Arrowdale

Zook liked towns best from the outside. From a distance, people told the truth. Smoke meant cooking, work, or fire. A field cut halfway through meant weather, injury, argument, or fear. A road with deep wagon tracks meant trade. A road with none meant trouble. Arrowdale had plenty of tracks. That was the problem. Zook stood near the top of the rise while the others came up behind him.

The village sat below in a shallow fold between fields, no wall around it, no watchtower, no real defense except distance and the expectation that nobody important would ever bother coming there. Windmarch had walls because people expected enemies. Arrowdale had fences. Fences were for keeping goats honest. They did very little for everything else. Zook crouched. The road into town was dry where the sun reached it, softer along the ditch where water collected. Human boots. Wagon wheels. Cattle.

A horse with a chipped shoe. Two dogs, maybe three. Something had dragged a bundle or a body through the mud several days ago, but the marks were too damaged to tell which. Then there were the tracks farther off. He moved toward them. Deacon said, “See something?”

“Maybe.”

“That’s your favorite answer.”

“No. My favorite answer is yes.”

Jandar stopped beside him.

“And your second favorite?”

“Maybe.”

Zook grinned. He found the first clear print where the grass thinned near a drainage cut. Large. Barely human-shaped. Clawed. Heavy enough to press deep into the soil. He studied the edges—not fresh. Three days. Maybe four. Another lay several feet away. Then another. Jandar leaned over him.

“That looks cheerful.”

“Don’t step there.”

Jandar froze. Zook pointed at the space beside his boot. Jandar shifted his foot carefully.

“Why?”

“Track.”

“That?”

“Yes.”

“I thought that was mud.”

“It is mud.”

Jandar stared at him. Zook looked up.

“What?”

Deacon snorted. Vegon and Xil had joined them. Vegon crouched a little farther back, clearly avoiding the dirt where possible.

“What made it?” Vegon asked.

Zook traced one edge with a finger.

“Could be gnoll.”

Deacon’s expression changed. Again. Only for a moment. But Zook saw it. He had seen the same look on the road when the bandit mentioned them. Harder around the mouth. Shoulders slightly tighter. The kind of stillness that did not mean calm. Zook looked back at the track.

“Old enough that I wouldn’t swear to it.”

“How many?” Deacon asked.

“More than one.”

“How many?”

Zook followed the line. The tracks scattered over harder ground and vanished near the road.

“Three, maybe four. Could be more using the same path.”

Jandar looked toward the village.

“Going in or out?”

Zook rose.

“Both.”

That silenced them. For a little while. Then Jandar said, “Excellent.” Vegon gave him a look.

“What?” Jandar asked.

“You say that whenever something is clearly not excellent,” Vegon said.

“It’s important to maintain standards.”

Zook started down the hill. The village noticed them before they reached the first house—not loudly. Nobody ran for help. No bells sounded. But doors opened. Windows shifted. A man splitting wood stopped halfway through a swing and simply watched. A woman pulled a child closer to her skirts. The Silver Crown marks were hidden beneath sleeves, but their weapons were not. Five armed strangers arriving together had a way of becoming the most interesting thing in a quiet place.

Zook had learned that years ago. He had also learned that walking straight toward frightened people usually made them more frightened. So he stopped near a fence. Jandar noticed and stopped beside him. Deacon halted too. Vegon nearly walked into Deacon. Xil stopped before anyone else. That was becoming common. Jandar looked at Zook.

“Your town,” Jandar said.

“It’s not my town.”

“You’re the least threatening.”

Zook looked at him.

“You’re asking me?”

“No. I’m making a professional assessment.”

Deacon said, “He’s right.”

“That hurts more than the mark.”

Zook shook his head and climbed over the low fence rather than opening the gate. A goat watched him. He nodded to it. The goat ignored him. Fair. The man with the axe had set it down by the time Zook approached.

“Afternoon,” Zook said.

The man looked at the others. Then back at Zook.

“You with the Crown?”

Zook rolled his sleeve enough to show the mark. The man’s eyes dropped to it. Something in his shoulders loosened.

“Aye.”

“We’re looking for the patrol that came through a few weeks ago.”

The relief disappeared. The man glanced at the house behind him.

“Thought that’s why.”

