Two days had passed since the Darkhound attack, and Shawn's mood was at an all time high. He was continuing to train with the sword, and his skills had markedly improved. He could almost match Vena in a simple duel, though he suspected she was still going relatively easy on him. He had managed to cast more runes together with…mixed results.

  “I'll admit, mixing fire and energy together might not have been the best idea…” he said, wincing. He was pressing a water soaked strip of cloth to the lengths of blisters and burns stretching up his forearms.

  Vena just laughed.

  He'd finally given up the night before and exchanged his dirty, burned, and slashed t-shirt for a tunic Vena had packed in the small satchel of supplies, though he did wonder where she got such a soft-spun garment. It was his impression that most third ring citizens had more rough-spun clothing. The tunic was simple, but elegant, with lines of stitching up his side, and tight against his chest.

  He'd never been super “in shape” back home, but after nearly a week of high-protein travel rations and hard combat training, his muscles were much more clearly defined, and the small amount of paunch he once possessed had been replaced with a hard, flat stomach. Not quite a six pack, but getting there.

  The sun was beginning to droop over the horizon as they stopped for the day, and Shawn sighed in relief. Not only had Vena maintained a grueling pace, but she had also mentioned that they were only a couple leagues from Longstriden. Shawn was more than ready to arrive, but first he just wanted to get a night's sleep in his bedroll.

  He and Vena tramped their way off the sparse trail they'd been following and approached a small clearing. Suddenly, Vena threw a hand in front of Shawn's chest and held a finger to her lips. Shawn peered over her shoulder and spotted the cause.

  A small–but plump–rabbit sat at the far edge of the clearing, gently nibbling on a clover. Its fur was brown with white specks, and it was absolutely adorable.

  Shawn looked back at Vena. She was quietly drawing an arrow back on a small hunting bow and taking aim at the rabbit. Shawn tried to make eye contact, but the rabbit looked up and saw them. Vena released the arrow.

  The bow twanged as the arrow jumped from the string to the rabbit’s neck, killing it instantly.

  “Vena!” cried Shawn. “It was adorable! How could you do that!”

  Vena shrugged. “Sure, I guess. It'll also be delicious.”

  “We're going to eat the poor guy?!”

  “Just give me an hour,” Vena said, tearing a couple leaves off a nearby bough. “You'll be singing a different tune.”

  Shawn stood there, mouth hanging open.

  Vena looked over her shoulder at him. “If you're not going to help skin it, at least get a fire going!”

  Shawn walked to the center of the clearing, shaking his head as he did so. How could she do that? He cleared leaves and sticks in a ring, and piled twigs and small sticks in a pile, bounded by stones. The past few nights, he'd been practicing starting campfires using his rune of Fire, and he'd almost gotten it perfectly fluidly.

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  Shawn pulled out the rune and focused, centering himself on the pile. He unspooled his energy, circulating it to his extremities and back. Pouring energy into his palm, he focused on control. He could create an uncontrollable stream of flame, but that would waste energy and also be absolute overkill. All he really needed was a short bolt of fire to simply ignite the pile, and then to just let the flames do their thing.

  He spun his energy through his palm, creating a tiny cycle. He whirled it faster and faster as he prepared to release the bolt, then simply lowered the barrier between his palm and the rune for the barest moment. An eddy of power spun into the rune, tracing the symbol in less than a second, and a bolt of flame flew from the rune into the pile.

  For a moment, nothing happened.

  Then a tongue of flame leapt up in the center of the pile, crackling as it caught. Five minutes later, Shawn had a bright and merry campfire going. He sat near it, admiring his work and carefully returning his energy back to its typical slow cycles.

  “Hey, much better than last time! And I didn't even have to use your shirt as a bandage while you cried like a baby!” Vena walked over from where she had been carefully skinning the rabbit. She was holding a tightly wrapped rabbit-shaped parcel of leaves in both hands, which she carefully set by the banks of the flames, scooting it closer with the tip of her sword.

  “I still can't believe you killed that rabbit.” said Shawn reproachfully. “He wasn't even doing anything!”

  “Don't worry, you'll change your mind once the little guy gets cooking.”

  “Not likely.”

  Shawn had changed his mind immediately.

  The fat on the rabbit popped as it sizzled on the fire, but it was contained by the succulent leaves that Vena had wrapped it in.

  It smelled delicious.

  “So, uh, Vena, how long do you think he’ll be…cooking for?” Shawn asked, haltingly. “You know, we wouldn’t want his death…go to waste, am I right?”

  Vena raised an eyebrow.

  “You know, because I…care about him?”

  “It should be cooked through in about a minute now. You can stop drooling over yourself.”

  “What…? I’m not…” Shawn sighed. “You were right, I was wrong, and he smells delicious.”

  “Oh good, you acknowledge the eternal truth. I am always right.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  “Sir. We’ve located them.”

  Verale, High Inquisitor of Vallenar sat in his command tent, the sergeant saluting before him.

  “Good. Capture the prisoner, and kill whoever his accomplice is. Bring their head and the prisoner to me by midnight. Go immediately.”

  The soldier saluted, but Verale interrupted.

  “And sergeant?”

  “Sir?”

  “They must not reach Longstriden. I would be…very displeased if that should happen.”

  The sergeant’s face paled, but he nodded and left the tent. Momentarily, his calls echoed through the thin, canvas walls of Verale’s tent.

  He attempted to refocus on the missal from his brother Vorn, High Runic Mage of Vallenar, but his mind strayed to the prisoner.

  Shawn Dennen. Dark rune practitioner. But that rune…could he possibly be the one from the prophecy? No. Not possible. He is merely an embarrassing mistake on my part. And one that I will not let stand.

  “Run and hide, Mister Dennen. Run and hide.”