Chapter One

  Present Day

  I woke with a start, jerking away from my cluttered desk. The chair I had been sitting in crashed to the floor behind me. Papers from my recent studies, specifically the research on tiefling cultures that I had been nose-deep in, scattered and fell to the floor. My heart was still pounding, and my throat was burning as if I had just eaten a mouthful hot ash.

  I’d had the same nightmare more often now over the last season, to the point I could hardly dare close my eyes out of the fear of seeing that night again. It happened ten years ago, and I thought I was over it by now. Clearly, that wasn’t the case. I swallowed hard and rubbed the back of my neck in response to my stress as I scanned the room for any immediate threat.

  There wasn’t much in the room to begin with; it was really just a private study with a decent bed, a desk, and a few bookshelves that were mostly filled with my research. The innkeeper, Shane, had provided it to me after I started working for him. He’d offered more, but I refused. I didn’t need all the frills of hospitality. When my eyes settled on the westward window, they narrowed. I had enjoyed the shutters open during the evening, letting the last bit of sun in. Now, it was dark and quiet outside, and the Goddess only knew what could be out lurking just beyond.

  I sighed, running a hand through my messy, white hair. You’re a paranoid fool, Rune. I thought to myself. That paranoia still got the better of me, though. Stepping over the mess of books and papers on the floor, I gripped the curtain and peered through the window. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting to find, but I looked anyway. There was nothing there, of course.

  I lived on the second floor of Shane’s Tavern, with no balcony. Even still, the thought made me uneasy. I grabbed the shutters and hastily pulled them closed. I then yanked the green fabric over the window, and turned back towards my mess.

  As I bent down to pick up the papers from under my desk, I felt footsteps coming up the stairs, toward the end of the hall where my room was. They weren’t very heavy, but I could tell they had a sense of urgency. I tensed as they stopped outside my door. It’s only one person, Rune. You’ve handled worse. The voice in my head chirped. Well, yeah, but not in close quarters. And that would put Shane’s Inn in danger. I answered myself, debating jumping from the window I’d just closed. The rapping of knuckles against wood echoed through my chambers.

  “Wren, are ye right in there, pal? I heard somethin’ crash earlier. Thought I’d come to check on ye, since ye haven’t been down to the tavern for dinner yet. You’ll starve te death at the rate yer going, boy.”

  The cheery voice brought me comfort, and I relaxed a bit as I stood. Just for a moment though, before I caught a glimpse of my reflection and realized I was still in my natural changeling state. I cleared my throat and spoke, my voice deep and gravely from my slumber.

  “Yeah, Shane, I’m alright. Just knocked a chair over. Give me a minute and I’ll be out. What time is it?”

  As he spoke, I focused on my appearance changing in the floor-length mirror near the door. My blue-grey skin became a fleshy tan. The short, white hair on my head became long and black. My long, pointed ears were now short and rounded. My eyes, which were the same milky white as Father’s, now bore a similar shade to that of coffee. I kept most of my facial structures the same, using the excuse that the womenfolk liked a strong jaw and chiseled features. Gia would probably tell me to buzz off for that one.

  Nonetheless, I was no longer a changeling on the run. I was now Wren Huntsman, the brooding loner, contract man for hire. This was the Persona I had built for myself over the last five years residing in this town. People come to Shane at the tavern, asking for someone to do an odd job, he sends them my way. Everyone always trusts the barman. The barman trusts everyone too much.

  When I was satisfied with my human appearance, I opened the door to see what was probably the brightest face in all of Sailor’s Rest. He was slightly taller than me, and on the thinner side. That’s not to say he was scrawny though, by any means. Muscles filled the fabric of his tunic sleeves, almost threatening to rip through if he moved too quickly. The signs of many years of hard work were evident on his body, though at age thirty-seven he was still quite young for a human. I wondered for a minute what he used to do for work before establishing the tavern and inn. Shane’s comforting chocolate-eyed gaze held no judgement at my probably disheveled looking state. I hadn’t bathed, and fell asleep at my desk again for god's sake. I was a mess. He matched my stride as I passed and went towards the staircase at the end of the hall behind him.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  “Deep in those books again, is ye? I swear yer own head’ll be the death of ye. There’s some lamb and potatoes left in the kitchen yet. Get yerself a plate and meet me downstairs. I’ve something to discuss with yeh.”

  Oh boy, I thought, fighting hard not to roll my eyes. They twitched in response. Here we go again. This had better be good.

  I would never say this out loud to him though. The man didn’t deserve anything less than absolute respect for the safe haven he had given me since first arriving in Sailor’s Rest. Shane was the type who didn’t ask questions, but seemed to know exactly what you needed somehow. When I showed up at the Tavern asking for work in exchange for meals, he didn’t hesitate. That’s part of why I was still there in the boring town, after I told myself I'd just be passing through before crossing the seas. I couldn’t stand the thought of letting that bloody bastard down.

