The morning attacked my battered senses with a searing beam of sunlight and a chorus of birdsong chirping out at a completely obscene volume. Groaning, I pushed myself up out of bed, willing my roiling stomach to stay put. I leaned forward resting my elbows on my knees and hanging my head in my hands. A line of fire stitched across my forehead. That's right. I was the world's biggest idiot and I had let Hawk give me a tattoo. What was I thinking? Forgetting my hangover for the moment, I leapt out of bed and threw the lid of my chest open. A wave of dizziness slammed into and pulled me into a riptide of nausea. 

"Okay," I said to myself. "That was too fast." Slowly, carefully, I rifled through the chest and pulled out a small looking glass. I couldn't bear to look at the tattoo. With my luck it was probably something terrible. I bet it was a rat. Or an even stupider animal like a mosquito. They were useless and everyone hated them. That sounded like me. 

I collapsed onto the cold stone floor. It was nice. Maybe I could just stay here forever. That would be great. I'd wall up the room and lie here until I melted into the floor. That would be perfect. I wouldn't have to do anything important or stressful. Ever. I'd just become a floor person. You couldn't fail all of your quests and bring dishonour to the guild if you were part of the floor. I nodded. That sealed it. Floor person from now on. I'd leave the Guild behind and never do anything important ever. If that was the case I guess I could look at my latest Guild Mark. I held up the mirror and what I found was something pretty much the opposite of an ugly mosquito. A snake rippled out from behind my left ear, slithering up the side of my head and ending in a square head that was all sharp fangs and curled horns. A Storm Serpent. 

I frowned at the mark and sat up slowly. What in the hell did that mean? Did it mean anything? Serpents were nasty creatures, solitary by nature and ruled mostly by their own hunger. If one got hungry enough it would even turn on its own and devour its kin. Was that what Hawk thought of me? I was nothing but a drain on the Guild, liable to turn on it and bring down my own friends at any minute? 

I stood with a groan and shuffled over to the writing desk. I still had the Quest to finish, I still had a horse and a few days rations waiting for me down in the stables. Maybe this life wasn’t for me. Maybe this was my chance to quietly slip away from the Guild. I didn’t fit here. I never did. This was my chance to quietly slip away from the Guild. Hopefully there was a better life out there for me somewhere. I found my pack and stuffed a change of clothes into it before slipping into my armour. The world always seemed a little easier to deal with when you were buried under a layer of steel and leather. 

I walked down the stairs to the armoury. The mood in the tower was lethargic today and I only passed a few bleary eyed workers on my way to the armoury. The armoury door squealed open much too loudly on its stupid rusty hinges. Everything was the worst. I was never drinking again. 

The armoury itself wasn’t in much better shape. The Quartermaster leaned over a workbench, staring blankly at a shirt of mail. 

I knocked softly. “I’m here to collect some … stuff.” Words were hard. 

The Quartermaster nodded and slunk into the storeroom. He came back with a saddle in his hands and a set of saddlebags slung over his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something but closed it again, looking very much like he was going to throw up. I plucked a helmet off the nearest armour stand and tossed it to him. Better to rinse out a helmet than to mop the floors. He caught it but managed to keep his breakfast down. Midsummer was a big night for everyone. We shared a nod and he opened the door to the stables and helped me saddle a horse. I belted on my sword while the Quartermaster strapped my bow and a quiver of arrows to the saddlebags. 

“Thanks,” I said, swinging up into the saddle. 

The Quartermaster retreated back into his armoury without a word, leaving me alone with my four legged friend. The horse I’d been given was named Walter, yet another one of the Guild’s unremarkable types. He wasn’t a particularly fast horse, or a strong one, but he had at least one hidden talent. Walter didn’t give a tiny rat's ass about anything. In a way, it made him the perfect horse, because unless something was directly trying to eat him, or blow fire at him, or blast him with lightning, he wouldn’t spook or bolt. He mostly just stayed quiet and tried to eat whatever he could fit in his mouth. I thumped his ribs with my heels and together we left the Guild, maybe for good. 

