One: Sulls

I am Wren.

Witch.

Elf.

Bonded to Schula.

Daughter of Bryn.

And I was hot.

The sun had been down for maybe an hour, but it wasn't enough time to cool off the desert yet. Despite the winter we left behind in the mountains, the desert was always hot no matter what time of year it was. The Sulls air was boiling, and it didn't help that I had to remain in my cloak. Unlike Nassir and Schula, who could glamour and pass as human, elves had no such abilities and I had to hide my ears and any unusual features that might give away my secret.

The humans, I was reminded on our trip here, didn't take too well to the things of the Wyldes. I nearly gave a traveling merchant a heart attack, just by showing my face on the road. I've been in the cloak ever since.

Puko seemed somewhat familiar with the trip we made so far, but despite our prodding he wouldn't lead us anywhere. I thought maybe he would know where the witches went, but if he did he wasn't saying. Every time I asked, he looked at me with that white eye and gurgled out a strange croak. It sent shivers down my spine, and eventually I stopped asking.

We had been in Sulls for a couple weeks now. The brown clay dome-shaped buildings that Sulls was known for did a decent job at keeping cool in the sun, and they held up to the occasional sandstorm that swept through.

We weren't staying in the best part of the city, but we weren't particularly worried about danger from any humans. The few valuables we had we kept on us when we left, but the location was good for our pockets and good for picking up information. Particularly since I was the only one with human currency. Very few places, no places of good reputation certainly, were willing to exchange the gold from the Wyldes that Eberon had sent with us.

But tonight was different. Tonight we were hopeful on a lead for information.

I pulled my cloak down a little more as we all entered a public eating house, except for Puko who usually stayed in the room or took to the skies. Schula and Nassir went in first. Schula's pale skin wasn't white in her glamour, but it still stood out enough to earn a few glances. Nassir fit right in, even before glamouring he was all the same brownish tones as someone from the mountains I grew up in. After glamouring, I would hardly recognize him among any other human in Sulls. He had even worked enough with his strengthened magic to be able to walk without help, but he still held Schula's arm when the humans were around to avoid suspicion.

We sat at a table against the wall and I spread the cloak off my body as much as I could while still keeping the hood over my face. Even in here, it was hot.

"What can I bring you, travelers?" A pock-faced girl asked with a cheery smile as she came up to the table.

"Three ciders and three specials," Nassir said with a grin.

I had coached him and Schula before bringing them into any of the public spaces of Sulls. They knew enough to order the most inconspicuous meals and act the part of passing through the city with no trouble. We let Nassir do the talking, because frankly he fit in the best, even with his blind eyes.

When the girl turned away with a nod, Schula and I looked to Nassir.

"This is the place?" Schula asked. "I don't see a stage."

I shook my head. "The storytellers here don't sit in one place. They make a show of it, walk around. If this eating house has a storyteller we won't see them until they begin."

"It is this one," Nassir said. "The woman I talked to said this house had the most fantastical tales to tell. It is at least better than the others we have tried so far."

Schula and Nassir had been sitting in places they might be able to catch whispers of clues about the witches, elves, or maybe someone who would know of them. Taverns, street corners, gambling houses. I did the footwork on what they found, being more familiar with Sulls and not really able to sit alone in a public house without raising suspicion. So far we had come up with nothing, until Nassir was told by another storyteller that this was the house for the kinds of stories he was seeking.

It was the closest thing to a good tip we had gotten in the two weeks we had been here, and we decided to go out together, try to have a good night, and hopefully get a lead before my pockets ran out.

"Here we go! Cookpots and cider." The serving girl had come back with three mugs in one hand and a single-serving pot of food in the other. A boy of about ten followed behind her with the other two meals.

I grinned, ready to inhale the treat while Schula looked at it skeptically and Nassir raised his eyebrows while smelling the food in front of him, trying to figure out what it was.

"It looks wonderful." I grinned.

"Enjoy," the server said.

As the girl left, Schula turned to me and whispered. "I can see it's a cooking pot, but what is in it?"

I gave a small laugh, took the lid off my pot, and dug my spoon to the bottom, pulling up a bit of rice and curry mixture. "Cookpot is what it's called. Its a dish you'll only find in Sulls, as far as I know. Its this spiced rice here, layered on the bottom of the pot, and then a thick meat and vegetable stew-like thing is ladled on top. Usually goat but it can be any meat. The lid is put on until the hot stew finishes cooking the rice. I'm surprised you haven't run into one already."

Schula shrugged. She had eaten more of our rations from the Wyldes than food from the city since we had settled in. Nassir had been more adventurous though, and he removed his own lid to get a better smell.

To demonstrate, I scooped a piece of lamb on top of my curry-rice and popped it in my mouth. It was delicious, but it reminded me of the same kind of cookpot I had with Bryn when we were last here a couple years ago. I sighed wistfully at it before shaking my head and digging into the rest of my dinner.

Schula was still apprehensive, but she took off the lid and scooped her spoon into the food. I looked up to give her an encouraging smile, but when she took a bite her entire demeanor changed. She dropped the spoon back into the pot, and grabbed for a mug, sloshing a bit of her cider out in her mad rush to get it to her mouth.

My heart dropped as I realized she couldn't take the spice. "Are you okay?"

She took a minute to drink a good third of her cider before putting it back down and answering me. "Its... hot. It's not the temperature, that I can cool off. The food is hot. It tastes like the Summer lands!"

"Ah, yeah. That's the thing about Sulls, it's a trading capital and they have access to a lot of different spices," I said apologetically.

