CHAPTER TWENTY
Unsure, Unconscious, Unprepared
The road back to Dawnsheart was slow.
The mules walked at their own pace, unhurried and unconcerned, as if they knew more than we did. I didn’t bother to urge them on. No one wanted me to. The cart creaked softly over ruts and roots, wheels catching on stones with tired little jolts. The night air hung cool and still, and the moon lit the path like a watchful eye.
We didn’t talk. Not much, anyway.
The fight had emptied them. Blood crusted over cuts. Muscles burned. Armor pinched in all the wrong places. Redmond, Osman, and I had barely contributed to the battle. Redmond and Osman had stood over Jonath the whole time. I might’ve swung the sword once or twice, aimless, at what turned out to be nothing but air.
But still… we were exhausted.
We’d watched the others take every blow meant for us.
And maybe, just maybe, the toll of watching is just as bad. It sure felt that way
Beneath it all, a shared silence held us steady. Too tired for chatter, too wary for sleep.
Jonath lay nestled between packs in the cart’s bed, still and pale, breath shallow but regular. Redmond and Osman sat close beside him, wordless guardians. They hadn’t said a thing since helping to carry him from the clearing, but their eyes didn’t leave him once.
“Maybe next time, you’ll think twice before throwing someone into the dark.” Day said quietly, breaking the silence.
Redmond said nothing.
But his hand moved just enough to rest gently against Jonath’s shoulder.
Trunch rustled in his robes and passed Din a pair of battered potion bottles. Din uncorked one, sniffed it, made a face, and took a swig before handing it to Umberto, who handed it to Wikis, and on it went. The other followed. The stuff wasn’t strong but it numbed some of the pain and sealed a few of the more gruesome tears. No one complained.
Later, Yak reached into his pack and pulled out a familiar looking bottle with the unmistakable, scorched-edge labels of Smelt. He held it up, gave it a tiny shake, and popped the cork.
A ripple of silent relief moved through the group, shoulders eased, eyes closed. Umberto gave a single, solemn nod. No one said a thing.
Osman took the bottle first, eyeing it warily. “If ever there was a time for a swig of Smelt,” he said, grim and brave, “it’s probably now.”
He drank.
He paused.
Eyes widened.
He swallowed, blinking like someone seeing colors for the first time. “That’s… actually good?”
Redmond raised an eyebrow. “Impossible, It’s Smelt. You’re hallucinating. That’s trauma talking. Give it here.”
He took a swig.
Another pause. Then: “Bloody hell. Where did you get this?”
Carrie leaned forward and plucked the bottle from his hand with a grin. “This, gentlemen, is only found at the Goblin’s Grin,” she said. “One of our many in-house specialties.”
Yak folded his arms, leaned back against the side rail, and grinned like he’d just personally saved the kingdom.
The bottle made its way around and for a few quiet minutes under the watchful moon, we passed warmth from hand to hand.
The city gates loomed through the mist, pale in the moonlight. We rolled in through the northwest gate, the mules slow, heads low, hooves muffled on the packed dirt. Dawnsheart slept beneath the moon, its lanterns few and far between, its windows shuttered tight.
Din broke the silence this time.
“We take him to the Grin,” he said softly, nodding toward Jonath. “Let him rest. That’s the safest place right now.”
“No argument,” Umberto said, voice like gravel. “If anything tries to take him tonight, it’ll have to get through us first.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Day added. “Keep an eye on things. Let the rest of you breathe.”
Wikis stretched her neck, cracking something that sounded like it had been waiting hours. “I need a pillow. Or a stiff drink. Or both.”
Yak raised a hand half-heartedly. “I can supply one of those.”
At the Goblin’s Grin, we stopped.
Day, Umberto, Wikis, and Yak climbed down carefully. Jonath was lifted from the cart and carried inside, still unconscious, breath steady but thin. They didn’t say much. No goodbyes. Just nods. A quiet agreement that this was safest for him, for now.
“We’ll stay with him,” Day said.
“Get him to a bed,” Din said, touching the doorframe as if that alone might ward off another fight. “And no one answers the door unless they knock three times, then once.”
“That’s not a thing,” Carrie muttered.
“It is now,” Din replied.
I glanced up instinctively, across the way.
The old woman’s blind was drawn, thank the gods. No tut. No disapproving shake of the head. Just silence.
The door to the Grin shut with a dull thud.
We turned the cart around and returned it to the C.A.R.T. stand, the nightshift attendant blinking at us over his mug of Waker’s Brew, the scent of vinegar cutting through the crisp night air.
Then we walked.
