or don’t care. The fence is the least of the obstacles penning us in.

A wanderer turns my way before I can push through. Has it seen me with its absent eyes? Or does it move on some predestined path known only to the sorcerers who raised it? Fear wells up, urging me to pull back the plank and squeeze through. I don’t want to see the wanderer’s face. I don’t. But I know better. This is the mistake that ended my course eight lives ago. More wanderers patrol the trees beyond the fence. That night, fleeing one creature, I rushed headlong into another’s bony grip.

With a force of will, I turn my eyes to the fence line. An orange glow seeps through cracks. As expected, a second wanderer approaches on the other side, closer than the first.

I time my movements, pulling the plank when one is past and before the lantern of the other gets too close. I’m through. The plank squeaks as I yank it back into place. I freeze and hold my breath.

Silence.

The wanderers continue on.

Tucking the sword into my belt, I judge my course by the fence line and set off again.

A stone path carries me toward the stream. I’ve died twice on this road, but there’s no other route. The overgrowth is too thick in the surrounding woods. I know. I’ve died there too. Vines burst from the earth to strangle me that night. Spiders kept me company until an iron orc came.

Pink fangs. Twitching spinnerets. Bulbous, pulsating abdomens.

I hate spiders, but not as much as I hate the horned creepers. One crawls onto the path before me and flutters his wings in droning song. His cousins answer from the pines, and I hear their dull voices in my head, threatening to crawl down my throat and set their pincers to work on my innards. I stomp him into the rock with a wet crunch and hurry on.

As soon as I spot a stone bridge—my next landmark—I slow. Only this bridge crosses the stream. Teeth and tentacles once dragged me over its rail into frigid water, yet each life since, I’ve been tempted to race across. It would be so much faster. Here, in the dark, speed is death.

I turn before the bridge and pick my way through the fading overgrowth to the shore. Three lives ago, I found the rotting wooden posts, ruins of a smaller bridge. They wobble under me as I leap from one to the next. No water sentries come—valpaza, as my barracks mate Shan calls them. I land with a quiet squish in the muck on the far side.

Another course set, more footfalls counted, and I find the place I call the safe haven. No spiders or creepers spoil the ancient stone circle of its platform. The fog lightens here, enough that I can see the two bright moons through the green haze. I feel I could sleep here in safety.

Should I hold here ’til morning?

No. Daylight brings neither comfort nor escape in this place.

A statue at the haven’s center depicts flaming hands forming a figure from clay. I think the figure is a man. Shan agrees with me. He said so yesterday, after I woke from my latest death and described this place. He says the image of flaming hands in the act of creation belongs to the faith of the Maker—a faith the dragons defeated long ago.

Defeated? I’m not so sure.

Jagged slashes of goblin script mar the statue’s glistening base. Real fire has blackened the sculpted fire of the hands. But no parts are missing or broken. The fingers show not the slightest chip. If the dragons defeated this faith, why can’t they tear the statue down?

Still, Shan knows more—remembers more—than most of us. The constant fear has yet to rip his name from his mind.

I wish I was strong like Shan.

One of the flaming hands captures water from the damp air so that a pool has gathered in the palm. I risk climbing onto the statue’s base to take a sip. The water is cool and sweet. If I live again after tonight’s death, I’ll come back just to get another taste. But now, I must move on.

The second I step off the haven platform, the fog takes me again. Slow steps. Caution. I’ve only come this far once before. How much farther will I get before death claims me?

A long stone wall lies somewhere ahead, I know, but I won’t take the path I tried last night. An easy walk through the lightest overgrowth brought me to an open gate. What was I thinking when I tried to run through? Hadn’t I learned my lesson at the bridge? Creatures guard the easy paths, waiting to cut us down. I still feel the pain of the iron orc’s halberd in the scar at my shoulder. Perhaps the wall itself is an illusion, a temptation to increase my suffering. Or perhaps freedom waits on the other side—freedom and memory.

I take a new course and use my sword to hack through brush and vines. The crack of every strike makes me cringe. Such noise might bring ghouls or goblins.

