THE NEXT DAY, WE REACHED the city of Opara, which stands at the foot of the mountain Tahumaunga.

I do not know how far you have traveled, but I doubt it is as far as me, and I can tell you this: there are few sights as glorious, as awe-inspiring, and as frightening as that fiery peak. Tahumaunga looms over the land all around, its crest often wreathed in smoke, which drifts away south and east. There are taller mountains in the nine kingdoms, but none stand so tall in isolation, dominating the horizon and commanding one’s attention.

There are tales from the time before time that say it spouted its flames often, sending great rivers of molten rock cascading down its slopes and flooding the wilderness all around. But those flames had long since subsided when Roth’s armies conquered the nine kingdoms. Now it belched forth its fires mayhap once in a lifetime, and they were gentle and slow when compared to the mountain’s ancient fury.

Opara had been built at the foot of the mountain long ago. The King’s road did not pass through it, but it was still sizable, for it was an important waypost on the kingdom’s southern border. The Tongarn river poured from underground caverns within the mountain, and the city had been built around the place where the waters reached the lowlands. The south gate stood open as we approached, but the guards there raised a hand to stop us, and one stepped forwards to take Mag’s reins, for she was at our head. He looked at each of us in turn with a studious gaze. He and his companions wore the black and red armor, trimmed in white, that marked them as servants of the Calentin king. A curious feeling, somewhere between longing and discomfort, came over me as I beheld them.

“Good day, friends,” said the man, a short and stout fellow. I do not know how many Calentin citizens you have met, but we often decorate ourselves with moko—a sort of tattoo scarred deep into the skin of the face. Moko covered this guard’s chin, which jiggled when he spoke. “Whence have you come?” One of his fellow guards edged closer and knelt a pace away, extending a hand towards Oku.

“Southern Dorsea, and before that, Selvan,” said Mag. “We hail from the town of Northwood.”

“A long way to travel,” said the guard. “I am Ari, of the family Parata. What is your business in the kingdom?” Oku had drawn tentatively closer, and finally he allowed the other guard to scratch him behind the ears.

“I am Kanohari,” I said, speaking before Mag as a way of reminding her not to give her true name. We had discussed this before. Mag and I would use false names, in case word of us somehow reached the weremage and warned her of our approach. Dryleaf would need no such precautions, we thought, since he meant nothing to the Shades. “I am returning home, and these are my friends, accompanying me on the journey.”

As I spoke, I dismounted and threw back my hood. The guards’ faces lit with recognition, and Ari gave me a warm smile. My father was a Heddan, but my mother was of old Calentin blood, and the features of my homeland were plain upon my face, even if my skin was a bit pale.

“Welcome home, countryman,” said Ari. He pressed his fist to his forehead. “How long away?”

“Too long,” I said, giving him a smile that I did not feel. “Many years.”

He chuckled and clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Well, you will lose that Selvan accent before long.” He shifted his attention back to Mag, giving her a nod. “You are true friends to accompany your fellow on such a long journey.” Behind him, Oku had gone belly-up to allow the other guard to scratch him. One hind leg kicked wildly at the air.

“Oh, do not worry,” said Mag, smiling at me. “It has all been a long ploy. I mean to get him drunk and then steal all his coin.”

“She is joking,” I said quickly, scowling at her.

Ari chuckled, but then his countenance grew stern. “You are welcome to Opara, but I am afraid we must inspect your belongings. Orders from the Rangatira, and none but his servants are exempt.”

“Of course,” I said easily. Yet in my mind, a warning bell began to toll. Inspecting travelers at the border? That was something I might have expected in the eastern regions, the mountain passes where I grew up. But the southern border had never been a place of great watchfulness. It had never needed to be, for Dorsea knew better than to bring their aggression here, and they turned it instead upon Selvan, or Feldemar or sometimes Hedgemond.

Fortunately, we carried nothing suspicious upon us. We were indeed simple travelers, even if our ultimate goal was not quite so simple. After perusing our rations and travel gear and Mag’s considerable stock of coin, the guards waved us on through the gate. Oku leaped up with a yelp and, after giving the guard’s face a quick lick, he came pelting after us. Ari raised a hand to wave farewell, and then they were out of sight.

Riding into those streets was a strange sensation for me. The scent of cooking food wafted on the air towards me, bringing the aroma of dishes I had not smelled in years, but recognized at once. Most people around us had moko, and more than once I caught myself staring at it, tracing its twisting designs with my eyes.

I was something of a rarity, you see. Most people of Calentin do not travel very far from home, and so I had not seen them often since I left. Yet the smells, the sights, and the few snatches of song I could hear in the streets and alleys, all of it came together to pitch my mind straight back to my youth, as though I had never been gone.

“Those guards were very friendly, even if they did search our belongings,” remarked Dryleaf. “That is one thing I have always liked about Calentin. Not only is it a beautiful kingdom—or I considered it so, back when I could see—but the people are simply wonderful. They seem so happy here, tucked in their own corner of Underrealm and untroubled by the affairs of the wider world.”

