Claus's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Claus tightened the last rope on the curtained archway and stepped back to judge his work. Two years of letters, deals, and quiet plans had finally taken shape. The painted sign glowed above the red drapes, and stubby Neo-Caps shuffled into place to greet the road. After half his vendors fled, he needed something the Sun Hole had never seen. He needed it today. He crossed the courtyard of his shop and uncovered the silver pedestal the Dryads and Satyr smiths had forged for him. The runes along its base caught the morning light. Onto it he set the harmonica from a drowned Atlantean court, and beside it the curved hookblade of a royal sea-horseman. He lowered the dragon-blown glass cover over both. The seal hissed shut. His tome, Ether and Muck, hovered open at his elbow. Claus pressed his thumb to a fresh page and the enchanted tag bloomed above the dome in bronze-gold letters. Sold as Set. Cost: Legendary+. The words hung in the air like a promise he could not take back. At the fork outside the entryway he set the last piece. The preservation jar thudded onto its stand. Inside, the striped body of a Sting Claw floated in cloudy druid brine, claws spread, jaws open. Few had seen one whole. Fewer had seen one still. A cart slowed on the road. Then another. A hooded rider reined in hard, staring at the jar. Word would travel before sundown. Claus felt his chest tighten in a way that was almost calm. He wrote one line in his tome: The bazaar is open. He closed the cover, and somewhere past the bend, hooves began to gather.