“You saw them?”

“Everyone did.”

Zook waited. People usually filled silence if you gave them enough room. The man looked toward the northern hills.

“Five of them.”

Zook knew that already. He did not say so.

“They stayed two nights,” the man continued. “Asked questions. Went around the farms. Looked at the places people disappeared.”

“Then?”

“Went north.”

“Did they come back?”

The man shook his head.

“No.”

“Anyone go looking?”

The man’s jaw tightened.

“We’re farmers.”

That was answer enough. Zook nodded. Behind him, Jandar said nothing. Good.

“Who disappeared?” Zook asked.

The man hesitated.

“Best speak to Mara.”

“Who is Mara?”

“Runs the inn.”

Jandar’s voice came from behind them.

“Finally, some good news.”

Zook looked back. Jandar raised both hands.

“I said nothing,” Jandar said.

The farmer stared at him. Zook said, “He’s with us.”

“I’m beginning to regret that.”

“Already?”

“It was a fast beginning.”

The farmer almost smiled. Almost. That was enough. He pointed toward the middle of the village.

“Green roof.”

“Thank you.”

As they walked away, Zook noticed the woodpile. Half-finished—not unusual by itself. The axe had been sharpened recently. The man had also placed a pitchfork beside the door—not for hay. The tines had been cleaned and the handle wrapped near the grip. Zook glanced at Deacon. Deacon had noticed too. Of course he had. Arrowdale was frightened. Not the kind of frightened that followed a single bad night. The kind that changed how people kept tools near doors.

The inn was larger than the other buildings only because it had two floors. A painted wooden sign creaked above the entrance. An arrow. A hill. Someone had tried to paint a sunrise behind both and given up halfway through. Jandar looked at it.

“I admire commitment to subtle symbolism.”

“Arrowdale,” Vegon supplied.

“Yes, I had solved it.”

Inside, the room smelled of onions, smoke, old beer and wet wool. There were only six people at the tables. All of them looked up. The woman behind the counter looked at the five travelers, then at their weapons, then at Zook.

“Order?” the woman behind the counter asked.

Zook showed the mark. She exhaled.

“Mara?” Zook asked.

“Who wants to know?” she replied.

“Zook,” he said.

She waited. He pointed back at the others.

“Deacon. Jandar. Vegon. Xil.”

Jandar lifted two fingers in greeting. Xil inclined his head. Vegon looked mildly offended at being introduced in a list. Deacon did not care.

“We’re looking for the five Silver Crown members who came through.”

Mara’s eyes moved to the empty tables.

“They’re not here,” Mara said.

“We know,” Zook replied.

“No.” She looked at Zook. “I don’t think you do.”

He waited. Mara came around the counter. She was perhaps fifty, broad-shouldered, gray beginning at the temples. The sort of woman who had spent years lifting barrels herself because waiting for someone else was less efficient.

“They came asking about the missing people,” she said. “Stayed here. Ate here. Slept upstairs. Left together.”

“How long ago?”

“Three and a half weeks.”

“Where?”

“North.”

“Why?”

“Tracks.”

Zook straightened.

“What kind?”

“Ask your ranger,” Mara said.

Jandar said, “We did.” Mara looked at him. Jandar smiled.

“He’s very private,” Jandar said.

Zook ignored him.

“Who disappeared first?”

Mara’s expression changed. A little.

“Old Rellin.”

“Farmer?”

“Shepherd.”

“When?”

“Near the end of harvest.”

“Where was he last seen?”

“East pasture.”

“Anything strange?”

“His dog came back.”

Zook looked at her.

“Alone?”

“Covered in blood.”

The room had gone quiet around them. One of the men at a table looked down into his cup. Mara continued.

“Not Rellin’s blood, far as anyone could tell. Dog wasn’t hurt.”

“Then who?”

“We don’t know.”

Vegon asked, “Were there signs of magical disturbance?” Mara looked at him as though he had asked whether the sheep had begun writing poetry.

“Magic?” Mara repeated.

“Light. Sound. Unusual heat. Cold. Smells. Anything unnatural,” Vegon said.

“People vanished,” Mara replied.

“Yes.”

“That was unnatural enough,” Mara said.

Vegon accepted that.

