The last of the mayor’s staff passed through the front door of the inn, closing it back behind them. Kitchen workers were busily removing dishes from the long table before the frog as he sat in a sort of limbo, aware of his surroundings yet not feeling particularly connected to the scene.

  He turned up his glass to empty the last of the bourbon into his mouth, then dropped from the chair and strolled past the busy kitchen workers. He caught the glare of one woman in particular, noting him out of the corner of her eye as she dumped silverware into a basket.

  “Now Cleone,” the frog said in a kind voice. “You must not truly think I’d forgotten.”

  The frog saw three workers in the dining room and knew there to be three more in the kitchen. He handed the lady a small pouch with twelve silver coins stacked inside it.

  She smiled from one ear to the other as she received the tip. “Thank you, sir frog.”

  Pidwermin returned the smile and gave a nod before continuing on his way. He paused at the side door of the Sand Lilly Inn and touched his stomach; a strange queasiness had risen suddenly then subsided.

  I can’t be hungry after all that. I hope I didn’t get a bad egg .

  For an instant the notion did occur to the frog that he’d had a good deal to drink that morning. Ridiculous. He dismissed the idea that the booze was turning on him.

  This was different; he’d felt it before. As he placed his hand on the doorknob he felt a slight tingling in the back of his neck.

  Someone wields powerful Art, either in this forest or near to it.

  Pidwermin was a magical creature, not born of nature but instead formed in the arcane substance and molded through the astral and zoathonic materials into a physical being. His sensitivity to magical currents mirrored the way a psychic received information from the ether flowing through them and the air all around them.

  The frog was no psychic himself; he had only the intuition and occasional sixth-sense experience all thinking creatures were prone to from time to time. Yet he could detect magic in or around objects and creatures and could certainly feel when the strong stuff was being used nearby.

  Magic isn’t outlawed in the duchy. Best mind my own business until I have reason to do otherwise.

  The frog turned the knob and exited the inn.

  The smell of nearby saltwater mixed strangely with the scents of the forest beyond the beach. The sound of small waves lapping ashore blended with the chittering of small forest animals, and the cawing of shorebirds met the chirping of their woodland cousins in the treeline.

  Liminal spaces. Thought Pidwermin. A place where two worlds meet; the water meets the land and the natural residents and goings on of the ocean mingle with their counterparts from the forest. As a wizard he could not help but make such observations.

  He stepped off the inn’s porch into a wide courtyard separated from an alley by an eight-foot brick wall. The late morning sun inched towards the noon above.

  Leaning against the low wall, one lovely giantess smiled to greet the frog. “How’d all that go?”

  “Fine.” said the frog unconvincingly. “As meetings go I suppose.”

  The giantess nodded. “I don’t know what that means.”

  “When something is dull and uncalled for in the first place, one can only hope it won’t be overly annoying.” the frog explained. “Turns out it was not overly annoying; just a normal, expected irritant. A local official in no position to do anything about his problem but with the need to question my methods and offer his own insights and preferences.”

  “Ah.” said Mlasha. “I’m often glad I’m too large to attend these human affairs.”

  “I dare say.” the frog noted. ”I did glean some potentially useful information from the affair. There is more afoot here than just the wyvern.”

  “Oh?” the giantess took on a serious expression.

  “Yes.” the frog produced a cigarette from somewhere inside his purple cloak. “The missing children, for example, were playing in a clearing just north of the town wall, with adult supervision mind you. Their chaperone reported they looked away for the briefest of moments because of a strange sound in the underbrush and when they looked back all three children were gone; their ball was bouncing along as if it had just been thrown.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  “Oh no.” a deep furrow formed on Mlasha’s brow, “Do you think it was trolls, just like the Al Dandi village?”

  “I suppose I wouldn’t rule it out, but I don’t think so.” The unlit cigarette between his lips bounced as he spoke. Suddenly its tip glowed orange; a wisp of smoke curled up and away from the burning tobacco.

  “Too subtle.” Pidwermin continued. “Trolls can be sneaky, true. But above all they are nasty, and I’d expect them to take or do harm to the chaperone as well.”

  “What else could it be then?” the giantess pressed. a scowl forming at the thought of whatever preyed on children. She had never birthed her own offspring, but was of the fertile age among her kind, and had certain maternal intuitions and drives.