“Well, buddy,” I said. “This is it. It’s just you and me now.” We walked past the ruins of the outer wall and into the sea of green beyond. The wilds beyond the old wall were dark, untamed lands made of close packed stands of birch and spruce. The trees were older than the Tower itself and they towered above the forest floor, blending together in a solid canopy of leaves and branches so thick it left the forest in a shadowed half light. I was more than grateful for it. My headache would not tolerate full brightness today. Now, if someone could just make the damn birds shut up that would be perfect. 

I closed my eyes for a moment and made another promise to myself not to drink so damn much again. I don’t know why I struggled so much with that. It’s not like it was hard to say no when people tried to push drinks into your hands, but it always seemed impossible in the moment. It was always drain the cask or die trying. Thank all the Gods, Spirits, friendly ghosts, indifferent demons, or whatever the hell was actually up there watching over us, that my friends had a few more precious years of wisdom and experience under their belts than I did. They were always there to my stupid self out of the fire. 

I opened my eyes, relieved to find Walter was still on the trail. That was another great thing about him. He knew the way into town and didn’t need a lot of direction. A great match for useless little Guild members who were too busy feeling sorry for themselves to pay attention to the road. Giving my head a shake, I put those thoughts aside for now. I could fall into a deep dark hole of introspection and despair later. First, I had to finish this last job, then I could be free and clear of the Guild and it’s shit. I would be free to do … something. Maybe I’d take some time to study the fire breathing Drakes in the lowlands, finally get working on the next book Mouse and I had planned. If we had our way, we’d gradually fill the damn library with everything there was to know about each monster that frequented the area around the tower. Groaning, I added that to the pile of things to think about later. The version of me that would have to sit down and figure all that out was in for a hell of a time in the worst possible way. I didn’t envy them. 

For the time being, I could sit in relative peace and enjoy my leisurely ride into the nearby village. My hangover was finally easing up with its assault on my body and the sound of the birds pitched down from a skull shattering screech to a mildly painful but otherwise pleasant tune. A squirrel chittered from a branch ahead of me. I laughed, thinking that maybe he was dealing with his own midsummer hangover and didn’t appreciate me invading his space. As a peace offering, I reached into a pouch on my belt and took out a handful of nuts. I slowed Walter to a stop, dismounted and dropped the nuts at the base of a tree. 

“There you go, little guy,” I said, my voice barely rising above a whisper. “I hope it helps.” 

I was still for a moment, savouring the soft, warm feeling of the filtered sunlight on my skin, the rich green smell of leaves and soil, the soft sigh of the wind. Taking Walter’s reins I walked him down the trail for a while. The horse was working hard today, and he deserved a little break from carrying me and all my armour. It was bad enough that he had to lug all my equipment, but in typical Walter fashion, he didn’t complain or show any discomfort. Walter didn’t give a rat’s ass about anything. 

“You’re a good horse, Walter. You know that?” 

He flicked an ear in my direction but kept walking. 

“I bet if you could talk, you’d be able to sit me down and tell me just what to do.” I stared at Walter for a long moment, wondering if I’d finally gone completely mad. “But knowing you, I bet you’d just stand there and say something like “stop worrying about everything. Just believe in yourself and everything will be fine.” And trust me, if I could stop worrying about everything and sit down and not be stressed that would be great. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to make that happen though. It’s like there’s a huge wall inside of me made of doubt and anxiety and no matter how hard I try, I can’t climb over it. I try. You know I try every day, Walter, but nothing seems to work. At least, nothing ever works well enough to get me up over the top. On my best day I feel like I get maybe three quarters of the way up. Other days it’s like the wall is a mile high and I’ll never make it over no matter what.” I gently touched the fresh tattoo on my forehead. “After last night that wall seems taller than ever. I’m not ready to be a full Guild member, Walter. I was barely keeping up as an apprentice. I don’t even know what a full Guild member does.” I balled my free hand into a fist and kicked a stone lying on the trail. “And we’re not even going to talk about what this new Mark is supposed to mean. If Hawk wanted me out of the Guild she should have said something. That wall looks so imposing and massive now that it’s hard to even talk about.” 

