Quintessential Tales: A Magic of Solendrea Anthology by Martin Hengst

forehead with sweat. It was more than just the heat of the jungle. Ever since they were little, Declan’s attacks had scared her in a way that nothing else could. There was something very disturbing about the way he could be fine one minute and helpless the next.
    “I wish you had stayed back in Overwatch,” she groused. “At least there you could get more medicine if you needed it.”
    Serena fingered the thigh pocket of her breeches. There were two vials left. They’d used twice that many making it this far into the jungle. Even if they left now, with nothing to show for their endeavor, Declan might not make it back out. The healer had been very clear about his condition. The medicine kept it at bay for a while, but his attacks had become more frequent and more severe.
    Declan’s laugh was mirthless.
    “With what?” he asked, his voice weak. “My good looks?”
    Serena sighed. She shut her chestnut brown eyes and pressed her palms to the closed lids, as if the pressure could drive away the sick feeling in her stomach. There were two sixteenth-Crown coins in the purse she and Declan shared. That wasn’t even enough to pay for a single vial. They hadn’t had much to start with, and what little they’d saved had gone into provisions for this trip. They had to find something worthwhile out here in the middle of the jungle. Otherwise, they’d be back out on the street.
    Living on the street wasn’t anything new for either of them. Orphaned before they could walk, she and Declan had been passed from hand to hand, shelter to shelter, charity to charity, for as long as they could remember. They’d always had each other, though, which was more than some people could say. Declan’s disease might make him weak and subject to a fit at any time, but it left his mind as sharp as ever. Declan was the smartest person Serena had ever known. They’d made a good team. Declan would plan the petty thefts and schemes that would keep them alive, and Serena would put them into action. They’d never had very much, but they’d managed to beg, borrow, or steal enough to keep them out of the Militia’s dungeons for the past twenty-five years. That wasn’t to say they hadn’t gone to bed hungry more often than not, but they managed to keep going.
    Serena took the map from her other thigh pocket and opened it with reverent fingers. She smoothed the creases out with a gentle touch, as if the meager handling would make its contents vanish into thin air. They’d lifted it from an adventurer passing through Overwatch. After a few drinks at The Bottle and Sword, he had loudly boasted about being on the verge of a life-changing discovery. On the off chance that he was right, Serena and Declan had come up with a quick plan to relieve him of his burden. So when the adventurer slipped out of the tavern, Serena did her best imitation of a drunk. When the solicitous adventurer caught her by the arm to steady her, she flowed up against him like molten honey. She wasn’t as voluptuous as many of the ladies who frequented the tavern, but she was pretty enough that he didn’t push her away. A moment later, she’d snaffled the document pouch from his rucksack. She thanked him for his concern and disappeared into the crowded streets of the city.
    Later, in the hostel, Serena had laid out the scraps of paper, velum, and parchment that were stuffed in the pouch. She’d almost missed the map, scrawled on the back of a scrap of folded parchment, but Declan hadn’t. His sharp eyes and equally sharp mind had recognized its purpose as soon as he’d seen it. A trip to the library and several boring hours of research later, Declan had declared the map both genuine and valuable. It was a treasure hunter’s map, encoded with a derivative of a cryptic code that adventurers used to ensure messages to each other weren’t intercepted. Another few days of work , and Declan had broken most of the notes jotted down in the margins of the map. It would lead