Take me with you.

Oh no.

You’re leaving. I can tell. Take me with you.

The air grows cold. I shiver, but I dare not look. I can feel the apparition floating behind me, taking form from the gray-green fog. One of these cost me my fifth life. She was a little girl, not terrible to look upon apart from the odd angle of her neck, until I took her hand. Then all became horror and fangs. The icy blast of her scream shattered my heart.

Not this time.

My body is not far, the creature moans—a male voice. Nor is it buried deep in the soil. I will lead you to the grave. I was a young man like you, once. Strong and able, until the orcs ended me.

Keep quiet. Go away. I’m no help to you.

But you could help. You can carry my bones to a place of rest.

I said, go away! I hack harder at the brush. Faster. If this creature is here, orcs or wanderers may already be coming. I must reach the wall. The pines press against it. I can climb to the top and jump.

The ghoul drifts to my front, floating backward, unhindered by vines or trees. I wince as I see it did not lie about its age. We are much alike. Perhaps we are the same person. Am I an apparition too, floating here for eternity?

Please, good sir. Carry my bones, and I’ll be your guide. I know the wall by my withered heart. There’s a gap where the stones fell—a safe place to cross. The ghoul reaches for me with a desperate moan that borders on a wail. Please! Help me!

I sidestep the ghostly hand and make a futile stab with my sword. The blunt tip passes through the creature and bangs into something solid. I hear the clink of iron hitting stone.

The wall.

Out of my way, ghost!

To my surprise, the apparition vanishes. Did it respond to my command or someone else’s?

To complete my escape, I need only climb a pine growing up against the wall. I believe I can brush away the spiders and creepers that infest its branches.

Before I can jump to grab the lowest branch, a vine wraps my leg.

Oh, not again.

I speak the complaint out loud. What use is there in staying quiet anymore? I follow it with a yell and take a hard swing. My sword chops the vine away, but the delay has cost me everything. A creature wrapped in a ragged cloak and hood floats from the trees to hang between me and the wall. Not a wanderer. No, something much worse, and much more terrifying. Green flames burn in the sockets of its gargoyle skull. It hisses through long black fangs.

Death has found me again, and this time, I should feel honored. I’ve only seen one wraith in the camp. A creature of the long past, from what Shan calls the days of the traitor-kings.

The wraith’s deep rasp holds a metallic ring. Where do you think you’re going?

When I fail to answer, black claws emerge from under the cloak and dig into my shoulder. I gasp.

Asked you a question, I did.

I swallow against the pain. Couldn’t sleep. Too much noise from the creepers. Thought I’d take a walk.

The hiss that follows bears a note of satisfaction. Spirit, you have. Good. Good. Much pleasure I’ll take in cutting it out of your flesh.

The apparition reappears at the wraith’s shoulder, along with another. Their human faces stretch into monstrous distortions, and they unleash their icy screams. The wraith’s black claws dig deep.

As another life fades, I close my eyes and see only her. She laughs, and in that moment, memory strikes. I understand why I love her laugh so much. It reminds me of our mother.

PART ONE

THE FIVE QUESTS

Consider it a great joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you experience various trials, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance. And let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.

James 1:2-4

1

AARON ILMARI

KELEDEV

THOUSAND FALLS OUTPOST

Aaron cringed as the watchmaster pounded his long-handled hammer down into the centuries-old timbers. He felt the whole platform shake.

Cohort! Who are you?

The line of troops—Aaron included—answered in unison. We are the watchmen!

Boom. The war hammer fell again. Wood cracked beneath it. Who are you?

We are the wall!

Did the watchmaster not see the empty pre-dawn sky and the open sea behind his recruits? Was he not afraid to send this new cohort and half the outpost sliding down the cliffs?

That’s right, the master said, swinging the hammer to his shoulder and pacing before them. You are the watchmen. You are the wall. The companies of the foothill outposts—from Thousand Falls to the Windhold, from Ravencrest to Orvyn’s Vow. These are the last line of defense should war come to Keledev. And you will defend it at all costs. He lifted the hammer high.

