The next morning, pockets of sunlight broke through the forest canopy, dappling the canyon floor as they broke camp. With the threat of constant pursuit behind them, the mood was decidedly lighter as the group set off on their final day of travel towards Irdri. After overtaking a three-wagon caravan in the first hour, they had the road to themselves for the remainder of the morning. The summer air grew warmer, despite the mountain breeze at their backs, as they descended from the higher elevations of the Glimmerstone foothills toward the sprawling Siremirian plains.

  Just after noon, Segwyn called a halt to rest the horses and consume the last of the hardtack they acquired in Chagrothlond on the top of a roadside knob. The terrain ahead sloped down to the river, offering beautiful sightlines across the wider vista. Even Irdri was visible in the distance. The gold and green of the grasslands stretched as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by the wide river that carved its way south, guarded by heavily forested bands on both sides.

  Iskvold snapped off a piece of hardtack. “So we think your mysterious ‘Sugarplum’ is holed up somewhere over there?” pointing to the wooded area below Irdri’s position on the river. “It’s a pretty big area…”

  “I know it’s not much to go on, but for Snuggles to send us that way is significant,” Lunish offered apologetically.

  Bird agreed immediately, “Likely the Hub’s local source of all Dominion intelligence in the area.”

  Segwyn unwrapped the waxed cloth holding his last morsels of cheese. “Important or not, we’ve got very little to work with. We’re looking for someone who has successfully hidden themselves under the Dominion’s nose for some time, armed with nothing more than a code name.”

  The ranger calling out the challenge kindled a twinge of rage deep within Iskvold’s belly. Though she forced it down, the frustration found its way into her words: “I know one of you is going to tell me it’s not, but this feels like a huge waste of our most precious commodity right now—time.”

  Tsuta laid a hand on the drow’s forearm. “We’re not going to find her phylactery by brawling our way into Irdri like barbarians and beating it out of Dominion operatives, Pinky, though I know you’d prefer that.”

  Iskvold threw her hands into the air, still clutching the last bite of jerky. “There it is!” she snapped, validating her previous assumption. “The insufferable voice of reason. Of course it would be you!”

  Bird’s tone was level: “But, he’s not wrong. To design a grift with any chance of success, we need a lot more information.” The cat drew his whiskers through one fuzzy paw, sending crumbs flying in multiple directions onto the grass. “We can’t force answers out of the Dominion; her bond magically prevents that, not going to find them written in any tome or scroll, so we have to put the pieces together some other way.”

  Iskvold crossed her arms in a pout. “Fine, but I don’t have to like it.”

  Three hours later, the gates of Irdri looming less than a quarter mile ahead, Segwyn took a hard left turn into the woods and called a halt. “There’s an old trail here,” He called over his shoulder. “It hasn’t been used in a while, but hopefully it will be good enough for the horses, at least for a while.”

  Glynfir and Iskvold dismounted before Lunish resumed her gnomish form in a green flash. “Why don’t we board the horses in town before setting off? Three of us will be on foot anyway.”

  “Fair enough,” the ranger conceded. “We can grab a couple of days' worth of food as well, while we’re there.”

  Bird began to climb down from his horse. “If we want to keep a low profile, I think it’s best if Iskvold and I stay here with Braids.”

  “Probably wise,” Glynfir agreed, accepting the reins from the tabby before tossing him his pack. “You two are rather memorable.” He turned to the drow. “At least we got rid of those glowing white robes!”

  Iskvold and Bird unloaded the other horses before the riders trotted off toward the city gates. Together with Lunish, they settled down to wait. Late afternoon traffic was brisk into the town’s eastern gate, and the trio recognized several waggoners and riders they had passed hours before along the road. The gate itself was open; armed guards fronted the two hinged, slatted panels folded back against the weathered grey vertical timbers of the surrounding fortification. In the background, pennants snapped in the breeze atop the masts of high sailing ships docked at the river.

  Unlike Chagrothlond, Irdri’s commercial and residential activity was entirely contained inside the settlement walls due to the greater threat from the surrounding wildlands. Even at this distance, a fifteen-foot clearcut, holding the encroaching wilderness at bay, was clearly visible on either side of the road. Before long, four familiar figures emerged from the open gates on foot, carrying a small sack of supplies.

  “Any problems?” Iskvold called when they got within earshot.

  Tsuta shook his head dismissively as they closed the remaining distance. “We were in and out pretty quickly; no one gave us a second glance.”

  Segwyn lowered the sack to the ground before Whydah began fishing around inside, passing out its edible contents. “We even found a cheap set of half-horn cups, so we can drink like civilized folks—no more hobo style!” She produced the set of eight cups with a flourish before passing them to Tsuta.

  “Thank Gond for that,” Lunish muttered. “I truly do love you guys, but some of you are total spout lickers!” She looked decidedly at Glynfir with a shudder. When the shopping was stowed away and the packs were shouldered, the group turned their back on nearby civilization and headed south into the woods.

