“If you sit quietly on a rainy night when the clouds are covering all the stars and the animals hunker down silently waiting out the cold rain, you can just faintly hear them scurrying about, sometimes humming or singing. Some believe they are the angels singing the praise of the ancient of days out in the forest. Some believe they are the night orbs that dance between the trees caught in the corner of one's eyes to play tricks on men. Still, others believe they are the little watchers, the spry as they are called. People so small and swift as to be hardly noticeable to man. None of these beliefs are inherently wrong. There is some truth to all legends you know.”

“The Spry is an elusive creature. More elusive than the dragons, the Silverbacks, or the Shadow men. To those who cannot resist seeking them out and must see them for themselves, they can be found, but only to the most diligent of observers. Listen carefully to the song from deep in the forest. Where the undergrowth has grown thick from the absence of the intrusion of man. There, the wildest and most dangerous beasts of The Unstoppable reside. Follow the song patiently and creep in slowly, it may take days, weeks, or years as the Spry are especially skittish. Watch for the glow of their light faintly shining.”

“Once you have made it close enough to see the glow it is distinctly important that you approach them carefully. You must learn their song. You must leave the appropriate gifts to draw and befriend the type of Spry you desire. It is reported that Spry is particularly fond of small, rare fruits and seeds. You must not worship them no matter how mesmerizing you find them to be when you first see their striking appearance. Such worship is rumored to cause them to become the most base and terrifying form of themselves. If that is not truly the case, it is at least certain to draw the wicked Spry to yourself. Beware the wicked ones. They will pretend to be the friend of the one who finds them, encouraging him or her into all types of mischief gradually hardening the bond until the bonded person is capable of evil they never imagined. Then when there is no turning back and the bonded one is set in their dark destiny, the wicked Spry is said to betray them to their demise. The last sound the bonded one will hear is the venomous laughter of the wicked Spry as they fall into the trap set for them.”

“When was the last time you saw a Spry old man?” Jabin asked sarcastically his noble eyes sparkling blue as the lakes of Hamor reflected the spring sky. He flashed a grin and leaned in toward the old man putting his foot on a stump and setting his elbow on that knee.

“Jabin.” The old man smiled his gray eyes flashed like lightning from a storm cloud. “You know better than to interrupt when I am passing on the fables of our ancestors.” The old man sat on the tallest stump with a dozen children sitting around him eagerly awaiting the rest of the tale. He chewed on a long weed as he read from the scroll. He gave Jabin one more friendly smile and looked back at the scroll. “Now look what you've done you've made me lose my place. You know my memory is not what it used to be.”

“You have been claiming feeble old age since my father was a boy. Just how long will you be so old and feeble.” Jabin winked at the old man.

“I’m not too old to give you a cane across the backside young man.” The old man raised his bamboo cane in the air to punctuate but kept his playful tone. “Maybe you need a reminder.”

Jabin backed away grinning from ear to ear with both hands raised in surrender. “No, no I recall perfectly from when I was a boy. Carry on.”

Jabin turned to walk away and caught the eyes of Nabal watching him from behind a tree. His smile faded. Nabal was the most infamous of the Crull. Not because he was mighty or in some way beneficial to the kingdom. It was because if there were some disturbance or mischief afoot, he was most generally the guilty party. Every Tarsh noble knew Nabal by name and face. Yet Nabal remained a free Crull, at least from chains or the executioner’s ax, because he was far too crafty to ever be caught in his crimes. Always near enough to the crime to be the primary suspect but as slippery as an Imp.

Sometimes Jabin pitied the Crull. It was not their fault they were born Crull any more than he had a choice to be born a Tarsh. It was the will of The Unstoppable, and he was by definition Unstoppable. The king of all the Gods did what he wanted, and he wanted Nabal to be born Crull. That was something Jabin had to learn to accept. Though he did wonder if their places were switched would he be like Nabal? Would Nabal be an honorable noble if he were in Jabin’s shoes? Jabin looked Nabal over standing in the shadows. Not likely. Jabin shook his head.