Aaron winced. Here we go.

Boom.

Who are you?

We are the watchmen!

Boom.

Who are you?

We are the wall!

Never forget it.

Thankfully, the platform survived. With his speech over, the watchmaster laid the hammer aside and broke the cohort into crews for the morning’s work. He assigned Aaron and five others the duty of felling trees for the new barricade and sent them to a sergeant for their kit.

When do we eat? Aaron asked as the sergeant gathered tools and chains onto a wool cloth.

He wrapped the bundle and shoved it into Aaron’s arms. When you bring me a tree, stripped and ready for the saws. He tilted his head, signaling Aaron to move along. Next!

The six trudged in silence uphill through a broad swath of stumps. As Aaron’s tehpa often said, early mornings and empty stomachs make for sparse conversation. When they reached the tree line, they paired off to face their foes—stout celestial pines whose lowest branches grew high above the reach of their tools.

The oldest of their crew pointed at him with his axe. You. Goldenhair. You’re with me. Ever fell a tree before?

Aaron scratched at the short-clipped waves atop his head. He’d never thought of them as gold. Um. All the time . . . I guess. Lots of Baysilver.

Baysilver are reeds, lad. Not trees. You must be from the coast.

My family lives on the Handle, near Rosland Cape.

That far south?

The south is in no less danger than the north if the dragons cross the peaks.

The man let out a grim laugh. True. He slung his tool bundle across his back as if it weighed nothing and thrust his axe toward the north end of the line. Over there. I see a good candidate—ready to give her life for the cause. Quick work means a quicker breakfast. You have a name?

Aaron Ilmari.

Sireth, the man said, setting off toward his chosen target. Sireth Yar.

Aaron set off after him, ignoring the clear signal that the conversation had ended. How about that watchmaster, eh? Quite a speech.

Sireth kept walking.

And the way he kept pounding that war hammer. Aaron cast a glance over his shoulder toward his new home as a volunteer watchman—timber long houses, walkways, and platforms along a series of cliff waterfalls where the western runoff of the Celestial Peaks emptied into the Gulf of Stars. I thought he’d drop us all into the sea. Does he not appreciate the great age of this place?

For several more paces, Sireth said nothing, but then he snorted. Or how long it’s been neglected, like all the outposts.

Sireth knew his business with an axe and a pine. To Aaron’s knowledge, the whole cohort had arrived the night before, the newest recruits of the Thousand Falls company. None of these newcomers had taken part in the work on the new defenses. But Sireth helped Aaron lay out his chains and hooks where the tree should fall and positioned him on the opposite side of the trunk for chopping. He showed Aaron the proper rhythm for a two-man cut. The two soon settled into their thumping blows, one after the other, and Sireth seemed content with that sound and their breathing alone.

Aaron was not. He needed to talk, if only to cover the grumbling in his stomach. So, you’re older than the rest of us. A lot older.

The grunt accompanying Sireth’s next swing was deep and long, approaching a growl.

Aaron coughed. I mean, I expected all the recruits to be my age. Don’t you have a farm to tend? Or a family to care for?

My children—Tiran and Teegan—joined the Order. Their mehma passed on to Elamhavar a while back. When the call came, I had no reason to stay in our forest home at Sil Tymest. He held up a palm to stop Aaron’s next swings and inspected their work, then waved. Swap sides. We must keep the cuts even, and yours are not quite as deep.

Aaron didn’t argue and let Sireth guide him by the shoulders to the right spot. Not quite as deep was a generous evaluation, and Aaron knew it, but this did not deter his next question. Chopping trees was one thing. Fighting was quite another. Are you not concerned about keeping up with the younger watchmen in training and combat?