Walter snorted and stared at me with his eyes half closed. It was a look that screamed ‘I have never been so bored in my life.’ 

“Maybe that’s what makes you so easy to talk to,” I said. “You can’t really help, but you don’t judge either. Thanks for being such a good listener.” 

Feeling a little lighter, I gave Walter a pat on the neck and kept walking on in silence for a while. The last thing I needed was for the whole town to think I’d completely lost it.

We crested a small ridge and the forest thinned out, giving way to verdant fields and stretches of golden wheat waving in the gentle breeze. Even from here the town was heavy with the smell of fresh baked bread, woodsmoke and an undercurrent of fresh bacon. Past the fields was the village proper. It was a quaint collection of houses surrounding a town square filled with small berry bushes and an Imperial statue of some long forgotten hero. 

I swung back up into the saddle. “Come on, Walter. Let’s go see what kind of beast we need to kill.” 

Walter trotted me to the edge of the nearest field and a farmer poked his head up from among his stalks of corn. “Parsnip.” The farmer smiled. “You must be here to see Herschel. He talked my ear off all night about this fancy guild job he commissioned.” 

“Anything I should know before I head to see him? His card was fairly vague.” 

The farmer set down his tools. “Oh.” He took off his wide brimmed hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Then you don’t know?” 

I shook my head, stamping down the oncoming wave of dread I felt churning at the center of my chest. 

“There was some kind of revolt further north, or some kind of bullshit and badness in any case. Tithes and taxes have gone through the roof and we haven’t been able to pay.” 

I stepped down to the ground and took Walter by the reins again, walking towards the town center and motioning for the farmer to follow. “That sounds nasty but you know the Guild doesn’t get involved in politics. I’m not hunting some lord’s tax men for you.” 

“No need,” said the farmer. “What lord greedy britches couldn’t find in coin, he took in vert and venison.” 

I frowned at that turn of phrase. Despite being so close to the Tower, there always had been a noticeable gap between myself and the locals. “Meaning?” 

The farmer’s face twisted in a frown and he shook his head. “Meaning he’s laid claim to over half the coming harvest, stolen our livestock, and outlawed hunting anything with hooves. so he can at least keep his troops fed. Which means that we’re hungry. And we’re pretty well pissed off about it.” He caught my arm and fixed me with a gaze that was as hard as iron. “That’s why we need you. Herschel has a hunt planned that will raise the tax dollars we need to keep the nobles out of our pantry. Without you, we’re done for.” 

I swallowed hard and sputtered out a cough. Was that all? Sure that was no problem. I could definitely keep an entire village from starving. Easy. The farmer left me to return to his field and I found myself desperately wishing for that deep dark hole to hide in again. I’d know Herschel for years, and he knew better than to ask me to do this. This wasn’t a Parsnip job. This was something he needed a real Ranger for. Was it too late to turn around and make Hawk deal with this? 

A booming laugh answered me. 

Yes, it was too late. 

“Beryl!” Herschel hollered. “There you are. Tiny Gods, am I glad to see you.” 

Herschel was a man of middle years, with fiery red hair just beginning to go grey at the temples. He was built like a barrel and was never more than a few steps away from a smith’s hammer or a flagon of ale. Quick to laugh, quick to cry, quick to throw a punch if need be, Herschel wore his feeling like other men wore a coat, right out there for everyone to see. Today, he had a big shit-eating grin on his face and a wild look in his eye. 

“Hi,” I said, fiddling with Walter’s reins and kicking at the dry gravel at my feet. “I, um, I got your note.” 

Herschel clapped me on the shoulder, in a friendly gesture that nearly drove me into the ground like a tent peg. “Can I get you anything to eat? You look a little pale.” 

