THE VANISHED CROWN of VISTRON

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished.

Creatures of the woodlands would not drink from the accursed water, and left for greener pastures.

The sun took his leave, and continues to hide his face.

Crops withered as the land refused to bless us with her full bounty.

The Queen was the King’s heart.

This kingdom’s heart.

Without her, they are lost.

The King, once strong and exuberant, now sits still and silent on his throne.

Our mighty King grown rangy.

Become gray like stone.

Gray like the skies and the trees and the land since his Queen disappeared.

Since our Queen disappeared.

So we must…

A twanging snap interrupted the mournful recitation.

“Damn it,” Olin muttered under his breath and fumbled with the lute as if that would magically fix the broken string.

“Ah, leave it Olin,” Brastas, pub owner and lion-man, bellowed from behind the bar as supportive as he could muster. “Was far too melancholy as it was.”

“Suppose you’re right,” Olin sighed.

“Yer,” Dinton drunkenly nodded and shouted. “Play that there one about the mermaid!”

Olin stopped midway to the bar and plucked the broken string which rattled its response.

It took a moment, but the futility of the request finally dawned on Dinton who mumbled “Oh. Right.”

Olin took a seat at the bar, nodded at Dinton, sun weathered with perpetual dirt in his nails, and Clarke, head shaved as clean as his face, as he set the lute to his right on the bar, and thanked Brastas for the plate of two pebble sized potatoes and quail meat.

“Good thing not all the animals left, like in your song there,” Brastas chortled.

“Dramatic license,” Olin replied before taking a bite of the much tougher and gamier-than-it-should-be meat. “Guess I could change it to ‘many animals left, and those that remained weren’t of the usual quality’ or some such.”

“I supposed that doesn’t quite have the same ring to it,” Brastas nodded as he set a mug of ale in front of Olin and tapped his claw thoughtfully on the bar.

Olin took a sip of ale then chewed on his thoughts as much as he chewed on the quail, then spoke.

“What if we tried to find her?”

The other three looked at him.

“The Queen, I mean,” Olin clarified. “Or at least try to figure out what happened.”

“I’m a one armed Leonite, with more white than red in his mane,” Brastas laughed. “My adventuring days are long behind me.”

“That leaves me,” Clarke began. “An alright at best hunter; Dinton, a grain and tater farmer; and you, a thief turned shit shoveler.”

“What are any of us average blokes going to be able to do that the Plasteer Knights couldn’t?” Dinton added. “Thems that didn’t abandon their duty and skedaddled are either holed up in the castle, or ain’t never coming back from when they set out to find the Queen in the first place.”

“Not likely you’ll round up an adventuring party in this town anyways,” Clarke spoke again. “People won’t even come out to fill the pub like they used to. It’s only been the four of us for months now, and tonight’s no different.”

Olin almost corrected Clarke’s count, but decided not to.

The figure sitting in the far corner hadn’t been brought up by the others, so he figured it best to let the person have their privacy.

Olin thought the dark cloak and cloth mask the mystery patron was wearing made them more conspicuous than not, but he shrugged it off and returned to his ale.

“One of the downsides of being a young man whose friends are all in the sunset of life,” Brastas said as he rubbed the nub of his left arm. “Though I will not deny curiosity as to what really happened.”

“I heard it was those Korvarians,” Dinton said. “With their dark magics and history of war with us. Start of their invasion.”

“Invasion?” Brastas scoffed. “If they were going to invade, they would have done it during the initial chaos. Why let the land they wanted to conquer rot like it has? It’s practically worthless now.”

“Maybe the Queen slipped out of time,” Clarke offered. “The river ran backwards for weeks after. Like time in reverse. So maybe she’s in the past somewhere, and that’s why no one can find her.”

“Both could be true,” Dinton smiled as if he had solved the mystery.

Their chatter and increasingly wild theories grew throughout the night before Olin stood, retrieved his lute off the bar, and put coin down, which Brastas promptly slid back.

