“The Khundari are a wonderful folk, to be sure,” Vulk sighed, as he sipped from his goblet of chewy Andaran red. “I can’t help but feel, however, that their fondness for endless bureaucratic procedures can be taken a bit too far.”

He and several of the other members of the Hand were enjoying a leisurely late luncheon on the Great Terrace overlooking the Outer City of Zhan-Tor on this unseasonably warm afternoon. It had been three days since the events at the Hardeshan Museum and the Hand’s discovery of the infestation of mimics that had been terrorizing the area for months. They had been preparing to return to Avantir that day, in fact had been on their way to the docks, when they’d been diverted by the crisis — and while they understood the need for an official debriefing (and Mariala at least had been more than happy at the chance to study the lair and documents of the strange mimic-human hybrid, Darvish Kölln ), the on-going investigation by the Khundari authorities seemed to be dragging out interminably.

“It’s in our nature, I’m told,” Toran replied diffidently, spearing the last of the pickled mushrooms with his knife. “Not my nature, of course – as a Shadow Knight I’m all about speed, stealth and minimal paperwork.”

“Well, I wish you’d convince your cousin’s here to adopt a similar attitude,” Erol laughed. Grover was draped across his shoulders, nodding off after gorging on the tidbits his master had bee feeding himfor the past hour. “Although Mariala, at least, doesn’t seem as anxious to get back to the City as she was a week ago. Speaking of which, where is her ladyship? I haven’t seen much of her the couple of days.”

“She’s in the Book House,” Devrik rumbled, pouring himself another mug of the excellent ale the Khundari restaurant had provided. “She says she needs quiet to decrypt those journals of that loon Köln, and while she appreciates Lord Grimbold’s hospitality, his household is apparently a bit too chaotic for her nerves just now.”

“And the Book itself is safely tucked into Draik’s satchel today, while he studies with that Apothecary Hradlok,” Vulk added. “Although why he wants to spend such a beautiful autumn day in those caverns with all that mutant fungi is beyond me!”

“Always looking to expand his knowledge,” Devrik laughed. “Especially in regards to improving the Baylorium, which is something I certainly applaud.”

Vulk acknowledged the point, and went on “Anyway, I expect we’ll see both of them at dinner this evening. Surely she must be almost finished with those journals and notes by now…”

• • • • •

In fact, Mariala had finished deciphering Darvish Köln’s papers the first night after they had investigated the man’s… well, really, “lair” was the only word for those dank subterranean living quarters… and if “man” he could fairly be called. The cypher had been almost childishly simple, but what it had revealed was more a horror story than a childhood fable – a human who had merged, both physically and psychologically, with an Elder Mimic, their fusion granting the shapeshifting abilities of the semi-sentient creature to the human host, but at a terrible cost.

In the notes and journal entries Mariala could see that the fusion had happened slowly, as Köln’s “tame” mimic cloak, which he’d apparently worn for years as an adventurer, gradually fused it’s genetic essence with his own. The creature’s own rudimentary mind also psychically fused, equally slowly and unnoticed, with Darvish’s mind. In time this fusion created a hybrid intelligence that was neither wholly mimic nor wholly human, a fact made horrifically clear as the style and content of their writing shifted inexorably toward something “other.”

The motivations of the melded Darvish-creature seemed to Mariala as unique as his physical form. Whereas he had once sought after adventure and riches for personal power, in recent months he seemed to have sought riches only to spread his mimic “children” as widely as possible. Falling in with an ambitious group of would-be thieves shortly after arriving in Talkir several months ago, he had developed the idea of slowly stealing valuable artifacts from the Hardeshan Museum of Nature and History, and replacing them with mimics. Apparently selling off the stolen originals had eventually become secondary, to Darvish, if not to his criminal allies.

The thieves, blinded by delusions of forming a great Thieves Guild dancing in their heads, fell in with his ideas quickly enough, as short-sighted and insane as they seemed to Mariala. But Köln had possessed tremendous charisma, apparently, and the would-be criminals believed they could control their new partner, unaware of how inhuman he truly was… and of just how dangerous. As the bodies began to mount, however, and the unfenced loot began to pile up, they came to realize their mistake. They had begun looking for a way to disassociate themselves from Darvish without become his, and his “children’s” next meal.

By the time he openly murdered one of the thieves and began controlling the rest through fear and intimidation, Kölln seemed to have become so far removed from his own humanity to not realize, or to simply not care, how his mad scheme was drawing attention – he simply seemed to want to place his mimics as quickly as he could. Fortunately his own hubris helped the Hand to bring him down, and they, alongside the Khundari City Watch, had destroyed all of the mimics.

Well, except for the two she’d found in Köln’s workshop cum sleeping chamber, Mariala thought with a smile as she pulled them out of a drawer in her desk. Really, her private study here in the Book House, was the perfect place to keep the tiny creatures while she studied them – utterly secure, with no way they could escape back into the real world on their own. She’d tell the others about them eventually, of course, once she’d tamed them and could prove how useful they were… and once they were back in Avantir, away from the small-minded prejudices of the Khundari about mimics.

Yes, for now it was just easier to avoid the whole ridiculous range of difficulties her friends would throw at her if they knew about the little beasties. There’d be time to sort it all out later. It wasn’t like they were even very big yet, having apparently budded off from the Darvish-Mimic just hours before that last Museum job and his/its death. 

