The narrow woodland road saw little traffic, so the abrupt appearance of a stranger in rags was startling. He had intended to skirt around and continue, yet the crouched figure rasped in a low, hoarse voice: “They say there’s treasure in the mountains. Interested?”

  The word treasure sparked a fleeting thrill in Ancho, though he was no fool—everything about the scene felt wrong. He resolved to ignore it and pass by.

  But the man on the ground murmured again, “What a pity. Looks like the treasure will have to wait for the next person.”

  Ancho pressed onward. Dozens of paces later he stopped. Reason told him the whole thing was likely a trick, but if there were even the slightest chance it was true, someone else would claim the prize he’d abandoned. Greed tugged at him and he turned back.

  “Speak clearly—what treasure?” he demanded, brandishing his calloused fist. “If you’re playing games, I’ll put my fist in your face.”

  “It’s real,” the beggar replied calmly. “You can take it easily.”

  “Fine. Where is it? I have little time.”

  The beggar, his hand hidden beneath ragged sleeves, pointed into the trees behind him. “In the hollow of a dead tree behind me. Go.”

  Ancho’s eyes flicked between the man and the woods. Curiosity and greed won out; he led his horse into the forest.

  Soon he found two silver coins in a hollowed trunk and felt a surge of joy. Two silver coins, however, were hardly a treasure, so he marched back to the beggar. “Only two coins! That’s not a treasure!” he snapped.

  The beggar smiled faintly. “I never said there was only one.”

  “There’s more?” Ancho asked, surprised.

  The beggar pointed to a green stone across the clearing. “Under that.”

  Ancho hurried over and unearthed three silver coins. He no longer cared how absurd the situation seemed or why the beggar, who clearly knew the hiding places, hadn’t taken them himself. He did not question motive or danger. To a man who had known long poverty, money outshone caution.

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  “Is there more? Is there more!?” Ancho demanded, near hysterical with excitement.

  The beggar again pointed farther still. Ancho followed, running until his legs burned; each find fed his hunger for more. He raced farther despite the distance, abandoning his horse when it slowed him.

  At last the beggar rose, swept filthy hair aside, and revealed a refined, striking face. Pernas spat the mud from her mouth, mounted the thin horse with practiced ease, and rode away.

  Her elaborate ruse—appearing as a beggar rather than offering coin—served two purposes: concealing the fact she possessed treasure, and avoiding unwanted attention provoked by her noble looks. It was a simple, effective scheme requiring little acting and no persuasion.

  Of course there had been no gold coin on the distant ridge; Pernas had no time to set such a prize, nor was it necessary. She rode on, checking the pouch of three gold coins left to her, the memory of fooling that greedy villager curving her lips upward. The panic that had shadowed her hours before evaporated in the cool morning air.

  Meanwhile, the persistent fool still clambered up a great tree in pursuit of a phantom coin.

  …When Count Punk arrived at Homitt’s secret house, it was empty. Those familiar with the Count knew him to be petty and merciless; his retainers fled at the first sign of trouble—Homitt’s close men and even the dark mage had fled. Homitt’s body lay forgotten to rot.

  “Pernas—!” Count Punk’s roar echoed through the deserted rooms. Rumors and Lady Aniya’s daily complaints at the central constabulary had already sketched the outline of what had happened.

  …

  Back in Bayerk, once Glenn had confirmed Pernas was safe enough, he took the exhausted Layla home and planned to steal a few hours of sleep. He had scarcely set foot inside when a worried elf girl flung herself toward him—restraining herself from grabbing his shoulders only at the last instant.

  “My mother’s life force feels weak! I must return!”

  Glenn grimaced inwardly—one crisis after another—but nodded. “I’ll take you back at once.”

  They rode two days and nights. Throughout, Glenn monitored Pernas. Under his steady instructions she avoided further danger, though reaching her mother remained fraught; Count Punk had sent assassins, and a single lapse could mean death. Glenn managed to keep her hidden, but distance caused the magephone signal to degrade. Before it finally cut, he had directed Pernas to shelter in a slum and wait for him to return after escorting the elf.

  At the border of the Elven Forest Glenn and Gotaya parted ways. He handed the elf a half-finished magephone—such devices were delicate and time-consuming to craft, and he’d never managed to produce a second finished unit. Two magephones in tandem, he reasoned, would greatly extend range.

  There was no time to visit the elven settlement now; first he had to ensure the noble girl’s safety.