“Who disappeared next?” Xil asked.

His voice drew a few looks. One man at the table shifted in his chair. Mara noticed.

“So did she,” Xil said quietly.

The man looked away. Mara’s expression hardened.

“If you’ve got a problem with him, take it outside,” Mara said.

Nobody moved. Xil looked at her. For the first time since they entered, something almost warm crossed his face.

“Thank you,” Xil said.

“Don’t thank me. I just had the floor scrubbed,” Mara replied.

Jandar smiled broadly.

“I like this place,” Jandar said.

Mara ignored him.

“Two travelers next. Man and woman. Headed south. Didn’t know them.”

“Together?”

“Aye.”

“Found their wagon?”

“No wagon.”

“Horses?”

“One horse. Found two days later.”

“Blood?”

“No.”

Zook frowned.

“Gear?”

“Still on it.”

That mattered. Bandits took gear. Predators left something. People disappeared without equipment being disturbed? He did not like that.

“Then Halver,” Mara said. “Farmer west of town. Then the boy.”

Zook’s eyes lifted.

“How old?”

“Nine.”

No one spoke.

“Name?”

“Tom.”

“Where?”

Mara pointed toward the far side of the village.

“His mother’s place.”

Zook nodded. Jandar had stopped smiling. Deacon was staring at the floor. Vegon looked toward the window. Xil asked, “Was the body found?”

“No,” Mara said.

“Any of them?” Xil asked.

“No,” Mara repeated.

“Then why did the disappearances stop?” Xil asked.

Mara looked at him.

“They stopped when the Crown came.”

That shifted the room. Zook felt it immediately.

“So after the patrol arrived,” he said, “no one else disappeared?”

“Not one.”

“Before or after they went north?”

“After they arrived.”

“How long did they stay?”

“Two days.”

“And nobody vanished either day?”

“No.”

“Then they left.”

“Yes.”

“And still nothing.”

Mara folded her arms.

“Three weeks.”

Zook looked toward the north-facing window. That bothered him more than the disappearances. Something had changed when the patrol came. Either the people responsible had stopped because five armed members of the Order were asking questions— or they had changed targets. Jandar said it first.

“Could have followed them.”

Mara looked at him. Zook did too. Jandar’s expression had gone serious.

“No reason to keep taking farmers if something more interesting walks into the hills.”

Deacon said, “We don’t know that.”

“No.”

“But it’s possible.”

“Yes.”

Vegon leaned one hand against the nearest chair.

“If the disappearances stopped because the patrol arrived, then whatever was happening here was aware enough to react to them,” Vegon said.

Mara looked between them.

“That’s supposed to make me feel better?” Mara asked.

“No,” Vegon said.

“He’s not very good at that,” Jandar added.

“I wasn’t attempting to,” Vegon said.

“We know,” Jandar replied.

Zook looked back to Mara.

“Did the patrol tell you what tracks they found?”

“One of them said animals.”

“What kind?”

“Didn’t say.”

“Where?”

“North field first. Then the old path toward the hills.”

“Can you show me?”

Mara studied him. Then nodded.

“After you eat.”

Jandar said, “I knew she was wise.”

“No,” Mara said.

“No?” Jandar asked.

“You five look like you’ve been walking all day,” Mara said.

“We have,” Jandar replied.

“You’ll eat,” Mara said.

Jandar looked at Zook. Zook shrugged.

“She seems serious.”

Deacon had already pulled out a chair.

“Traitor,” Jandar said.

“I’ve been called worse.”

The meal was simple. Stew. Bread. Cheese. Jandar ate as if the Order had been deliberately starving him. Vegon examined the stew before trying it. Xil ate without complaint. Deacon ate quickly. Zook ate while watching the room. People began talking again once the five were seated—not normally. Quietly. Every few minutes someone looked at them. The Silver Crown had already sent five people and lost them. Now the village had been given five more. Zook wondered whether that reassured anyone.

Mills had not yet entered their lives. No songs. No stories. No reputation. They were simply the next group. That was useful. People told the truth more often to people they did not expect to become legends. When the meal ended, Mara led them through the village. The boy’s house was on the way. A woman stood in the garden hanging clothes. She looked at their marks. Then at Mara.

