Free Legend of the Ravenstone by M.S. Verish

instead he turned to his drink.
    “Then you understand more than you realize,” Jaharo told her. “Of special places, I have many. I like to spend the winters in Polbran, where the evergreens stand tall and dark and laden with snow. The people there have a midwinter festival of light called Firebright, where they place candles in lanterns that they set before their doors at night. The Lady of the Snow is said to walk the streets and leave a gift for all who honor her with a lantern to show her way. They believe they help guide her passage from winter into spring.”
    “That is fascinating folklore,” Arcturus mumbled.
    “Where else do you go?” Kariayla asked, intrigued.
    “Spring arrives first in the south,” Jaharo said. “I like to follow it as it slowly unfurls northward, reaching the Northern Kingdoms—Sorvindale in particular. There are paths where the wildflowers grow thick as clouds, just before the leaves on the trees reach the size of squirrel’s ears. The villagers go hunting for the Blue Hermit—a mushroom that only grows in their hemlock forests. Its taste is said to be irresistible.” He extended a gloved finger. “But half the fun of the hunt is how they find the mushrooms.”
    Kariayla obliged him with the proper question. “How do they find them?”
    “Squirrels.”
    “Come now,” Arcturus laughed.
    “Squirrels have a special liking for the Blue Hermit, and their noses are superior to ours when it comes to sniffing the ground,” Jaharo said. “The villagers take their squirrel-raising very seriously. They have squirrels that have been specially bred for generations, and they must be trained.”
    “Now I know that you jest,” the Markanturian said, then hiccupped again.
    “The squirrels must be trained so they will not eat the mushroom but bring it back to their owners. This behavior goes against every instinct the squirrel has,” Jaharo said.
    Arcturus straightened. “Well, of course.”
    “But for us, it is one of the most amusing customs you will ever see.” The cartographer grinned.
    “Indeed!”
    “What of autumn?” Kariayla pressed.
    “Valesage, actually,” Jaharo admitted. “If for no other reason than the colors of the leaves. The trees catch fire with shades of crimson, scarlet, orange, and gold. If it is a particularly brilliant autumn, the Freelanders call it ‘Dragonblaze.’
    “Now, before you ask, I will speak of summer, for summer is my favorite season. Like you, I enjoy the storms, but I also enjoy the crystal-blue of a clear sky. In the Chronleste Mountains the sun blazes and hits the mountains, painting the hills with wildflowers and dancing off the streams. The wind carries a song without words, and eagles soar amongst the clouds. It is the most beautiful and haunting land I have ever known.” He turned away to gaze into the shadows of the trees beyond the wagons, a strange and distant expression on his face.
    “I would love to see such things,” Kariayla said. “I wonder if I ever will.”
    “Of course, my dear,” Arcturus said, half asleep. “If you wish it.”
    Kariayla turned back to the map, only to have Jaharo stretch his long arm before her and point to Valesage. “In which territory does it sit?” he asked.
    “The Freelands,” she replied, reading what was clearly printed before them.
    Jaharo nodded. “We are still in the territory of the Southern Kingdoms. By tomorrow night, we will reach the border into the Freelands. You must take care in the Freelands.”
    Kariayla’s brow furrowed as she waited for him to continue.
    “Kingdoms have laws and men to enforce them,” Jaharo said. “There is trade and diplomacy, meaning there is greater tolerance of foreigners. The Freelands are exactly as their name suggests. The laws are interpreted differently depending on where you travel, and they are enforced with varying degrees of rigidity.” He looked her in the eyes. “The laws may be different for different people. It is a dangerous