Older. Younger. My age and yours are not so different when you consider eternity. To the Rescuer and his Elder Folk, we’re both infants. And as to combat—the axe spun in each of Sireth’s hands before he landed his next blow—I have some training already. You forget, most in my generation had not yet come of age when the Assembly disbanded the Order. Many of us had planned to join—had played and practiced at it from the day we could hold a wooden sword. We spent our strongest years still practicing, in hopes it would reopen.

But it didn’t. Not until you had households and children of your own—grown children, at that.

I’m well aware.

Right. His children. When did your sehna and behlna take on the initiate’s quest?

The very first class.

The power went out of Aaron’s swing. Sireth Yar. Teegan and Tiran. How had he failed to put those names together? They helped close the dragon’s portal. They stopped the invasion.

For now.

I take it you share the Order’s concern. If the dragons can open one portal, they can open others.

Sireth shot a look at Aaron’s idle axe, and did not answer until Aaron had taken the cue and started chopping again. That is why we are here, is it not? Last year, one dragon moved ore creatures and goblins to our side of the barrier. A host of dragons might send an army. The Lightraider Order believes that is their plan. My own sehna and behlna saw the preparations.

An army. The preparations. Aaron let the words settle into his thoughts.

He’d come to the barrier for adventure and because the old men of his village had spoken of honor and need. But had he truly considered the cost of his calling? Looking north, he pictured orcs, trolls, and all manner of dragon corruptions rushing down the slopes. A coldness sank into his heart. If that day came, there’d be nothing between this company and the horde but a barricade they’d built with their own hands.

You all right? Sireth stared at Aaron’s axe, once again idle.

Hm? Oh yes. Aaron resumed his swings. I was just wondering. Do you worry? About your sehna and behlna, I mean. He looked northeast up the ever-steepening slopes toward the Order’s fortress at Ras Telesar. Up there, at the academy.

I’m their tehpa. Of course I worry. But I remind myself they’re in the Maker’s hands. Sireth raised two fingers to signal Aaron to still his axe. Ras Telesar may be higher up the barrier, but it’s still here, in Keledev, under the Rescuer’s protection.

With a sharp crack, the trunk gave. Aaron found himself yanked over to Sireth’s side. The heaviest part of the pine smashed down right where he’d been standing.

Sireth released him and patted his chest. I’d say my children are as safe as you are.

2

CONNOR ENARIAN

TANELETHAR

EMEN KISMA

Is that not the biggest giant you’ve ever seen? Teegan glanced back at the creature of root and stone chasing her, Connor, and their new friend Elisai. He leveled the inn with a single blow.

The giant took one earth-shaking step for every six of theirs. Connor turned his gaze forward again and pointed his crook at the tree line, struggling to find the breath for words. No time to gawk. Cadet scouts aren’t meant to fight giants.

So you said. Teegan showed far less strain in her voice. She’d always been lighter of foot. Unseen and unheard. That’s our mission. She ducked as a rock the size of her head shattered a nearby tree. But we couldn’t leave Elisai behind.

No. They couldn’t. Elisai had opened his eyes and heart to the Rescuer and done much to preserve their lives. Connor would not ask him to spend one more day in this land.

He and Teegan had seen too much in Tanelethar while hiding in bushes or peeking out from shadowed alleys these last few weeks. Connor had watched a goblin wound a child just to revel in her wailing. An iron orc had run a shopkeep through in a fit of rage. And the cadets had witnessed countless subtler evils from the granogs. At the same time, they’d watched men and women selling their spirits—becoming barkhides, constables, and sorcerers—betraying their own and altering their bodies to become part of the dragon’s grand war engine.

Connor ducked, gritting his teeth as a big rock whistled past. The giant kept pulling them from his own clay chest. Can’t make it to the hollow tree. Need cover. Now.

A falcon cried above, and Teegan lifted her gaze. Aethia found some.

Or she’s found a rabbit, Elisai said, lagging behind.

She knows the difference between a hunt and battle. Teegan’s eyes dropped to the spaces between the trees ahead, and she squinted. Yes. An opening. Small, possibly a cave.

Please, Connor said, not another cave.