“Gentlemen,” Olin said while retrieving the money, and then took his leave.

The night air was cold, damp, and clinging, and silence hung in the air like the condemned at the gallows.

Clarke had been right about one thing. People rarely left their homes during the day, much less at night.

Suddenly, Olin quickened his step, tightened his grip around the neck of the lute, ducked around a corner, then spun around and raised the lute like a club.

The individual from the pub was behind him, hand raised in reaction to Olin's raised improvised weapon. The small ball of fire that emanated from their hand illuminated the bright greens and yellows within the stranger’s violet eyes.

“Magic,” Olin whispered in awe and began to lower the lute.

The stranger looked at their hand, almost embarrassed, dispelled the fire, and lowered their hand.

“Sorry.”

Their voice, though magically disguised, had a kind of tenderness behind it.

“Maybe just don’t sneak up on people like that,” Olin shook his head. “Why did you follow me from the pub anyway?”

“You saw me there?”

“Yeah,” Olin answered, confused. “Was I not supposed to?”

“No," she answered. "The spell seemed to work on the others though,” she said more to herself.

“Why were you spying on us?”

“I wasn’t spying! I just wanted to… Look. It doesn’t matter. Were you serious about what you said? About wanting to find out what happened to the Queen I mean.”

“Of course.”

“Maybe we can help each other then.”

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Oh. I suppose we should have started with that. Zyla.”

“Olin.”

“I heard.”

“When you were spying?”

“I wasn’t…! Oh.” Zyla relaxed after seeing Olin’s teasing smirk.

“Well. Come on then,” Olin turned and started walking.

Zyla hesitated for a moment, then quickly caught up to Olin.

“I liked your playing, by the way,” Zyla remarked.

“Thanks,” Olin gave the lute a spin.

“May I?” Zyla offered a hand toward the instrument.

Olin shrugged and handed the lute over and watched as Zyla passed her hand over the strings as they repaired themselves before handing it back.

“Wow. Thank you.” Olin gave the strings a muffled strum. “Can you teach me that?”

“Maybe,” Zyla replied. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Thief and shit shoveler?”

“Oh. That. Few years back, Lorba the stable owner caught me trying to burgle a few things, but instead of turning me over to the constabulary, she gave me a job. That’s the long and short of it really.”

“And the lute?”

“Memento of my parents. Don’t have many memories, so this is it. Would like to go to the Bardic School in Orlis, but don’t have the coin for the journey, much less the tuition. I feel like I'm over sharing right now."

"It's alright."

"Hm."

“What?”

“You sure you want the help of a triple loser?”

“You’re the only person I’ve met in months that’s had any inclination of doing something other than wallowing in misery."

“So basically you’re choosing me because I’m your only option.”

“I mean. Yes. But it’s more that you confirmed that I needed to finally take action.”

“You don’t have to try and make me feel better,” Olin laughed. “Just promise me something.”

“What’s that?”

“If you decide to kill me in my sleep, just make it quick.”

“I…” Zyla stammered then matched. “As long as you promise the same.”

“Deal," Olin chuckled. "So when and where do we start?"

“So I know someone that might help us, or at least have a little more information, but they are a few days journey from here. Can you meet me at the Govan Crossroads at dawn?”

“I can.”

“Good,” Zyla nodded. “I should go now so I can prepare for the journey, but I will see you at dawn.”

“At dawn then.”

“Oh. And Olin?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

“Uh. Sure.” Olin shook his head, uncertain as to what Zyla could be thankful for, and watched her disappear into the night.

“What am I getting myself into?” he muttered to himself.

It dawned on him that he had committed to a massive undertaking with someone he had literally just met, yet for some reason he felt not so much that he could trust her, but more that he should trust her.

Olin turned and continued his walk back to the stables as a circus of uncertainty and excitement performed wildly in his guts.