“Whoa! Whoa! Take it easy! I’m just coming to relieve you!” a female voice announced in a unique blend of elegance and authority.

  “Gonddammit, Halisk!” Segwyn shook his head, returning his sword to its sheath. “You surprised us.”

  “Didn’t expect I could sneak up on two wood elves, especially on guard duty!” She giggled, her grinning smile betraying a sense of self-satisfaction. “Must have been a deep conversation! Why don’t you two get some rest? Darmor and I will take over. Magic still coming up empty?”

  The ranger rubbed his fingers across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “Thanks. I didn’t realize it was this late. I’m still picking up nothing around us, so hopefully, you’ll have a quiet stretch.” He patted her shoulder, stepping over the low fire. Neril gave her a small grin and a nod of appreciation as they ambled towards the modest tents that did little more than block the wind and precipitation.

  “That’s how I like it!” Halisk called after them before stoking the embers and settling in for the second shift.

  The surrounding woods had just begun to surrender monochrome shapes from the retreating shroud of night, as dawn threatened to break and the Blades wordlessly packed up camp. Segwyn cast his spell once more, with no result. Looking at the expectant team, he shook his head.

  “Let’s go in a wide skirmish line with bows. Stay in line of sight. I’ll take the middle. We’ll head north for two hours, and I’ll try it again. Standard signal if you spot anything hinky, and we all quietly converge before engaging. Understood?”

  They all nodded in confirmation and quickly spread out, moving north towards the border of Eredmire and the Shanderiusha River.

  Two hours and six miles later, Segwyn called a halt before casting his arcane radar into the new surroundings, receiving a now familiar outcome. He pressed the team onward until the midday sun forced the forest shadows into marked retreat. Raising his hand, palm open, the Blades held position once again.

  They had reached the northern edge of Eredmire, less than a mile from the headwaters of the Shand, and five miles from the Luminarium. Drawing a deep breath, the ranger closed his eyes and pushed the spell out from his center in all directions.

  And there it was.

  His chest tightened.

  There was no mistaking the incantation’s result.

  His eyes snapped open, head swiveling to scan the surroundings. Nothing visible. He flipped his shoulder-length brown hair out of his face and let out a series of chirps and whistles that mimicked the call of the house wren. This was the signal to converge. Not native to the foothills and mountains, the wren was the perfect choice. There was no danger of miscommunication from local fauna, yet sounding perfectly natural to anyone or anything that didn’t know better.

  Within moments, the Blades assembled at his position, bows at the ready. He made a gathering motion with his arms, drawing them close while crouching down, his leathers creaking in objection. As the elves arrived and joined the huddle, he locked eyes with each one as he spoke, to reinforce the gravity of the difficult message and assess their reaction.

  “I just cast the detection spell again, and I got a hit…Demon.” Several members of the team involuntarily recoiled slightly before catching themselves.

  “As in ‘from the lower planes of Hell’, Demon?” Halisk quipped in a hostile whisper. Her sparkling blue eyes were wide in surprise. “Here? In the Eredmire woods? How is that even possible?”

  “I dunno. You all know how it works. I can’t tell what type, how many, or where exactly, but there is unquestionably at least one demon within a few miles of our current position.” The ranger continued to glance from one member to the next. “What I do know is, the presence of demons is more than enough justification for us to pursue outside the boundary if necessary. We will track it down and send it back to the lower planes if we can, and then we’ll figure out how it got here.”

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  Several murmurs of quiet assent rose from the group as his attention turned to Neril. Panic haunted the recruit’s features, his eyes rapidly flitting across the landscape, seeking escape from the perceived threat.

  “What if it’s too strong for us, or if there are too many of them? What do we do then? It will take a month for the Commonwealth armies to get here!”

  Segwyn extended his hand, palm facing down, and lowered it slowly, signaling his newest team member to quiet down before gripping the younger elf’s shoulder. His tone was calm and even.

  “First, we find it, assess the scope of the threat, and take it from there—okay? No one engages alone. Do you hear me?” He raised his eyebrows and looked around the huddle, not moving on until he got a nod of affirmation from each one. “If it’s more than we can handle, we’ll get word back to Eredmire for additional support and follow discreetly until help arrives. Understood?” More nods.