The notorious Five Quests by which a cadet stalwart moved to the cadet scout rank, hard as they were on Connor and his friends, had been child’s play compared to the dangers of Tanelethar. Orcs and granogs in the towns. Goblins in the forests. But the caves . . . Connor had learned to avoid those at all costs. Most were occupied, usually by something foul. On his first trip through the barrier, one particular cave had brought Connor, his best friend Lee Trang, and their guide Kara Orso to a terrifying place leagues away from their starting point—a place with decrepit floating creatures holding lanterns at arm’s length as if searching for souls to devour.

A rending of wood behind them drew Connor’s eyes over his soldier. He’s taken a spruce for a club. It’s the cave or a standoff.

A standoff? Elisai asked.

You’d surely be killed.

Their new charge found fresh vigor and surged ahead. The cave it is, then.

They rushed through the cave mouth, with Connor coming last, and the spruce crashed against the opening behind him, knocking him off his feet. He stood, brushing dirt and pine needles from his cloak. Lights, please, Teegan.

She closed her eyes and lifted her head, letting her hood fall back from her red braids, and prayed. "Mo pednesh Logosovu pyrlas, po mo vynesh kelas."

Word. Lamp. Way. Light.

The whole cave brightened with a light only Keledan could see. Teegan strode toward a narrow passage at the back, glancing upward as she walked. "Onoriov, Rumosh."

The spruce hit the cave mouth again, shedding branches and cones. Dust fell from the ceiling. What about it? Connor called to his friend, keeping his eyes on the danger. Is there another way out?

Teegan rushed back to him with her voice lowered. Unlikely. The floor makes a sharp drop a few paces in. And there’s worse news. Webs.

Oh, good. Connor should have guessed. Their lessons had taught them giants and giant spiders often shared territory, thanks to the compatibility of the dragons that animated them.

Elisai rested his arms on his knees, still breathing hard. Is the Keledan life always this exciting?

Not in this way, Teegan said. Once we get to the hollow tree, you’ll never have to return to this place—not unless you choose.

Assuming we get out.

Connor crept the toward the opening and bent low for a peek. The giant had drawn the tree up again but had not made another swing. The Rescuer will provide a way. He always does.

Is he gone? Teegan asked.

No.

Elisai shot her a glance. Can you not hear him in your head? The thrumming? The voice? I hear it as I’ve heard it for these last three years our town has been its captive. He rocked in time with the rhythm. "Friend, stay. Friend, come out."

Connor heard it too. Song sorcery—rock and hollow wood drumming together inside the creature. The voice followed, softer than the mocktree he’d encountered the year before. But this giant did not call him friend.

Liege, he heard it say within the song. Liege, stay. Liege, come out. Command me. You shall be my lord, and I your mace. What pleasures in destruction we’ll see.

Could he control a giant? Such a feat promised an end to their present danger and a formidable weapon in future raids.

As quickly as the thought entered his mind, a sacred verse pushed it out. Connor spoke the verse out loud. "Bidagro umirana koth piqodothovu po sornah koth vy serev."

I follow your precepts. I hate every false way.

The song ended with an enraged scream.

Back! Teegan jerked Connor away from the opening. Clay knuckles crusted with rune-etched stones pounded the cave mouth. The hill shook.

In the quiet that followed, Connor heard a scratching sound from the hole in the back. Bad things are coming. The giant’s song has called to its sister creatures. We can’t hide here much longer. But how do you fight a clay creature with no flesh to pierce?

Teegan unfastened a buckle at the shoulder of her manykit vest, drew a coil of rope free from her arm, and held it out. With this?

Elisai nodded. Yes. I see your mind, and such a plan may work. A great ravine runs down the center of Emen Kisma, through this forest. It lies to our west, not far. We’ll have to run fast to outpace the giant’s strides.

And we’ll have to choose our moment with care, Connor said.

A green glowing eye appeared at the cave mouth, set in an eye socket of twisted roots and vines.

Liege, come out. Command me.

Teegan flung a dagger straight into the glowing eye. Go!