“No,” the woman said.

Mara stopped.

“They need—” Mara began.

“No,” the woman repeated.

Zook remained where he was. The others did too. The woman pointed toward the road.

“I told the others. Told them everything. They went off and never came back. I’m not doing it again.”

Mara softened.

“Lena,” Mara said softly.

“No,” Lena said.

Zook said, “We don’t need you to.” She looked at him. He gestured toward the house.

“Just tell me where Tom was last seen.”

Her mouth tightened.

“The creek.”

“Alone?”

“With his sister.”

“Where is she?”

The woman’s face changed.

“In the house.”

“Did she see anything?”

“She saw him go into the trees.”

“Why?”

“Thought she heard someone call.”

Zook felt cold along his arms.

“Who?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“Did Tom?”

“She said he thought it was their father.”

Silence. Jandar looked at Deacon. Vegon frowned. Xil’s expression became very still. Zook said, “Where is his father?” The woman’s eyes went wet.

“Dead three years.”

No one had a clever answer to that. Zook nodded.

“I’m sorry.”

“So were the others.”

He let that pass.

“Show me the creek.”

She hesitated. Then pointed.

“Behind the house. Follow the fence.”

Zook went alone at first. He preferred that. The others followed but gave him room. At the creek, mud held more history than the road. Children’s tracks. Small. One pair stayed near the bank. The other crossed. Zook followed.

“Here.”

Deacon stopped behind him.

“What?”

Zook pointed. The boy’s tracks. A little deeper than they should have been on the far side, as if he had hurried. Then another track beside them. Damaged. Old. Large. Clawed. Jandar crouched.

“Gnoll?”

“Maybe.”

Deacon said nothing. Zook followed the boy’s prints into the trees. They lasted twenty yards. Then stopped—not faded. Stopped. Zook circled. No blood. No drag marks. No second set of small prints. Nothing showing the boy leaving. He crouched lower. Broken branch. A scrape on bark. Something heavy had moved here. But the ground beyond had been deliberately disturbed. Leaves kicked. Soil dragged. Tracks hidden.

“Someone covered them,” Zook said.

Vegon stepped closer.

“Can you still follow?”

Zook looked up.

“Some.”

That was enough. The trail angled north—not toward the village. Toward the hills. Deacon stared that way.

“Same direction as the patrol.”

“Yes.”

Jandar stood.

“So whatever took the boy may have taken them.”

“Could have,” Zook said.

“You really love that answer.”

“It keeps people alive.”

Jandar considered.

“Fair.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon collecting what they could. Three disappearance sites. All showed some variation of the same thing. Interrupted ordinary life. Tracks. Movement north. Signs deliberately confused or hidden. At Rellin’s pasture, Zook found dog prints returning south at speed. He also found blood—not human—not dog. Dark stains on a rock. Old enough to be useless. At Halver’s farm, one boot lay near a broken fence. No body. No sign Halver had voluntarily gone anywhere.

At the road where the travelers disappeared, there were almost no tracks left, but Zook found where something heavy had left the road and entered brush. Again north. By evening he had enough—not answers. Direction. They returned to Mara’s inn. A few more villagers had gathered. Nobody asked whether they had solved it. Good. Zook respected realistic expectations. Mara poured drinks. Jandar paid for his before realizing the Order might have covered it. This caused him visible pain.

“You could ask for reimbursement,” Vegon said.

“I would rather die,” Jandar said.

“That seems excessive,” Vegon replied.

“You don’t know clerks.”

Vegon looked toward the Silver Crown papers.

“I’ve met several.”

“Then you understand.”

Deacon spread the map over a table. Zook marked the sites. Three lines north. One old trail into the hills. Mara pointed.

“Patrol went that way.”

“How far?” Deacon asked.

“Don’t know.”

“Anyone live up there?”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?”

Mara shrugged.

“Bad land. Thin soil. Wolves. Caves.”

“Caves?” Zook asked.

She nodded.

“Plenty.”

Jandar leaned over the map.

“I knew there would be caves.”

“No, you didn’t,” Deacon said.

“There are always caves.”

“That isn’t knowledge.”

“It’s experience.”

Xil had been standing near the fire. He turned toward Mara.

