Prologue

Brynn staggered off the small fishing vessel and onto the docks of Brightmyst.

A summer storm to the south had caused huge swells on their voyage, leaving Brynn sea sick. The fishermen had expected him to cast healing magic on himself, but Brynn had yet to learn those rituals, and besides the rocking boat would have made them difficult to cast in any case. Instead, he had laid down, useless, in the hold, while they went about their business.

The steadiness of the pier was already settling his queasy stomach. He shouldered his light pack of sparse belongings and set off to find the mayor. He entered the village square, which was bustling with merchants trading their wares with the local fishmongers. A large stone statue stood in the center, ancient and weather beaten, its features unrecognizable. The figure stood facing the sea. Its arms were open in a vaguely welcoming gesture.

Brynn could feel the magic emanating from it, old and weak, as worn away as the statue itself.

He stopped in front of it for a moment, looking for a clue as to its purpose. A few faded runes were still visible, but they were of a script he had never seen before. The statue was old. Older than the village itself, which was made up of well kept thatch roofed houses.

One of the houses held a sign with the symbol of Galdir, three snow topped mountain peaks clustered together. The symbol for the officers of the realm. This was the mayor’s office, or close enough. He walked over to it and greeted the guard standing out front.

“Greetings, good sir, I am Druid Brynn of Galdir. I would like to speak with Mayor Rhoddri.”

The guard hesitated and eyed him suspiciously. He had obviously never seen a druid before and was unfamiliar with the simple dark robes that they wore. Brynn sighed and pulled out his necklace. He showed the guard the cold iron disc that was attached to it. Stamped on the disc was the Galdirian symbol, with an oak tree overlayed at the base. The symbol for the Galdirian Order of the Druids.

The guard nodded wordlessly and stepped into the house. He returned shortly and beckoned Brynn inside.

“Welcome, good druid. Please come in. The mayor is expecting you.”

The office turned out to be a small room with a crude desk in the middle. A small stack of parchments were on top of the desk. Brynn glanced at the top one and saw notes scribbled in a merchant’s shorthand. It looked like inventory for a recent trade.

Mayor Rhoddri was a white haired man with dark, unblinking eyes. He stared at Brynn like a predator about to pounce on its prey.

“Welcome, good Druid Brynn of Galdir,” the mayor said, nodding in greeting.

“Welcome, good Mayor.”

“Do you know why you are here?”, asked the mayor.

In truth, Brynn did not, exactly. There were rumors passed on from villagers to fisherman to merchants to guards that something strange was happening in Brightmyst. The stories ranged from hauntings in the night to a dragon burning down the whole village. The latter was obviously untrue. It wasn’t taken seriously until High Druid Themon had fallen to the floor during one of his divination rituals, sputtering incoherently about Brightmyst and a great evil. Even then the druids were skeptical. Themon was getting old and forgetful and his rituals imperfect. But such a divination had to be checked out, no matter how shaky. So they had sent Brynn. Mostly because he was the only one available at the time.

“I’m here to investigate a mystical disturbance,” he said in as grand a manner as he could possibly muster.

Rhoddri snorted. “You are here,” he said, “to repair the Fence.”

“The Fence?” The mayor had said the word with a capital “F”, like a name.

“Yes, the Fence. The Fence is failing, and you,” said the mayor, staring at Brynn with his dead eyes, “need to fix it.”