Back through the quiet streets of Dawnsheart, toward the square. The church. The mayor’s office. The only sound was our footsteps… and the soft, uneven clink of Dan’del’ion medallions swinging from Trunch’s belt.
The streets were mostly empty. A few sweepers worked by lanternlight. A watchman nodded as we passed, his eyes lingering, confused, on our strange little group: three bloodied, battle-worn adventurers, a church scribe, and two exhausted scholars.
Tufulla stood on the steps of the church, exactly as if he’d been expecting us at that precise moment.
Above him, his familiar, Solstice, fluttered down onto a dimming lamppost, head tilted like it was already judging our story.
“Solstice informed me of your impending arrival,” Tufulla said. His voice was calm, but tired.
“Come. There’s tea. And I’d like to hear what you’ve discovered, starting with where the rest of your crew is.”
We climbed the steps.
Carrie spoke first, brushing her fringe back with the back of her hand. “They’re at the Goblin’s Grin. Watching over Jonath. He’s unconscious. Still breathing. But out cold.”
Tufulla’s brow creased. “Shall I summon a healer?”
Redmond shook his head. “Not necessary. He’s not wounded. Just… collapsed. Exhaustion, most likely.”
Tufulla looked at him for a long second, something unreadable in his eyes, then gave a slow nod.
Trunch stepped forward, unhooked the small pouch from his belt, and handed it over. The medallions clinked softly inside.
“Thirteen medallions,” he said. “One that raises more questions.” He paused. “It’s been quite a day.”
Tufulla took the bag with slow, tentative fingers. The weight of it pulled slightly at his arm. He opened the mouth of the pouch, peered inside, and raised a single eyebrow.
“So it would seem,” he said quietly.
Solstice shifted on the lamppost, feathers ruffling in the cool air.
We were ushered into the church’s side chamber, the Mayor’s office. There was tea. No one touched it.
Redmond and Osman gave the full account. Not a word spared. No dramatics, just clean, clipped retelling. What they saw, what they didn’t, what they thought they understood. Redmond’s voice was steady until he reached the part about Jonath. Then it caught.
Din, seated with one arm across his bruised ribs, spoke up. “Tell it straight.”
“I am,” Redmond said. “I am now.”
There was a beat of quiet.
Then Tufulla spoke, calm, but not soft.
“The pursuit of knowledge is a noble thing. But it must be tempered with care, with respect, with kindness. Without those, it’s not discovery. It’s vanity.”
He looked at Redmond, not condemning, just measured. Disappointed, but not unkind.
“Wisdom is not measured by what we learn,” he said, “but by how we choose to learn it.”
Redmond lowered his gaze. Gave a small nod.
And that was that.
Then Osman leaned forward, hands clasped. “We believe the stump is a portal. A kind of fixed-point teleportation gate. The runes, the activation, the disappearance—everything fits. Advanced magic, but elegant. If it’s stable… it’s fast. Instantaneous, even.”
Carrie, slouched half sideways on a bench, blew out a breath. “Honestly? If that’s true, I don’t get why these evil types always think so small. Like, that could change everything. No more weeks in carts. No more bandits. Just, ‘pop!’ Capital in seconds.”
Tufulla exhaled slowly. “Assuming it’s not just a glorified trap.” He adjusted his sleeves, gaze flicking toward the darkened windows. “Castle Ieyoch is the most likely destination. And if that’s true, it’s not for trade. It’s for troops. What you faced tonight… that may have been a test run.”
The thought settled like a stone in the middle of the room.
Trunch leaned back in his chair, lifted the ornate medallion from where it rested on the table, and let it turn slowly in the light. “This one’s different,” he said. “We took it from the big rider.”
Tufulla leaned forward. He didn’t touch it. Just looked.
“I’ve seen one like it before,” he said. “Years ago. Back in my early White Raven days. Higher rank, I think, maybe command-level. I haven’t seen another since. Nor have I seen a gemstone like that anywhere else.” He squinted.
He looked up. “There’s someone who might know. Holadamus. Dragonborn. Owns the Dragon’s Hoard. Bit of a hoarder, bit of a sage. Knows his stones.”
Trunch gave a thoughtful nod. “We’ve met. Nice fellow, very knowledgeable. I’ll ask him”
Tufulla folded his hands. “Either way, we wait for Jonath. If he made it through, and back, he’s the only one who’s seen what’s on the other side.”
“We should start searching the valley,” Redmond said. “If one stump’s a portal, there might be more. Linked, hidden. If they’re staging something…”
“We need to know where they can come from,” Din finished.
Tufulla’s eyes shifted toward me. “Klept,” he said gently. “You’ve been quiet.”
I shrugged. “I don’t have much to add.”