"Ugh, so do the Wyldes but at least we use moderation with the hot ones," Schula took another long drink of her cider.

"Well I like it," Nassir grinned and pulled Schula's bowl to him after I noted that his was already gone.

"Well at least one of you does," I sighed. "I'm going to go order you something else real quick."

Schula nodded from over her mug and I walked to the bar where our server was putting together a tray of food. She looked up, a tad nervous but I gave her a warm smile from under my hood and she relaxed some.

"Can we get a plate of something a little less spicy for my friend? She's..." I looked back at Schula for a second. "...a foreigner and she can't handle it."

The girl nodded and smiled. "Sure, one plate of Westerners, coming up."

I laughed and slipped a coin to her for her troubles. "And another cider, she's going to drain that one fast."

I turned back to the room and headed for my table when a chill ran down my back. I blinked, clearing a haze from my eyes as I looked to the center of the room where a man stood tall. His clothes were colorful for someone from Sulls. His hat had a large feather in it, and he stood on an empty chair as he drew attention to himself.

I slipped back into my chair quickly. Schula and Nassir were already watching him. Nassir, I noted, had finished Schula's food too. It was good to see him eat, I couldn't imagine those mushrooms and plants for as long as he had lived on them. Some meat on his bones would do him well too.

But I was pulled from my thoughts as the man in the center of the room began.

"Good evening, fine folks of Sulls. I am the wordweaver, and I'm here to tell you a tale." He grinned and spread his open hands out wide at the last word. A real showman indeed.

I rolled my eyes. He sounded like every other over-the-top story spinner in the city. I was obsessed with them as a girl, but now it was just a cheap entertainment for bored worker and idle travelers. I had heard most of the common stories by now, and several of the ones less often told. He would have to do better than this to keep my attention.

I sighed and started into my cookpot again, not expecting much from this night.

That is, until the next set of words came from his lips.

"Tonight, I'm going to tell you the tale of the Mist walker of the desert." His tone had changed to something a little more sinister, and a few oohs could be heard around the room.

I took another bite, but started watching him again as he began his path between the tables.

"I hope all of you know by now, the dangers of the desert. The mother sun bears her heat down on it, burning the lands and drying out the air."

Nods from enthralled children bobbed up and down at his words.

"But there are other dangers beyond the heat and the thirst, aren't there?" He grinned, winking at a young girl at the table next to him, and earning a frown from her father. "Some of you have heard me tell the tales before. The sand nomads, who will prey on anyone brave enough to venture into the open desert. The death dealer, who was finally cut down by the hero Var, though there will always be other cruel men to take his place. The moonthorns that grow and creep on you if you fall asleep in the desert heat, only to drink the water from you and leave you a shriveled husk."

He paused for effect, but I was nearly ready to roll my eyes again. He was naming all the common spooks that kept children inside the city walls and out of trouble.

"But have you heard the tale..." He was across the room, but he looked directly at us when he spoke. "Of the Mist walker?"

Schula shuddered slightly, but never took her eyes off of the wordweaver. Nassir almost looked as though he were watching, which wasn't possible with his sightless eyes, but with the things he was doing with his magic to now get around who knows what he was 'seeing' from the storyteller.

"Deep in the sands, when the moon is high and full," the wordweaver said. "A creature, not of these lands, dances under the silver light."

By this time, he definitely had the whole eating house captivated, including us. I was startled when our serving girl slipped a plate and a mug in front of Schula. It looked like a simple tray of dried fruit, cheese, crackers and a portion of jerked meats. She began nibbling on it absently, the wordweaver having her full attention. I turned back to him too, just as he moved a little further around to stand between two more tables of enthralled patrons.

"Some say she has been around since before Sulls was built, over a thousand years ago..."

Nassir snorted, unimpressed by the 'ancient' human city.

"Others say she comes and goes, not existing until the moon calls her down to the night sands," the wordweaver walked slowly, making his way past the bar and around to our half of the room.

"As the Mist walker dances her dance, it's said that she raises up the souls that the desert has claimed in the form of blue mist." He grinned as he had earned a few gasps from his audience. "The eerie dance will last until the moon sets once more. No music can be heard, at least not by us mere mortals, as they dance through the night."

The wordweaver looked up and smirked at our table. It made me uneasy, and he resumed his walking once more, this time toward us.

"It is said the Mist walker can speak to any lost souls," he said. " Not just the ones from the desert. A tempting quest, for loved ones left behind, no?"

Finally, the wordweaver closed the rest of the distance to stand in front of our table casually when he raised his hands in the air. "But be warned, for those of you who may want one last moment of time with your loved ones..."

He brought his hands down, leaning them on our table as he tried to look under my hood with a casual gesture, before quickly giving up lest it be noticed by the crowd. He turned to face the room with another grand sweeping gesture. My elven eyes spotted the subtle movement of him removing something from his coat, a small white pouch.

"But beware, for even if you somehow find her..."

He raised a hand high.

"And even if you convince her to show you the one you seek..."

He gave a wicked grin, turning back to us with a wink before facing the room again.

"Her price for a moment with a soul... will be half of the rest of your life!"

Poof.

A cloud of smoke engulfed him, as well as the tables around him, including us.

A few people coughed as the smoke cleared, and gasps dotted the room as it cleared enough to see where the word weaver had been.

But he was gone.

I looked to every exit as fast as I could, but no sign of the wordweaver.

Schula sucked in a sharp breath. I turned my eyes to her and that's when I looked down at the table.

Where he had placed his hands a moment ago, was a brass coin weighing down a note written on a torn corner of parchment.

'Find me if you can, witch'