Even so young, their ability to mimic objects was already advancing under her guidance… after two days of intense study and mental effort, she’d managed to get them both to take the shape of gold coins! Even she couldn’t tell them apart from an actual Imperial gold crown without a mental probe. And so far they were retaining the form she’d commanded them take… really, the possibilities were just limitless…

• • • • •

That evening the entire Hand, along with Lord Grimbold’s other Ysgarethi visitors, Lord Aldor Halem of Tolus and his son, Imrah, gathered in their host’s main dining hall for what turned out to be a farewell meal. Once everyone was seated Grimbold rose to offer the Welcoming Cup, draining his own chalice in three great gulps. 

“And with that,” he cried, slamming the goblet down with a bang, “I bring news, of various kinds, for my honored guests. For the Hand of Fortune, I can to tell you that the city authorities have concluded their investigation into the matter at the Hardeshan Museum, or at least that part of it which has delayed you here in our city. As of tomorrow, you are all free to depart and return to Avantir at your pleasure…”

“Not that we haven’t enjoyed both your very fair city, and your own even fairer hospitality, Lord Grimbold,” Vulk said, speaking up quickly for the friends. “But it is perhaps time we returned to our own families and friends, and our various duties in the City.” He knew perfectly well that Devrik, in particular, was champing at the bit to get back to Raven and Aldari.

“Well, I understand, of course,” Grimbold replied, his smile fading as he glanced over at his old friend, Aldor. “However, I’m going to ask if you might be willing to delay that return for just a bit longer. I’m afraid a matter has, once again, arisen for which I must ask your aid. Yours, and that of my old friend Aldor, for this crisis involves an old companion of ours…”

“I see,” the silver-haired paladin replied, looking thoughtful. His voice was deep, rich and resonate, matching his good looks, Vulk thought… not bad at all for a man in his sixties! “With Gil and Kavyn rather publicly accounted for, and my old friend Dwain having met his sad fate years ago in Kunya-Kesh, that only leaves Flaricia or Elgin.”  

“Indeed,” Grimbold said. He turned to again address the Hand. “This morning I received a… communication, let us say… from the Lady Flaricia Silverstar, a dear companion of those youthful adventuring days which Aldor and I shared long ago. She is Aunari, and came to me in an astral projection — a form of communication that I know some of you, at least, understand is draining and chancy, and not something done lightly or for trivial reasons. It seems she is on Asdach, a minor island in the Southern Reach, where people seem to be vanishing quite mysteriously. She seemed to feel in some peril herself, and to believe another of our old friends is somehow involved, a friend whose name I had not heard  in many years – the Purple Druid!”

Aldor, who had looked pleased at the mention of Flaricia, looked somewhat less pleased at having his second guess confirmed. The Hand mostly just looked blank… only Vulk had some dim memory of having heard of a Purple Druid in his recent studies into his Torazin convocation, although he could remember little else beyond the name.

“Does she think Elgin is responsible for these disappearances,” Aldor asked, frowning. “Or is he one of those vanished?”

“It was… unclear,” Grimbold sighed, turning back to his old friend. “You know how astral communications can be, often more feeling than clear statements. But I fear she fears the former. You remember how changed Elgin seemed, Aldor, after returning from his near-death? I mean beyond his altered cosmetic appearance? Well, in the years after you left us to return to Tolus, he grew increasingly… strange. His devotion to Drina and Her goals of environmental protection increased to what seemed to the rest of us as excessive levels.

“With Gil returned to his rightful place on the Coral Throne, and Kavyn at his side as Myrmytron, Elgin became increasingly frustrated when they wouldn’t… couldn’t, really… enact all of the draconian laws he demanded. Things like forbidding clearing of land for farming, restoration of existing cleared land to woodland, forced birth control to limit Umantari growth… he couldn’t seem to understand why Gil couldn’t just wave his Imperial hand and make it happen.

“Two years after the Restoration the Purple Druid vanished. Kavyn tried to find him, as his duties allowed, but over the next decade the best he could find were rumors of a purple-skinned, violet-haired man moving amongst the Talim Nar in northern Ysgareth, preaching a radical interpretation of Drina’s doctrine. Then, even the rumors stopped. Flaricia’s plea for help this morning is the first I think any of us have heard of our one-time companion in decades.”

“Whatever the situation on this island, should we not contact the Emperor and Lord Kavyn?” Aldor asked, ever practical. “Surely they have the resources to—“

“Yes, certainly – and these days those resources include the Hand of Fortune,” Grimbold interrupted. “I suspect, given the potential delicacy and personal nature of this situation, the Emperor would likely ask our friends here to investigate on his behalf… this just saves time. But more importantly, I got the sense that Flaricia wished to avoid involving them, if possible – after all, it would have been much easier for her to contact her “half-brother,” rather than me, if she’d wanted Kavyn’s, and by extension the Imperium’s, help.”

“I… see. Well, certainly I am at your disposal then, my friend, if you think I can be a help in the matter,” Aldor said, conceding the point graciously. “And I will admit, it will be pleasant to see Flaricia again… so, will we Gate to this island, or must we take ship? If the matter is urgent…”

“It is, but I’m afraid there is no Gate on the island itself,” Grimbold admitted. “The nearest one is located on Kezden, a much larger island to the north of our destination. But I’ve spent the morning making arrangements to get us quickly from the Gate at the monastery of Alatonu-Kahar to the port of Daronn, and from there it’s only a short sail to Asdach. If we get an early start tomorrow, we should accomplish the journey in less than a day. 

“And what of you, my young friends?” Grimbold asked, again turning to the Hand. “Will you come with us to save an old friend… or maybe two?”