He waited.
I sighed. “Truth is… I don’t think there’s much I can add. Out there, I’m just one more thing for them to worry about. I can’t fight.”
I looked at the others. At their cuts, bruises, the way they carried themselves like every movement hurt.
“I nearly died holding a sword the wrong way around. I think… I think I’m done.”
Carrie opened her mouth, brow furrowed. Trunch shifted in his seat. Din looked like he was about to object.
But I held up a hand. “It’s not about loyalty. Or fear. I just… I’m not helping. Not really. If anything, I’m slowing them down. They deserve better. I’m a scribe, an archivist, not an adventurer. If things go south and I need to defend myself, what am I going to do? Pour ink on an attacker? I mean, we nearly died, and all I could do was throw onions.”
Din placed a hand on my shoulder. “Yeah, but in the end… the onions did help. A little.”
Tufulla leaned forward. “You’re questioning your role in this. You’re not sure where you fit. But believe me when I tell you, Klept, there is a part for you in this.”
“How can you be so sure?” The words came out sharper than I meant. “From where I’m standing, my part seems to be dying a painful and probably embarrassing death.”
Tufulla started to rise, but I waved him off and stood.
Carrie straightened. “Maybe you need time to think about it?”
“Maybe,” I said, reaching for the handle. “Maybe I’m just in the way.”
“Klept, don’t … ” Trunch called as the door shut behind me.
The last voice I heard from the room was Tufulla’s.
“Let him leave. He just needs time. He’ll understand his place. Now… about these stumps.”
The walk to the dorms was longer than I remembered.
Every step echoed louder in the empty alleys and streets. My legs felt like stone, each joint reminding me that I wasn’t built for battle, not physically, not mentally, not in spirit. I didn’t limp, exactly. But my gait had a dragging weight and the cobbles seemed to clutch my boots with every step.
I opened the door to my room and stared at the same sad, lumpy mattress I’d complained about a dozen times. Tonight, it looked like home.
I didn’t undress. I didn’t light a candle. I just sat on the edge, elbows on knees, surrounded by shelves of half-sorted parchment and musty old scrolls that smelled like mildew and knowledge.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Ink and dust. Paper and silence. No blades. No blood. Just… stillness.
I didn’t cry. I didn’t sleep, either. I just sat there, staring at the floor.
As Din tells it, the meeting with the investigators and Tufulla only lasted a short while longer. Plans were drafted to organize search parties, small groups to sweep the valley for other stumps or signs of Dan’del’ion infiltration. A detailed description of the stump was agreed upon, and Osman provided an illustration. According to Trunch, it was “a remarkably accurate sketch.” According to Carrie, “it was suspiciously good for someone who claimed they weren’t an artist.” According to Din, “it was fine, but lacked Yak’s artistic flair.”
Once that was done, Trunch, Din, and Carrie left the church and returned to the Goblin’s Grin. Redmond, Osman, and Tufulla remained behind to discuss the Dan’del’ion revival and other grim White Raven business.
Carrie insists that, upon arriving at the Grin, the others were already partying.
“They were several drinks in,” she said flatly. “Jonath was sprawled across the bar, still unconscious. Wikis was dancing on a table.”
“I was keeping watch.” Wikis scowled from across the table.
“We’d placed him gently,” Yak said. “We thought it would be safer to have him in the open, where we could see him, rather than in one of the rooms upstairs.”
“You were doing body shots out of Jonath’s navel!” Carrie shrieked.
“We’d run out of clean glasses,” Day replied, sheepish. “In hindsight, it probably wasn’t the most respectful thing to do.”
“We took care of him,” Umberto added, leaning back in his chair. “He was never in danger. We laid him down. Made sure he was comfortable.”
“We put rags under his head,” Wikis offered helpfully.
“I’m sorry,” I interrupted. “Did you say you were doing body shots off an unconscious individual?”
“We had a couple of celebratory drinks,” Umberto corrected, “to mark the fact that we didn’t fucking die thanks to the boneheaded decisions of a couple of stuck-up academic arsewipes.”
“Yes, I understand that, but did you actually drink from…”
“What matters,” Din said firmly, cutting across the conversation with the tone of a man insisting this was never spoken of again, “is that when we got back to the Grin, Jonath was still unconscious, and the others were watching over him. We all managed to get a decent amount of rest before the chaos of the morning.”
The group recalled how Tufulla, Redmond, and Osman arrived at the Grin the next morning, looking like none of them had slept. Their clothes were still in order, but their faces told a different story, drawn, pale, eyes rimmed in red and shadow. Apparently, they’d been up the entire night combing through records, old reports, forgotten maps. Making plans. Drawing up contingencies. Looking for anything that might help, some hidden clue, some precedent, some dusty detail buried in the archives that might shine a light on what the Dan’del’ion Court was planning. There were no smiles. Just quiet nods. The kind that passes between people who all know that what’s ahead is going to be worse than what came before.
