On the courtyard the sun hadn’t yet touched the cobblestones, but they were already warm with anticipation. Qelmar stood straight—cloak clean, satchel over his shoulder, coin pouch at his belt. Ready.

  A few steps away, seven children lingered. Some looked bored, others curious. A black-haired boy whispered something to a red-haired girl. A little girl with two braids kept shifting one over her shoulder and back again.

  That’s when Princess Belara appeared. She walked softly, as if unwilling to disturb the morning quiet. Stopping between Qelmar and the children, she turned to them with a faint smile.

  “I present to you your expedition for the day, Prince Qelmar.” Belara’s smile widened a touch. “They’ve chosen to call themselves theBand of Terrorists. Let’s hope you all make it back alive.”

  She pointed to the boy farthest on the left. “This is Rascal.” Then she swept her hand along the row, pairing each gesture with a nickname. “Bones, Curls, Moose, Apron, Two-Braids, and Red.” Each name was met with a slight nod or quick glance from its owner.

  Qelmar smiled and nodded back. Confident.I can handle these brats.

  In the distance, the bells struck—one, two, three… eight. Belara stepped back. “Prince Qelmar and Band of Terrorists, you may begin your excursion. Good luck.”

  The children set off in front, Qelmar following behind.

  The Blueberry Delay

  They left the royal courtyard and wandered into the still-sleeping streets of Ghurmaka. The city was only just waking, the lanes empty—nothing to slow them down. Soon they passed through the gates and out beyond the walls. Ahead rose a forest, and there the children staged their first act of sabotage against Prince Qelmar.

  The path wound between bushes. The sun was hot. No one spoke—until Red and Rascal suddenly stopped.

  “Hey, blueberries!” they shouted in unison.

  Within moments, five of them were in the thicket. Laughter erupted, along with purple-stained fingers and red tongues. Qelmar sighed.

  He hadn’t seen this coming.

  After a pause, he put on a smile and shook his coin pouch.

  “Deal. Whoever gets up now and keeps walking gets a silver. What do you say, adventurers?”

  The children stared at him. Bones and Apron stood immediately, Two-Braids hesitated but joined. The rest stayed buried in berries.

  “I said silver,” Qelmar reminded them.

  “Blueberries are free,” Rascal quipped from the back—the mastermind behind the mutiny.

  The others burst out laughing.

  Qelmar pressed his lips together. He could feel the ground slipping under him.If I could just smack them, this would be over in a second.But he couldn’t lay a finger on them. His plan had been simple: bribe them a little, move on. Instead, disaster.

  Eventually Red and Moose gave in to the lure of silver, breaking the group’s unity. They trudged on, though it took time to pull them from the berry patch. Qelmar weaved among them, doling out more and more coins until all were moving again. Rascal, as ringleader, cost him five silvers in the end—a payment made with great reluctance and silent surrender.

  He never raised his voice. He offered, bribed, coaxed—trained since childhood to persuade with words. And still, sweat trickled down his brow. Bribing a gang of children was harder than he’d thought.

  By the time they’d cleared the “blueberry trap,” his pouch was lighter—and they were only at the start. Thankfully, he had another in his satchel. Still, the expenses were piling up faster than expected.

  The group’s spirit had broken. Leaving Ghurmaka, they’d marched with bright enthusiasm. Now it was lifeless, just the dull rhythm of footsteps—left, right, left… like walking out of obligation. And so the journey dragged on.

  The Stick Dispute

  Tension filled the pine grove. Moose and Bones both gripped the same stick, each claiming it. Moose spoke softly, through clenched teeth: “It’s mine.”

  Bones, jumpy and quick-tempered, shot back, “No, I found it first!”

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Qelmar decided to intervene in his own way. “All right,” he said calmly. “I’ll buy the stick from you. Name your price.”

  “Three silvers,” Moose offered.

  Bones shook his head. “Five! It’s a good stick. You won’t find another like it here.” Qelmar glanced around.Cheeky little brat. There’s plenty lying around.

  Moose wouldn’t budge. “Two silvers. Three at most.”

  “How are you going to split three silvers, genius?” Bones snapped. “Bite one in half?”

  The other children watched. The bickering grew louder. Qelmar frowned slightly, trying to cool things down. “Boys—Bones, Moose—let’s say four. Two each.”

  Moose shook his head, Bones smirked. “No. I want exactly five, or no deal, Qelmar.”

  The prince rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Three each.” He thought he’d won—wrong.

  “That’s too much! Not a fair price,” Moose protested.

  “I want five!” Bones yelled. “Five like the five fingers on my hand. I don’t want the sixth because I don’t have six fingers.”

  “Bones… you just want the silvers for yourself?”

  “I want my five silvers for me. You can give him whatever you want. But I want my five coins because I’ve got five fingers on one hand.”

  “Fine,” Qelmar agreed, thinking the crisis over.

  But Moose spoke up. “I don’t want that! The stick’s not worth more than three. You can’t give him five and me three—that’s eight total. We’ll rob you down to your underwear in no time. Haven’t you ever bargained before?”