“Did the patrol leave anything behind?”

Mara frowned.

“Their rooms?”

“Personal items.”

“Not much.”

“Anything they expected to collect when they returned?”

That was a good question. Mara thought.

“One left a cloak. Too warm that morning. Said she’d get it when they came back.”

Nobody spoke.

“Still upstairs?” Xil asked.

Mara nodded. Zook looked at the others. That was more useful than a farewell note. They had expected to return.

“Can we see their rooms?” Vegon asked.

Mara hesitated. Then waved them upstairs. The rooms were small. Two people in one. Three in the other. The patrol had not left much. Bedrolls. An empty bottle. Wax from a candle. A broken bootlace. The cloak. Deacon picked it up and checked the inside.

“Name?”

Mara pointed at a stitched mark.

“Sel.”

The Silver Crown symbol had been sewn near it. Zook touched the edge. Nothing magical. Just cloth. Still, it made the missing team more real. Five people had slept here. Argued here. Probably complained about the food while Jandar’s spiritual ancestor took notes. They had expected to come back. Jandar stood at the window.

“How long before we leave?”

Deacon answered, “Morning.” Zook looked at him.

“Could go now.”

“No.”

“Light for another hour.”

“And then we’re in unfamiliar hills after dark.”

Zook nodded.

“Morning.”

Jandar looked disappointed.

“You’re both being very sensible.”

“Try it,” Deacon said.

“I worry it might change me.”

Vegon was examining the wall. Xil said, “What?” Vegon touched a faint blackened mark near the window frame.

“Nothing,” Vegon said.

Jandar turned.

“You don’t get to say that after staring at a wall like it’s confessed murder,” Jandar said.

Vegon rubbed the mark between two fingers.

“Smoke,” Vegon said.

Mara said, “Candle probably.”

“No,” Vegon said.

Vegon smelled his fingertips. His face tightened.

“Magic,” Vegon said.

That changed everything. Zook came closer.

“What kind?” Zook asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Helpful,” Jandar said.

Vegon ignored Jandar.

“The residue is weak.”

Xil stepped beside him. He touched the mark. His expression changed too.

“Wrong,” Xil said.

Vegon looked at him.

“Yes,” Vegon replied.

Zook had heard both of them use that word before. The road. The bandit fight. Magic in Istram was always wrong to some degree. If two spellcasters were calling something specifically wrong— he paid attention. Mara said, “What does that mean?” Vegon looked at the wall.

“I don’t know,” Vegon said.

Jandar sighed.

“Everyone’s favorite answer,” Jandar said.

Zook smiled despite himself. Vegon did not.

“Someone used magic here,” Vegon said.

“One of the patrol?” Deacon asked.

“Possibly,” Vegon replied.

“Recently?” Deacon asked.

“Within a few weeks,” Vegon said.

Xil looked around the room.

“No damage,” Xil said.

“No,” Vegon replied.

“No signs of struggle,” Xil added.

“No,” Vegon said.

Jandar leaned against the window frame.

“So either one of them cast something before leaving…”

“Or something came here afterward,” Deacon said.

Mara went pale. Zook looked at the floor. No tracks survived upstairs. Nothing he could use. He hated houses. Too clean. Too many people. Too much wood. Ground was honest. Floors lied almost as much as roads. They returned downstairs. The villagers drifted home after dark. Mara gave the five two rooms. Jandar immediately began negotiating for a third. He lost. Zook shared with Deacon. That suited him. Deacon did not talk much. Zook liked people who knew how.

Before sleeping, he laid his gear near the bed and checked the window. Deacon watched him.

“You always do that?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“So I know whether anyone opened it.”

Deacon looked at the simple latch.

“How?”

Zook pulled a short thread from his pack and trapped it between the frame and sill.

“If it’s broken in the morning, somebody did.”

Deacon nodded.

“Good.”

Zook stared.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You said good.”

“I did.”

“Thought you didn’t approve of things.”

Deacon lay back.

“Go to sleep.”

Zook grinned. The room went dark. For a while, Arrowdale was silent. Then came a dog barking. Far away. Once. Twice. Then nothing. Zook opened his eyes. Deacon was already sitting up. They listened. No alarm. No shout. No running feet. After a moment Deacon lay back down. Zook did not. He stared at the ceiling. People had vanished from this village. Then the Silver Crown patrol came. The disappearances stopped. Then the patrol vanished instead. That pattern bothered him.