How would he squelch the rebellion building among the Crull? It was only a matter of time. He would never be able to go off on his own adventures if the Crull saw an opportunity to overthrow his older weaker brother. They feared his father. Baron wasn’t the perfect king. In fact, he was an angry bitter king, a rigid ruler but he was not one you could push around. The Crull looked down in the presence of the mighty King Baron. Once he died though they would be able to see Terin for who he was. Not a warrior like Baron or Jabin. Terin was scholarly and cowardly. Even Jabin had to watch himself when he was with Terin, or he would quickly find himself disrespecting his future king. He would have to deal with the Crull in a way that would last even when he left to discover the ends of Lumiterra. It couldn’t be by might and fear. That would only work so long as there was a figurehead to fear. He had to make them believe they were truly part of Windal, no longer seeing themselves as former slaves. If he didn’t bring them to submission willing or otherwise, he would never be free to explore the vast mysteries of Lumiterra.

Nabal caught Jabin looking at him and ducked back into the shadow of the forest retreating back toward the Crull district. He hated the way Jabin looked at him since they were boys. Always the sickening pity on his face. Not every boy could be born to the wealthiest class. Some were peasants. Some were slaves. Some were forgotten. Forgotten by mother and father even by the ancient. Jabin could not understand the path laid out for the Crull. He could not understand the suffering. Jabin’s pity disgusted Nabal.

Nabal knew suffering, he was the forgotten. He had known since he was a boy eating the slop that the Crull district threw out in the gutters when it rained. Even the Crull knew they were worthless. Nabal’s own mother left when he was a boy. She left him with nothing. No food, no home. He had no siblings to rise up and defend him or cry in his absence. No aunt or uncle came looking for him. No grandparents came forward to claim the pitiful boy living in the streets, but Datura had seen his worth. She had cared for him, and she wasn’t even Crull. She had given him direction and purpose.

He knew where he came from, and he knew he would never be in that place again. He grew into a man in the cruelest district of Windal. He learned invisibility in the presence of dangerous men and cleverness in finding opportunities to steal food, clothing, and coin to survive. Pity was an insult to the amount of fortitude it took to survive the streets of Crull district on the long cold dark nights. He had survived and grown strong. He wasn’t fearsome but he was no longer afraid to close his eyes to sleep at night. Soon though, soon enough he would turn Windal upside down and he would become a mighty man. No one would ever have power over him again. He would never live in terror again. He would be the one man all feared. He clenched his fists and narrowed his eyes stepping from the shadows of the forest onto Crull road, the low gate into Windal.

Jabin practiced his sword stances in the woods behind him as Nabal walked away. Fawning women watched and fanned themselves cheering for him, as he handily took down his opponents in a small clearing. Nabal glared at the shirtless prince sweating and showing off his muscles. Tarsh women never looked at Nabal like that. They would look down their noses at him like he was an oily possum scurrying from beneath their porch hissing and drooling.

Nabal reached the top of the hill when Jabin called to him. “Nabal. Would you like to come down and learn dragon stance?”

Nabal turned back slowly so he could wipe the disdain from his face before the prince could see it. “A bastard could never cross swords with a prince.” Nabal bowed with feigned humility. In reality, I may not be able to resist the fortunate opportunity to run the arrogant prince through, Nabal thought covering his smirk. He may not actually have the talent to run the prince through with his blade but that did not stop him from fantasizing about it. Nabal finished his bow and turned to walk over the hill before the prince could rebut him. He would not be made a fool of in front of the prince's worshipers.

He could hear the prince calling something to him as he crested the hill, but he hummed his favorite drinking song to himself and ignored the prince. One day if he wasn’t careful, he could find himself, eyes bulging, hanging from the gallows looking at the prince in his proud blue eyes. But not today. Today he would drink with the people he belonged with. The Crull district, the poorest and roughest neighborhood in the whole kingdom. He had a pocket full of ill-gotten coin and he intended to spend every cent. What good was money to a Crull? It just made you a target to a more predatory and opportunistic Crull. He would sleep on the same roof he always did but he would sleep deeply with fresh bruises and a belly full of mead and cheap wine. The stars of the ancient, glistened overhead and the steam of his breath rose up to meet them.

Nabal could smell the stench of the Crull district before he could even see it through the dense forest. The smell of sewage and burnt coal, of unbathed men and urine. The smell was almost comforting to him. He was home. He wrinkled his nose at the thought. Only animals would equate that stench with home.