  Qelmar thought this little trip would bankrupt him, but since the prize was Tal Namaréa, he hoped it would be worth it.

  “I want my five silvers!” Bones shouted.

  “The stick’s worth three!” Moose shouted back.

  Qelmar snapped. He yanked the stick from their hands. It took restraint not to smack each of them, but he knew that would get him thrown out instantly. Instead, he broke the stick over his knee, handing each half to its former owner.

  Then, from his pouch, he handed Moose three silvers and took back Moose’s half—only to hurl it far into the trees. He gave Bones five silvers, took his half, and threw it the same way.

  “You two,” Qelmar said coldly, “I don’t want to hear a sound from you for the next hour. Silence.”

  The boys stared at the coins in their palms. The tension eased, but their eyes glinted with the knowledge that reward cameafterthe fight.

  Qelmar sighed to himself.Divide and pay… and there will be peace.

  They moved on, still slow, but at least together again.

  The Stream Crossing

  The stream rushed beneath the branches, water dark. The group stopped at the bank. Two-Braids and Moose stood apart, refusing to get their feet wet.

  “No need to be afraid,” Qelmar said with a smile, pulling out a small bag of sweets. “I’ve got something to help you cross.”

  Moose eyed him. “What is it?”

  “Candy,” Qelmar said, showing the colorful drops.

  He offered them. Moose took one immediately; Two-Braids hesitated.

  “Whoever wants, I’ll carry across. But you must promise to keep going without fuss.”

  Moose nodded. Qelmar lifted him carefully and set him down on the far bank.

  Two-Braids planted her feet. “No, I don’t want to.” She stamped stubbornly.

  “That’s fine,” Qelmar shrugged. “But if you try a candy, you’ll see it’s not so bad. Take one in your mouth and one in each hand, close your eyes, and I’ll carry you. You won’t see a thing. How about it?”

  “I’m scared.”

  “I know. But we have to move on.”

  “I’m not going!” Another stamp.

  “You’re not going?” Qelmar’s eyes flashed. “Suit yourself, but everyone’s waiting on you, and I don’t have time for your nonsense. I’ve offered you a solution. Is it a good solution?” He turned to the others, who nodded. “See? Everyone agrees. Now stop making trouble.”

  Then, unexpectedly, he scooped her up and crossed in four quick steps. He made sure it didn’tlooklike force—just moving a stubborn child from one side to the other.

  “See? Not so bad.”

  “You nearly hurt me,” she snapped. “I could have fallen, gotten soaked, and smashed my head on the rocks.”

  “But nothing happened. Let’s go,” Qelmar ordered, urging them onward.

  The Band of Terrorists walked on at the same sluggish pace. The cheer of the morning was gone.

  Qelmar followed, lost in thought. Something was wrong, though he couldn’t name it.

  Night in the Camp

  Darkness fell quickly. The fire popped and threw trembling shadows into the night. Unease curled among the children. Red lay curled up, face buried in her sleeve. Curls sat with his head in his hands, rubbing at his eyes as if to push the tears back.

  Qelmar watched, staying by the fire. He waited, planning to step in only when whispers turned to sobs.

  “The silence of night isn’t empty,” he said toward the flames, voice calm and deep. The children looked up. “Each of you hears something different. For some, it’s the sound of home. For others… it’s loneliness.”

  He crossed to Curls, kneeling beside him without touching. Speaking to all, he went on.

  “Long ago, children like you had to leave home. And it’s said that in the dark, a Night Wanderer walked with them. Not as a hunter chasing prey, but as a friend. She only saw those who weren’t afraid—or those who kept going despite fear.” He paused. “She saw them all. They were all afraid. But they kept moving.”

  Red held her breath. Even Moose and Two-Braids looked toward Qelmar without moving.

  “When you miss someone,” he continued, looking mostly at Red, “that’s not weakness. It means you love them. You’re vulnerable, afraid. That’s human.”

  “But here’s the rest of the story. Those the Night Wanderer could see—those who kept going—she would send a dream in their sleep. A dream they’d remember. Proof they’d overcome their fear.”

  Curls lifted his head, face troubled. “Can she really send a dream you remember?”

  Qelmar smiled. “Yes. If you face your fear tonight, in the morning the dream will be yours. And when you go home, you can tell it to everyone. That’ll be your dream, from the night you overcame fear.”

  Silence. Red lay back, eyes still open but no longer crying. Curls leaned against his pack, biting his lip. A few others lay still—not from tiredness, but from listening.

  Qelmar returned to his spot without another word. He knew the story would stick. They’d all imagine the Night Wanderer—what she looked like, how she sent the unforgettable dream. Then, worn out from imagining, they’d fall asleep. Whether any of them dreamed in the morning… well, at least they’d have something to talk about.

  The Band of Terrorists really is a well-assembled crew.

  Tomorrow they’d finally reach their destination. This ridiculous trip would be over, and he could go back to flirting with Belara.Ah… Belara, Belara. Beautiful princess. How I long to win your heart—and with it, your hand.

  Qelmar fell asleep on that thought, snoring like a baby.