  A few yards in, Segwyn pulled them together on the trail. “Remember, we’re looking for any sign of humanoid habitation. If anyone sees anything, let’s use a wren call to signal to each other.”

  The tabby put up his hand. “What does a wren sound like?”

  The ranger shook his head in disgust. “Never mind. How about a shrill whistle? Can everyone whistle?”

  With confirming nods all around, Segwyn spread everyone out in a line ten feet apart. Putting himself and Lunish on the flanks, Glynfir, the least astute in wooded settings, was given the center position, directly following the trail.

  The path ran straight south for almost half a mile before angling toward the river. As they got closer to the water, cottonwoods and willows replaced the oaks and maples that dominated back near the road. Similarly, the underbrush of raspberries and brambles gave way to ferns and milkweed nearer the riverbank. For over an hour, they walked in silence, without any sign of humanoid life. Even the path itself was getting harder to follow, and the wizard had seen more ivy and leaf litter than he ever cared to.

  Finally, a sharp high-pitched whistle came from Glynfir’s right, closer to the river. Before long, everyone had gathered around Bird’s position.

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  Segwyn’s tone was confused, rising from his knees after a quick scan of the ground. “I don’t detect any sign of passage here. What do you see?”

  “It’s not that,” the tabby pointed over toward the side hill in front of him. As the late afternoon sun pressed lower toward the western horizon, its rays sparkled on the river’s surface, bathing the entire hillside in warm sunlight.

  After a moment, Iskvold crossed her arms and cocked her head. “What am I supposed to be looking at?”

  “I’m glad it’s not just me.” Whydah chimed in. “I don’t see anything unusual over there either.”

  The cat shook his head impatiently. “It’s not what you see, it’s how you’re seeing it.” He paused while they all squinted again at the area in question, before a chorus of murmured denials rose again.

  Bird’s shoulders drooped. “No one? Whydah, don’t you see it?”

  The halfling shook her head.

  Letting out a deep sigh, the tabby looked from one to the next before speaking: “It’s the shadows. As someone who makes their living in those small spaces between light and darkness, I’ve come to know them intimately.” He hunched over, swinging his hand away from the hillside toward the river on their right. “Notice how the sun is coming across the water, causing all the trees to cast their shadows in this direction?” He motioned his other arm from the river, up the hillside. Everyone muttered in agreement. “It should be the same, all the way up the hill, right? Simple physics. But, it’s not.” Bird held them in position with one raised finger as he walked thirty feet forward. “Now watch what happens to my shadow when I move a little farther up the hillside.” He raised his arms, illustrating the boundaries of his shadow before taking several steps. Despite having the sun squarely at his back, the cat’s shadow shortened considerably and rotated ninety degrees to his left as he moved forward.

  He stopped, turning to face the group. “Do you see that? It shouldn’t be possible. Everything over here,” he gestured to his right, “is casting shorter shadows, in a different direction, than everything over there,” he swung his left arm back toward the river.

  Whydah’s cheeks flushed as she muttered, “I see it now that you point it out, but a thief’s apprentice should do better than that.”

  They all strode slowly to the cat’s position, puzzled.

  Segwyn moved his hand forward and back over the transition line, watching its shadow shrink and turn. “Well, we were looking for something out of the ordinary, and this definitely counts!”

  Lunish walked several paces further up the hillside before dropping to her knees. “The flora up here isn’t right either.”

  “What do you mean, isn’t right?” Iskvold called after her as they all moved further up the hill to surround the gnome’s position.

  The druid carefully moved a fern aside before slightly raising a ground cover vine with several nodes of tiny white berries against her palm. “These are frostberries. They don’t grow in this part of Venn. They’re only found way up north.” Returning the vine to the ground, she pointed toward a stand of five pointed shoots emerging from the soil. “And these daffodils should have bloomed and died back by now, it’s mid-summer, but they’re just starting to grow.” She gestured to the area in front of her. “It’s the same all through here.”

  Lunish rose quickly, scampering down the hill to the other side of the shadow line before dropping to her knees, once again rooting around in the foliage. After changing positions three times, repeating the search, she stood, gesturing to the area around her. “No sign of frostberries or sprouting daffodils over here at all.”

  Segwyn paced carefully along the edge of the changing shadow line, his eyes scrutinizing the ground intently. “What could cause this?”

  Tsuta let out a deep sigh. “It could be any number of things—local manipulation, interplanar nexus, lingering residue from some major arcane release, it’s difficult to tell.”

  Glynfir dropped cross-legged onto the forest floor. “I wonder…” Closing his eyes, his fingers started tracing patterns in the air before he began muttering the words of the ritual incantation.

  Bird leaned over, whispering to Whydah. “What’s he casting?”