  My stomach growled, dragging me from the depths of my mind. I muttered my agreement to Shane’s request, then hurried down the stairs, making my way to the kitchen behind the bar. I could hear him chuckling behind me as he followed, much less urgent than I. The smell coming from the kitchen as I rounded the corner was almost enough to drop me to my knees on the spot. Roasted lamb and potatoes, just as Shane had promised, as well as fresh bread. My mouth was watering before I made it through the door.

  Gristle, the head cook for Shane’s Tavern, barely acknowledged me when I entered. He wasn’t much for words, in fact for a while during my stay here I thought he might’ve been deaf. Turns out, he just doesn’t like to talk if he doesn’t have to. I could respect that. It makes for easy company, when they don’t bother with small talk and questions. Nonetheless, I greeted him with my usual pleasantries as I scrounged through his leftovers from the nightly rush. Lamb, potatoes, bread, and cheeses soon filled my plate.

  After I had loaded my plate with an assortment of everything I could get my hands on, I thanked the silent chef before going to find Shane. This time, Gristle dipped his head, a hint of a smile behind his old, dark eyes. Satisfied with this interaction, I pushed my way through the door to the bar with my shoulder.

  Shane sat at my usual table, the one closest to the door in the shadows. He watched me as I sat across from him, eyeing my dish. Knowing him, he was making sure I had enough for his liking. Though he wasn’t much older than me, he still acted like a father sometimes. Most times. The man was too gentle of a soul, to a fault it seemed to me.

  He watched me still as I ate my first few bites. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything all day, and it took every ounce of self control not to shovel everything down like it was my last meal. Not an easy task, when the roasted meat practically melted in my mouth. I barely noticed as Shane waved to his attendant, signaling for an ale for each of us. Once we were settled in, he cleared his throat.

  “Wren,”

  He began, cautiously. I peered up at him when I heard the tone in his voice, which was unusually dark for his chipper self. He dragged a hand through his auburn beard, then motioned to a sketch of a man on the wall behind him. The wall was intended to be a banned list of sorts, but Shane never had the heart to kick anyone out. Therefore it remained almost barren, save for three portraits. The one in particular that he'd pointed out was a man known to the whole town as the Eel. He's a slimy bastard, in case it wasn’t obvious enough. He looked exactly how you’d picture a rat as a person. Long face, beady eyes, crooked teeth. Would probably give you a disease if he gets too close to you. He’d been known to cause problems for just about everyone he came across, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for anyone who was gullible enough to fall for his schemes. He’d been thrown out of half the businesses on this side of town because of his outstanding talent of being an absolute prick.

  “Ye remember the last time that pigeon was in here?” Shane asked. His voice was low and serious.

  I nodded, unable to answer with my mouth full. He had tried to pick a fight with me after I handed his ass to him in a game of dice that night. I kicked him out before anything got broken. I felt a twinge of guilt for causing such a commotion for Shane to deal with afterwards.

  “Yeh, well, that makes the third time in a row he ain’t paid his tab. I can’t keep fronting these costs, Wren. I was hoping maybe ye could talk some sense into ‘im, get ‘im to settle up, and I could avoid a spectacle.”

  I picked up my drink and swallowed a mouthful of the light ale, but held the mug level, ready for another drink. I watched the liquid swish and ripple in the mug as I started getting distracted by my thoughts. I was already going through scenarios, and ways to get the rat to give me what Shane needed. I spoke before putting the mug to my lips again;

  “Yeah, I suppose I could go see him for you. How much does he need to settle up?”

  “Two black.”

  I sputtered and coughed the ale I had just drank. Two black coins were enough to keep a king’s advisor quiet. He could probably buy a whole season’s worth of ale from the High Elves, with some change to spare. Two black was a ridiculous ask. There was no way that fleabag had racked a tab so high. This must be a more personal debt than just a tab at the Tavern. Regaining my composure, I stared at Shane, bug-eyed.

  “Two black?” I repeated back to him, unsure if I’d heard him right, “You’re sure?” When Shane’s gaze didn’t falter, I sighed. “Alright, two black it is. Give me a few hours. If he’s here in town, I’ll be back before daylight. Can you tell me where he lives?”

  I stood, the chair scraping against the floor. Shane thanked me, and I shook my head in response. “Don’t mention it, Shane.” He never needed to thank me, I owed him everything I could offer. I grabbed my cloak on the hook beside the door, and stepped out onto the poorly lit cobblestone street. The heavy oak door closed behind me with a loud thud.