  “Are we stringing blues or blacks?” Darmor asked, breaking the momentary silence.

  “Three of us on blues, you, Halisk, and I, but wait for my mark. The rest—whites on the string until we see what we’re dealing with.”

  Blues and blacks referred to the magical arrows the Blades had within their quivers. Created by the wizards of Eredmire, each squad member was issued one of each type. These contrasted with their standard-issue, white feathered arrows. The blue delivered an additional punch of arcane force damage, while the black conjured a volley of magical projectiles to rain down on the target. Both were only to be used in extreme circumstances, the cost and time of the enchantments limiting the supply.

  “I doubt it’s to the west,” Segwyn mused aloud. “It’s rough travel in the mountains. If it came through one of the passes up by the Luminarium, I bet it’s headed for civilization in the lowlands, likely following the river or the road. Let’s run our line north-south perpendicular to the Shand.” He made a crude drawing on the ground among them to illustrate his plan. “And we’ll follow it for a couple of hours before I cast again. Darmor, take the northern end of the line and keep the river in sight. Neril —south end. I’ll stay in the middle position.”

  Jaws tightened around the huddle, their faces expressionless and grim. “Let’s not forget why we’re here.” He continued, sensing they needed a pep talk. “I realize no one signed up expecting to battle demons, but there are an awful lot of elves counting on us to keep them safe. I have complete confidence in this group’s ability to mitigate the threat. Rely on your training. Rely on each other.” He paused once more. “When we engage, I want full communication. Most demons don’t speak Common, so we won’t be giving anything away. Until then, only hand signals and wren calls. Any questions?” Heads shook around the huddle. “Okay, let’s move out!”

  The team rose, quickly spreading themselves into a line perpendicular to the river and road on their left. Segwyn raised his open hand in the air, let out a deep breath, hoping to calm his nerves, and then closed his fist. As one, they began to pick their way silently southwards.

  Fenir Eldracum had been adamant about the importance of education for all his children. ‘Success in life is built on understanding,’ his father’s flat, dismissive tone still echoed in his mind years later. He even caught himself repeating the phrase to young recruits, wincing at the bitter recollection of childhood resentment every time the words left his lips.

  The injustice of being sequestered inside the family estate on warm sunny days, learning agriculture or inventory management, while his friends recreated historic Elven victories with wooden swords still left a bitter taste. I guess, in a way, it ultimately led me here.

  Moving systematically south, step by step, his mind drifted back to the subjects he had truly enjoyed: the fundamentals of magic, the history of successful warfare and battle tactics, and the characteristics and behaviors of wondrous creatures. A fleeting smile crossed his pursed lips. Along with the repetitive instruction in both sword and bow, it had opened his eyes to an alternative path not dominated by enology and distribution contracts. His education had exposed him to the wonders of the world and all its mystique, igniting a passion to explore, to discover, to embrace. Maybe, in this case, the old man’s method wasn’t so bad after all.

  Of course, he had learned about demons—academically speaking. They were ruthless creatures of seemingly infinite variety that respected nothing, hungering only for more death and chaos, extremely unpredictable, and hard to kill. Evil, soulless, and out of place in this world.

  Normally confined to the Abyss, only powerful magic or rare celestial circumstances brought them to the prime material plane. His shoulders tightened in anxiety, and a cold sweat tickled the back of his neck as his confidence wavered. Maybe it was better not to know so much about them. He shook his head as more of his father’s words immediately sprang to mind. ‘Those who don’t understand the motivations of their adversary don’t even realize they’ve already lost.’ Although the original context was contract negotiation, the point was still valid. They had a greater chance of success knowing what they were up against.

  The ranger drew a deep breath and rolled his shoulders, relieving the tension that grew with each step closer to such a formidable danger, when he felt his forearms tingle. Every hair on his arms and hands stood straight up before a bright flash from the road lit up his peripheral vision. Instinctively, Segwyn buckled his knees to drop for cover. In the same moment, a kaleidoscope of blues, reds, and purples saturated his vision, a wave of heat and static rippling across the forest and over his body. The echoing crack of multiple trees separating from their roots pulsed in his ears as he hit the ground.

  The Glimmerstone Enigma?

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