  The halfling replied in an equally hushed tone. “Detect Magic. He’ll be able to see an aura around anything magical in the area. It will even glow in different colors depending on the kind of magic.”

  Bird’s forehead wrinkled. “There are different kinds of magic?”

  Whydah shot him a sympathetic smile, shaking her head. “You may be great with shadows, but you have a lot to learn about magic.”

  The ritual completed, Glynfir opened his eyes and immediately recoiled. “Whoa!”

  “What is it? What do you see? Is there a magical object nearby?” Iskvold pressed him eagerly.

  The wizard stood, his head cocking first to the left, then the right as he scanned the area. “Not an object,” he began. “It’s the whole hillside, well, all of it above the shadow line at least.” He turned to look at the area behind them. “It starts right there.” He pointed to a spot no more than ten feet in front of where Bird first whistled, then turned his head, gazing further south. “And it goes on as far as I can see. It’s huge!”

  The ranger followed his gaze. “Can you tell what kind of magic it is?”

  The wizard pursed his lips into a tight line. “That’s where things get really interesting.” He squinted over the area again. “It’s not just one kind of magic. There are clearly arcane elements; I can see both Abjuration and Evocation. But then there’s a fuzzy texture to it, some chaotic component swirling around as well. I think that might be Fey.”

  Bird bent down next to Whydah, his words coming in a whispered hiss, “Translation?”

  Whydah sighed, looking at the cat like a teacher would at a small child. “He’s seeing some magic we all use—protective wards and raw destructive power, like you would use to throw a lightning bolt or a fireball. But he’s also seeing magic that is different from ours, something closer to the magic of fairies and the Fey Wild.”

  When Bird patiently raised one eyebrow, she laughed, drawing everyone’s attention to her magic lesson. “The Fey Wild is another plane of existence, like the Abyss, but much closer to ours. Even the geography is very similar.”

  “And that’s where sprites and fairies live?” Bird finally seemed to be catching on.

  “Among other things that are much more dangerous,” Glynfir added. “Sorry, sometimes I forget you’re the only one among us that doesn’t use magic at all.”

  “It’s okay,” Bird raised his chin, looking down his nose at the others. “You all suck at shadows. We each have our strengths.”

  Ignoring the tabby’s jab, Glynfir refocused the conversation. “Could this area be a soft point between the prime material plane and the Fey Wild? That could explain the expansive magical signature.”

  “It could,” Segwyn agreed, “but there are several other explanations associated with the Fey Wild’s more dangerous occupants.”

  Bird’s eyes narrowed on the ranger. “I may regret this, but what are some of the other explanations?”

  Segwyn shrugged. “Fomorian giants, for example. They were cursed and cast out of the Fey Wild, some to this plane. Their bodies are twisted, misshapen, and covered in pus-filled sores. Apparently, they can cast their curse on others with a glance.”

  “Charming,” Bird drawled. “I knew I’d regret asking.”

  The ranger continued. “I’ve heard they leave a magical residue on the land they inhabit, a bit like we see here.”

  “I’ve heard the same thing,” Lunish confirmed as she walked away from the group toward a nearby tree. “But I don’t think they’re the most likely suspect. Come take a look at this.”

  They followed the gnome to a nearby cottonwood tree. Hanging from a branch, about five feet off the ground, twisting lazily in the afternoon breeze, was a crude wooden figure. Constructed from dead branches, the ornament’s lower half consisted of two sticks bound together in an X shape by a piece of rough twine. A third stick closed off the top of the X, making shoulders and arms, while a fourth bisected it at a right angle, providing a head before terminating in the lashed join at the center of the X. A wad of moss, jammed onto the top of the head post, created the image of green hair.

  Iskvold reached for the ornament. “Wow, that’s creepy. It gives me shivers just looking at it.”

  “Don’t touch it!” The druid’s booming tone made them all jump. “Fomorians didn’t make this. They lack the fine motor skills.”

  Bird sighed. “I sense another, equally distasteful, explanation coming.”

  Lunish held his gaze with no hint of amusement. “Hags. Hideous evil fey witches that corrupt nature and like to perform torturous magical experiments on living creatures.”

  Iskvold visibly shivered. “I think I’d prefer the Fomorian giants.”

  “This is a warning,” the druid continued, “marking their territory. It might be a magical ward or carry a curse. We’ll find more. Don’t ever touch them. Also, hags can shapeshift to appear like an otherwise normal humanoid, and they, too, leave a magical imprint on the land like we just detected.”

  Bird spoke to the drow in an aside. “I definitely prefer the giants.”

  “Are we suggesting that Sugarplum is one of these hags?” Whydah asked. “It seems pretty coincidental to find all this in the area we were told to investigate.”

  Lunish shrugged. “I have no idea, but either way, things just got a lot more interesting.”

  The Glimmerstone Enigma and The Siremirian Conundrum?

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