Predators did not stop eating because hunters arrived. They either fled— or learned to hunt hunters. Near dawn, Zook slept—not for long. He woke before Deacon and went downstairs. Mara was already awake, stirring something over the fire. She looked at him.

“You always this early?”

“Usually.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes.”

She poured him something black enough to dissolve a spoon. Zook drank it. His eyes watered.

“Good?”

“No.”

“That’s two coppers.”

He laughed. Outside, mist covered the fields. Perfect tracking weather. By the time the others came down, Zook had already checked the road north. The tracks were still there. More visible now. Jandar appeared in the doorway.

“You’ve been outside.”

“Yes.”

“Before breakfast.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand you.”

“Good.”

Deacon came out behind him.

“Anything?” Deacon asked.

Zook nodded.

“Patrol tracks are too old to follow cleanly, but Mara was right. They used the northern path.”

“Other tracks?” Deacon asked.

“Yes,” Zook said.

“Gnolls?” Deacon asked.

“Some,” Zook replied.

Deacon’s face hardened.

“And something else,” Zook added.

Vegon joined them.

“What?” Vegon asked.

Zook looked toward the hills.

“Don’t know,” Zook said.

Jandar sighed.

“There it is,” Jandar said.

Zook ignored him.

“Big. Heavy. Doesn’t move like a person,” Zook explained.

Xil stepped into the morning light.

“How old?” Xil asked.

“Same general time,” Zook said.

“Following them?” Deacon asked.

“Maybe,” Zook replied.

Jandar pointed.

“That’s worse than not knowing,” Jandar said.

“It’s accurate,” Zook replied.

They ate. Packed. Mara gave them extra bread without charging Jandar, which somehow made him more suspicious than if she had demanded twice the normal price. At the door she stopped them.

“Bring them back,” Mara said.

Nobody needed to ask who. The missing five. Jandar’s expression softened.

“We’ll find them,” Jandar said.

Deacon looked at him. Jandar noticed.

“What?” Jandar asked.

“Nothing,” Deacon said.

It was a promise they did not know they could keep. But Zook understood why he had made it. Outside, the village had begun waking. A farmer led a mule toward the fields. Someone opened the smithy. The woman whose son was missing stood in her doorway. She did not approach. Zook saw her anyway. He lifted one hand. She did not wave back. That was fair too. At the northern edge of Arrowdale, the road became a trail.

Then the trail became two lines through wet grass. Zook moved ahead. The others followed. This time no one asked who should go first. The ground rose slowly. Trees thickened. Behind them, Arrowdale disappeared. Zook found the first gnoll print less than half a mile from town. The second was larger. The third was overlaid by a boot. Silver Crown. He crouched beside it. Deacon came up behind him.

“One of ours?”

“Size is right.”

“Direction?”

“North.”

Jandar arrived.

“Still?”

Zook nodded. Vegon looked toward the darkening trees.

“So the patrol and the gnolls used the same path.”

“Yes.”

Xil said, “Which came first?” Zook studied the layers. He brushed a little soil away. The boot edge cut through the gnoll track.

“Patrol.”

Deacon frowned.

“They were following them.”

“Looks like.”

Zook stood. Jandar drew his rapier.

“Then at least we know they found something.”

Deacon rested a hand on his crossbow.

“Question is whether it found them too.”

The trail climbed into the hills. Zook led them after it. By noon he found blood. By early afternoon, he found the mouth of the cave. High in the stone. Half-hidden by scrub. Dark beyond. He stood below it and looked up. Jandar stopped beside him.

“Please tell me that’s not where we’re going.”

Zook smiled.

“It is.”

“I knew there would be caves.”

Deacon walked past them.

“No, you didn’t.”

“I absolutely did.”

Zook looked at the darkness above. The ground near the entrance was torn by old tracks. Human. Gnoll. Something else. Too many to separate cleanly. He had found what the patrol had followed. Now they only had to find out whether the patrol had survived finding it. Zook started climbing. Behind him, Jandar said, “I hate being right.” Nobody believed him.