All three raced out as the creature reared up, bellowing. Elisai took the lead. Follow me!

The giant tossed the dagger away and gave chase.

There! Elisai pointed at a gap between two great pines. The level ground ends at a cliff. I can hear the river below.

Connor veered away from the other two. Keep going. I’ll distract him as long as I can, and then I’ll bring him your way.

If I survive.

The words the creature had spoken in the song gave Connor the inkling that it would follow him over the others. He was right. The giant matched his course and hurled a rock that smashed against a boulder. Debris sliced into his cheek. He kept on running, slipping a flat stone from the stream by the gates of Ras Telesar into his sling. Rescuer, help us to do this. Help us bring Elisai home.

A cry from above told him he had Aethia’s support. The falcon dove at the giant, harrying its pursuit. The slow swipe of its hands stood no chance of knocking her from the sky.

"Thank you, Rumosh," Connor whispered.

With their great strides, giants could not well manage a circular course—another lesson from the academy, hard-won by lightraiders who’d come before. Connor used this lesson and Aethia’s attack to open his lead and give his comrades time to prepare the trap. Once he’d made a complete turn, he straightened his line and sprinted toward the two great pines Elisai had shown him. Teegan and their new friend remained hidden, but Connor knew they were there and ready.

Gasping, he spoke another sacred verse in prayer. "Men adveranesh liberaheni. Alerov anamesh recrethanah."

Rescue me. In you, I hide.

He dropped to a knee with his cloak and hood covering him and his crook lying in the grass.

The giant thundered past.

A beat later, Connor lifted his eyes and cupped his hands to his mouth. Now!

A rope hidden in the grass went taut as Teegan and Elisai pulled on the ends and wrapped them around the trees. Neither could hold on when the creature’s leg hit, but the trap was enough to off-balance him. The giant teetered and flailed while the falcon continued to dive at its head. The creature tried to turn, and Connor got his first long look at the full monster. Great hunks of bark covered its legs and forearms like greaves and gauntlets. Rocks formed a breastplate. The root and vine countenance, with its long moss beard and leafy branches like antlers, looked almost pitiable—betrayed.

Friend, it said out loud.

Liege, Connor heard in his mind.

Connor flung his sling and let his stone fly. The rock sailed past Aethia’s flapping wings and dug deep into the clay between the roots at the giant’s forehead. The creature toppled backward into the ravine.

The three set off again at a run, keeping a hard pace until they arrived at a hill familiar to Connor and Teegan. As they climbed, a pine sapling at the crest grew into a broad spruce with a framed doorway in the trunk. A lantern hung over the frame, lit in welcome.

Elisai let out a shout of joy. What a wonder! We’ve made it!

Aethia reached the hollow tree first and flew through the doorway. Teegan arrived next. She paused to turn and smile at Elisai and opened her mouth to speak, but she never got the chance.

Liege. Connor heard the bellowing voice in his head. The giant appeared from behind the hill and grabbed the upper trunk of the hollow tree. Roots erupted from the soil at Connor’s feet. He shoved Teegan through the door, then held out his shepherd’s crook for Elisai to catch. With all his might, he lifted his charge until both could scramble up the roots to the threshold. Go through! Hurry!

Elisai vanished into golden light. As Connor fell through after him, he twisted his body and saw the giant opening its wooden maw. What would happen if the giant swallowed the hollow tree while they were still passing through the portal?

3

KARA ORSO

KELEDEV

FOREST OF BELIEVING

A small and tailless orange lashor—a para-dragon to most folk—crawled out on an oak twig not far from Kara’s eye. She sensed concern in the hesitant twitch of his four-legged gait.

Relax, Crumpet. Kara’s whisper might easily have passed for a rustle of leaves. This is the lightest of the challenges I must face in the coming days—these Five Quests. Watch now. You may learn something.

Her friend Connor had first introduced her to the little gliding creature not long after she’d entered the liberated land of Keledev, and the two had encountered him many times since in their walks in this unlikely high-mountain forest. They’d dubbed him Crumpet