“No, I’m fine.” I never had enough colour for the smith’s liking. He was always trying to offer me food or strong wine. “We’ve been over this a thousand times. I’m eating enough. I’ve had a good night's sleep. I’m not sick. This is just how I look.” Next time I had to come to town I’d have Quintain paint some of that rosy powder onto my cheeks first. 

“Alright, alright.” He took the horse’s reins from me and started off towards the center of town. “How much do you know about what’s been going on here?” 

I repeated the quick summary the farmer had given me. “I don’t know much,” I said. “The Guild keeps its nose out of local dealings and politics.” 

Herschel rubbed at the stubble dusting his chin. “Huh. I would have thought the opposite. Well, how much do you know about Drakes?”

“My mentor would probably say I know too much.” I shrugged, keeping my eyes downcast. “She would say that about a lot of things I’m sure.” 

Herschel boomed with laughter. “I was hoping you’d say that. He led me into the center of town where I found myself staring at a crowd of young men and women armed with a mixture of boar spears and crossbows. Herschel wrapped an arm around my shoulders and addressed the crowd. “My hunch was right, lads! I’ve found our Drake expert.” He pointed to a boy in the crowd who was holding a crossbow in one hand and a leather tube in the other. “Jonas, let’s see that map.” 

The boy popped the lid off the sealed leather cylinder and spread a sheet of vellum out on the base of the statue. 

Herschel steered me towards the map and pointed to a dense patch of trees to the north of the village. “So, now I know you’re not allowed to deal in politics, but I’m sure you’re allowed to deal with monsters. There’s a nest here. One that’s been giving us some trouble. The younger Drakes are getting a touch too bold and starting to take some livestock. We’ve been planning to do something for a while but recent events have stepped up our timelines. Before we throw ourselves into the flames, literally, I want to know if a certain rumour is true. What can you tell me about a Drake’s heart?”

My mind flashed back to that Drake we’d been able to capture and dissect. A ghost of a smile twitched across my lips at the memory. Growing up half wild, like I had left me with no illusions of where my meat came from or what went into preparing it. In his past life, Mouse had been some kind of minor noble. He’d never cleaned and skinned anything before. He nearly threw up. 

I looked up to find the crowd staring at me. “The heart isn’t anything special.”

A series of groans and curses answered me. 

“The piece you're talking about is a stone in the Drake’s throat. And yes, it will light things on fire. And yes, they are very valuable to the right collector.” 

The crowd cheered. 

“Do you know how many there are?” I asked. “And what are your plans for the rest of animal?”

Herschel gave me another pat that he thought was gentle. “I knew you’d come through for us. Our best guess is there are three of the big bastards and five little ones.”

I looked up at the sun and did some quick math on the time of day and the month. “The younglings should be gone soon. They’ll be getting big enough to hunt on their own. I am not, under any circumstances, killing the little ones. And I refuse to slay a drake just for the Ignis Stone in its throat.” 

Herschel slapped his stomach. “Oh don’t you worry about that. I’ve got the other half of the town readying stew pots, collecting salt, and building a nice bed of coals in the smoke house as we speak.” 

I nodded. It was a start. There was more we could do. Drake skin was perfect for waterproof cloaks if it was treated correctly. “I’ll need some extra supplies and I know someone who might be able to find a buyer.” Wizards were always on the lookout for weird things that didn’t follow the typical rules of the world. Mouse was sure to know someone, and if he didn’t, maybe Quin could help. A rock that blew fire might have more than a couple applications for fighters and warlords. “Give me a few days and meet me out here by the nest.” 

A few disheartened grumbles echoed up from the crowd. 

Herschel silenced them. “Right! You heard the lady. I know you’re all eager but we’re doing this the right way. Her way. Pack your stuff.” He turned away from the crowd. “Thanks again, Beryl. Thanks to you, we’ll have a coffer full of coin and meat for the coming months. You’ve saved us.” 

I swallowed hard, my heart threatening to beat so hard it burst. I hadn’t done anything yet, just spouted some empty words. The real work was yet to begin.