“Calentin has its own troubles, and they are plenty.” The words came harsher than I intended. Dryleaf cocked his head in surprise, and Mag gave me a stern glance. “Do not look at me like that,” I told her. “I speak only the truth. No kingdom is an idyll.”

“We know it, but that is no reason to be such a grouch,” said Mag. “We are leagues and leagues away from your family. No one here will recognize you.”

I gave her a small and sheepish smile. She had seen to the heart of my poor mood right away. “I know that. But this is the closest I have come to my family’s domain since I left them.”

“Ah,” said Dryleaf, nodding sagely. “Bad blood, is it? Well, this is your home kingdom, and you would know more about it than I do. At least we do not have to go to your family’s lands. That is one hopeful thing.”

I hid a grimace and turned my attention back to the streets. But Oku seemed to sense something of my dark mood, for he whined and stepped closer, nudging my foot with his head. “Thank you, boy,” I told him, and looked up at Mag. “Do you see? Even the hound knows how to be a good friend.”

Mag snorted and leaned over from her saddle towards mine, wrapping me in a one-armed hug that almost lifted me into the air. “Here. Is this affection enough for you?”

“Release me before I faint,” I wheezed.

She let go and pounded me on the back, which only hurt worse. “That is more than enough support for now. I shall give you another dose tomorrow.”

“Please do not. I quite enjoy having ribs.”

Dryleaf laughed aloud, and I felt my dark mood dissipate somewhat. Mag sometimes made me feel inadequate, but that was through no fault of her own. It was only that she was impressive in so many ways. Yet she was always a true friend, never letting me wallow in my own misery, and doing anything she could to pull me out of it. In that moment, I appreciated it a great deal.

“Let us return to the matter at hand,” said Mag. “We are here for the weremage. We need a place to start looking.”

“A difficult proposition,” I said. “She could be anyone. We could encounter her at any time. In truth, she could have been one of those guards at the gate, and we would never have known.”

We had discussed this, of course, on the long road north. Dryleaf had raised the idea of telling the Mystics about the weremage—hunting down rogue wizards was their duty, after all. But Mag and I refused. The Mystics would never allow us to join them in hunting the weremage down. They never partnered with others for such a task, except in very rare cases where they had no other choice—or if they were an exceptional person, like Jordel, who had been far more trusting than most. Indeed, if we had told the Mystics of our aims, not only would they have barred us from the hunt and brought the weight of the King’s law against us if we persisted, but it is unlikely they would even have told us if they were successful. We had to do this on our own. The weremage had slain Mag’s husband, slain my friend. She would die by our hands. On that we were agreed.

Mag nodded at my words. “Our one advantage is that the weremage does not know we are coming for her. The only way she could have found out is if the satyrs sent word. No other servants of their Lord found out about our hunt and lived to tell the tale. And certainly none of them know Pantu told us we could find her here.”

“Yet we cannot hope to simply run into her on the street,” I said.

“You should seek out these Shades, I think,” said Dryleaf. “We know she meant to join some of them here. A weremage can be nearly impossible to hunt, but unless all the Shades are also wizards, they will be easier to pin down. Find them, and you will find her.”

“I think that is our best hope,” said Mag. “It will still require a good deal of work, but that can wait for the morning. It is already late, and we still need to find a bed for the night. Albern, do you know where we should seek lodgings?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I visited Opara but rarely, and that was decades ago. We shall simply have to choose an inn by the look of it.”

“I think you two will be better at that than I,” said Dryleaf, chuckling. “Though I think I will be a better judge of the food and the beds.”

It took us some time to find a place that looked suitable, and by the time we found it, darkness had begun to creep into the sky overhead. The sign hanging over the door named it the Ugly Squirrel—a joke, it seemed, for the building was beautiful, with a grid of dark beams framing tight wooden slats that had been painted a deep crimson. But then we met the place’s owner, and his face more than made up for the building’s beauty. His forehead swooped down low over his eyes, which pointed in different directions, and his jaw was misshapen so that he looked to be constantly grimacing. His name was Nuhea, if I remember correctly, and he was a delight. He chuckled as we introduced ourselves.

“The name is for me, not the inn,” he said, lisping slightly. “For even ugly squirrels make their nests in beautiful trees.”

He took our orders for food and lodgings, summoning hands to care for our horses and carry our few belongings to our rooms. But I noticed him giving me little glances from the corner of his eye—or at least, I thought he did, for it was hard, sometimes, to tell where he was looking. I was somewhat unnerved, even though I knew there was precious little chance of the man recognizing me. In hindsight, I now think that Nuhea must have seen something of my mother in my features. He must have thought I looked familiar, though he could not place why.

In any case, we paid him for his trouble and retired to our rooms, where food was soon delivered to us. We ate quickly and readied ourselves for sleep—though Mag and I still traded watches through the night, just in case. Weary as we were, we had no wish to be surprised, on the off chance that we had been spotted entering the city.

It was our weariness, however, that kept us from noticing the woman who entered the inn just behind us. Her skin was pale and her hair was fair, though she hid both under a grey cloak. She watched as we dealt with Nuhea, she took note of the rooms to which he brought us, and then she slipped out into the night.