Jonath was still unconscious.
But not for long. And that, by all accounts, was when someone kicked the chamberpot square at the wall.
“Jonath started to stir not long after they arrived,” Trunch said, licking sauce off his fingers and reaching for another snack. “Panicked at first. Didn’t know where he was. Didn’t recognize anyone.”
“He seemed to come around after seeing Tufulla,” Carrie added, swirling her drink. “Settled a bit. Focused up once Tufulla asked how he was feeling.”
They all nodded. Slowly. But no one elaborated.
I waited.
“And then?” I asked.
A pause.
“Then,” Day said, “we asked him what happened. What he saw on the other side.”
“He looked confused,” Yak said. “Like… not dazed confused. Like he was playing catch-up. Trying to piece something together.”
“So we reminded him,” Wikis said. “The stump. The circle. The glowing medallion. The part where he vanished.”
“Didn’t say much at first,” Umberto muttered. “Then he started giving details. More than we expected.”
“He said it was dark,” Trunch continued. “Somewhere open, but walled in. Castle grounds, maybe. A structure in the distance. Big. Barely lit. There were guards, he said. Armed. A lot of them.”
“A garden,” Wikis offered. “Maybe a courtyard. Stone statues. Lanterns without light.”
“He said twelve,” Carrie nodded. “Lanterns. Scattered. White stone where there should be light”
Jonath’s answers had been steady, they said. But his eyes kept drifting. Back to Tufulla.
“Every time Tufulla spoke,” Yak said, “Jonath would just… look at him. Hard. Like he wasn’t sure he was real.”
“Or like he was real, but shouldn’t be,” Carrie added, slowly.
I felt a prickle behind my ribs. “Did anyone ask why?”
“He dodged it,” Day said. “Every time we tried to pin down what he saw or who, he changed tack. He said he was trying not to get caught. That some of the people, soldiers, whatever, weren’t alive. Or at least, not entirely.”
“Undead,” Umberto said, tone flat. “That was the word he finally landed on.”
I scribbled notes. “What about time? Did he mention a difference? Felt longer? Shorter?”
“He asked us how long he’d been gone,” Trunch said. “We told him five minutes. Maybe a few more. He said that felt about right.“
Carrie sipped her drink. “We asked what he heard while he was there. Said he caught mention of something happening three nights from then. Didn’t know what. But everyone there was getting ready.”
“And coming back?” I asked. “How did he return?”
“He said he got spotted,” Wikis said. “Someone saw him sneaking. So he ran. Hit the circle again as moonlight came through. Same way he went in.”
“And then he came back through the stump?” I asked.
“Yelling, and running” said Umberto. “Caught up with us moments later. You were there for what happened next.”
“I Remember. And then?” I asked again. The room had gone quieter than before. More still.
Day leaned forward. “Then… we started asking follow-ups. Normal stuff at first. Then somehow the questions started to shift, from what he saw, to who he was.”
“Not aggressively.” Trunch added, “Just… out of curiosity. Clarifying details. Redmond had said all White Ravens were orphans, with no family, no ties.“
“I asked if that was true for him too” Carrie added, “He nodded. No hesitation.”
“I think I was the one who asked if he remembered who trained him.” Din said through an ale soaked beard. “He gave a name. Osman seemed to recognize it.”
Everything checked out.
It all checked out. Too smoothly, maybe.
“So Trunch asked where he was from,” Wikis told me, rubbing her temple like the memory still stung.
I blinked. “What’d he say?”
“Hearthsholme,” Din said flatly.
I frowned. “I’ve never heard of Hearthsholme.”
“Neither had Tufulla,” Day replied.
They said Tufulla’s brow furrowed, not with doubt, but certainty.
“Tufulla said Hearthsholme doesn’t exist,” Carrie said.
And then, and this is where every person at the table told it the same way, Jonath smiled.
Not nervously.
Not sheepishly.
Just… slow. Deliberate. A little too wide.
That’s when his face changed.
“It was a bit like when Yak does his thing” Carrie added “but with more …”
“Menace?” Trunch asked.
“ Yeah” Umberto growled. “ More menace. Like a lie untied at the corners and peeled away. He wasn’t Jonath.”
And then he clapped.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
A slow, mocking applause that echoed off the tavern walls like a spark waiting for oil.
And he lunged. Straight for Tufulla.
The Chronicles of Klept 