  “Ostensibly the forest is full of things that might abscond with children. “ the frog began.

  “Might do what with children??” the giantess clinched a fist.

  “Abscond.” the frog hurriedly explained. “It means to steal or run off with.”

  “Oh, why can’t you just say that?” the flustered Mlasha wondered accusingly. “Why do you have to speak some other language all the time? I know my tribal tongue and the northern common language will you please just stick to those?”

  Pidwermin could see the lady giant was becoming agitated. He couldn’t have her throwing a tantrum in the middle of a busy, albeit small town.

  “I’m sorry dear and yes I can stick to the northern common if you like.” He tried to sound as reassuring as possible without being condescending.

  “If you can help me not roast my sounds I can even try a small some big common.” The frog knew his “giant’s common”, or Gargumundi by its proper name, was rusty but decided to try a little in order to placate the enormous beauty.

  Mlasha burst into laughter. She doubled over and pressed on her belly and hawed, then threw her head back – her lovely blonde hair flowing like a wave on the ocean up and over her face to fall down and hang behind her. On she laughed until the predictable tears began to flow.

  Pidwermin knew he must have spoken a line of pure gibberish to his friend. Ordinarily this would embarrass the frog but in that moment he welcomed his gaff as the giantess was now far from angry.

  “How bad was it?” he asked in common.

  “Pretty bad Dwerm.” Mlasha wiped her eyes and giggled some more. “What in the world were you trying to say just now?”

  “If you can help me to not butcher my words I can try a little bit of giant’s common for you; something to that effect.” the frog explained.

  The giantess again exploded into a laughing fit. It took a moment or two for her to regain her composure.

  Finally she did, and said “I’m sorry. That was sweet of you to try. Now, you said the forest is full of things that might run off with children.”

  “Yes.” Pidwermin picked up where he’d left off. “Osten..” He cleared his throat. “Or so we are told by our folklore and myth. Boogers, bugbear, goblins, will-o-wisp, evil brownies, fairies, a larger cousin of the gremlin called the shnarimud, and many other culprits. However moving from the folkloric to the practical, I can’t say I’ve ever investigated a kidnapping that pointed to any of these aside from goblins.”

  “You think goblins did it?” the giantess sounded excited.

  “Not really.” the frog admitted. “This happened in broad daylight.”

  “You said fairies sometimes are blamed for stealing children.” the giantess pointed out. “That’s awful! What if Kovak’s fairies did this?”

  “Allegedly fairies have taken children before. If true I would assume this to be the work of evil fay, either Graulocht, or Szegvrgin.” the frog paused briefly. “Such creatures have long been gone from this region, exterminated by elves and men many centuries ago.”

  Mlasha frowned. “Then what?”

  “I don’t know.” the frog conceded. “Yet. I’ll cast a divination when we reach the campsite to locate our wyverns. Be thinking of a general ambush strategy in the meantime by the way. While I’m at it I can also try to ascertain what became of the missing youths.”

  “What are you gonna do until then?” Mlasha could tell the frog was setting up some sort of side venture for himself. “I picked up a bigger hammer and some rope from the wagon shop – went ahead and got a small wagon as well – and got some heavy rigging and iron stakes from the dock.”

  “Interesting.” the frog replied. “You’ve either decided to go into construction work or you have an idea for a snare for our wyvern.”

  Mlasha laughed. “I spoke to two guards and a group of local Yunni who have seen the wyverns attack. They describe a creature hovering and taking prey from the ground with its rear leg claws or its jaws. I learned to snare some pretty big creatures when I was taught to hunt, so yeah; I want to set up a snare.”

  “Very good my dear.” the frog tapped his head with his pointing finger to indicate ‘good thinking’. “Was there nothing else on our supplies list, then?”

  “Not really. I can busy myself for a while but I really don’t want you to go off to that other port in search of Nar rum at the moment.” the giantess said candidly.

  “Well!” the frog feigned offense. “I suppose you think I never do any actual work. Mind you I had the plan of researching the book I borrowed from Lady Helena Mershod; I wanted to have a closer look at the cycle of Corrulius.”

  “Fine.” Mlasha groaned. “I’ll find something to do but please don’t be too long.”

  “An hour, two at most child.” the frog assured her.

  ?