He stopped at the edge of the forest and surveyed his surroundings. He intended to lose every last coin but not by an ambush of some lucky group of thugs. Though it would be laughable really, after all, it was sort of how he had gotten the coin in the first place. He deserved it though. He had traveled far away to another town to rob his coin. He didn't just steal it from his neighbors. He worked for his. Unlike most Crull, he still did have his pride.

He stood still with his dark hood pulled over his head hiding his face in its shadow. His dark eyes searched carefully for any happenstance thugs nearby the gates, as they often were. When he was satisfied, they were already in the pubs drinking he adjusted his bow on his back and stuffed his coin in the inside breast pocket of his tunic tight to his chest to minimize the jingling and stepped from the shadows. The Azure, evening sun was setting, casting a deep blue glow on the clouds. Red torch light reflected on the puddles of the dark streets, resembling the too common sight of his own blood flowing away in the gutter on his often-drunken nights. Tonight, it would be another Crull bleeding in the gutter though. Tonight, he was winning. He had a good score in his pouch and a chip on his shoulder. He would take out his anger at the prince on some poor foolish Crull when the night was over. He grinned to himself his black beard pulling up at the corners of his mouth. He felt good tonight. It must be a full moon tonight. He always felt radiant on a full moon night.

“Pull down your hood.” The guards at the gate commanded. Nabal stopped and pulled down his black hood, and shot the guard who had spoken, a glare. “Nabal, I hadn’t realized it was you. Is that a new tunic and cloak? Don’t you realize some Crull will relieve you of that tonight?”

Nabal reached into his inside breast pocket and felt for a couple of shillings careful not to grab silver and certainly not the gold pieces. Years of thievery had taught him well to know the feel of coins at the brush of a fingertip. He produced the two copper coins and tossed them high in the air for the guards to eagerly catch. “Not with the two of you keeping watch tonight.” Nabal winked at them.

“We will keep a wary eye out Nabal.” The guards bowed and Nabal brushed past them. The guards in the Crull district were easy to bribe but still not to be completely trusted though. They were corrupt after all.

Two homeless children played in a puddle on the dirt street splashing each other gleefully. “Aurora, Livia come here,” Nabal called to the little girls. The girls stopped playing and turned to the familiar voice. Nabal stepped up to them and squatted down on his haunches to meet them eye to eye. “Haven’t I told you, girls, not to be about at this time of night?”

“It isn’t even dark yet Nabal,” Aurora spoke up haughty.

“It is close enough you need to find something to eat and find a safe place for the night. He looked at her small dirt-covered face. Her big brown eyes stared at him defiantly. Livia stared at the ground. She was the younger of the two and the more timid sister.

“We don't have money for food anyhow,” Aurora answered. Nabal looked around and pulled out a silver coin. The coin caught the blue gleam of the setting sun and flashed across the little girl's proud face, and she gasped. “Where did you get that?” She whispered loudly.

Nabal palmed the coin and hushed the girl glancing around again. “I've told you several times not to be out here in the evenings. It is a dangerous place for little girls. Bad things happen out here at night.”

“Not to me.” She thrust her chin in the air. “I have a knife.” She produced a knife from within her sackcloth shirt.

Nabal twisted the blade from her hand in a fluid motion and pointed the blade back at the girl. “A blade in the hand of one who does not know how to use it will only get her hurt.”

She tilted her head and sneered at him. “I'm not stupid Nabal, I wouldn’t warn a real bad man.”

“Jokes on you kid, I am a real bad man.” He handed the blade back and roughed up her hair which he knew she hated. He took her free hand and placed the coin in it. “Don’t show anyone else that blade of yours. Get something to eat and go to your safe place well before dark to sleep tonight.” He stood up to leave and turned back. “Only a fool would fight a tiger eye to eye. Keep your wits and be cautious.” With that Nabal walked down the street toward his favorite pub. He had not forgotten where he had come from. He had not forgotten the things he had witnessed as a boy. He knew the worst beasts to stalk the night were not the kind covered in fur but the ones that wore boots and walked on two feet. Ones that would greet you with a smile before digging a sharp dagger between your shoulder blades. The all-too-common kind that stalked the night in Crull district.